i. Those which are levied on the same classes of persons, the same

kinds of property, and the same principles of valuation as the poor rate; such are the highway rate, the lighting and watching, and the militia rate among the independent rates; and the police, borough, and county rates among the aggregate rates.

ii. Those which are _not_ levied on the same basis as the poor rate. The church and sewers rates are familiar instances of this peculiarity.

The sewers rate, then, is a local tax required for an _independent_ rather than an _aggregate_ district, and is _not_ levied upon the basis of the poor law.

The assessment of the poor rate, for instance, includes tithes of every kind, that of the sewers rate extends to such tithes only as are in the hands of laymen. Again, the sewers rate embraces some incorporeal hereditaments to which the poor rate does not extend; but stock in trade, which of late years has been specially exempted from the poor rate, was never subject to the sewers rate.

A sewers rate, however, was known as early as the sixth year of Henry VI. (1427), though “commissions” were not instituted till the time of Henry VIII. The Act which now regulates the collection of the funds required for the cleansing, building, repairs, and improvements of the sewers, is 4 and 5 Vict. (1841). This statute gives the “Courts” or “Commissions” of Sewers, power “to tax in the gross” in each parish, &c., all lands, &c., within the jurisdiction of such courts, for the requirements of the public sewerage. This impost is not periodically levied, nor at any stated or even regularly recurring term, but “as occasion requires:” perhaps once in two or three years. It is (with some exceptions, which require no notice) what is commonly called “a landlord’s tax” in the metropolis, that is, the sewers-rate collector must be paid by the occupier of the premises, who, on the production of the collector’s receipt, can deduct the amount from his rent. If this arrangement were meant to convey a notion to the public that the sewers tax was a tax on property--on the capitalist who owns, and not on the tenant who merely occupies--it is a shallow device, for every one must know that the more sewers rate a tenant pays _for_ his landlord, the more rent he must pay _to_ him.

The sewers rate is levied according to the rateable value put upon property by the surveyors and assessors appointed by the Commissioners, who may make the rate “by such ways and means, and in such manner and form, as to them may seem most convenient.” It seems a question yet to be determined whether or not there is a right of appeal against the sewers rate, but the general opinion is that there is _no appeal_. The rate can be mortgaged by the Commissioners if an advance of money is considered desirable. The maximum of 1_s._ in the pound on the net annual value of the property was fixed by the Act. The Commissioners have also the power to levy a “special rate” on any district not connected with the general system of sewerage, but which it has been resolved should be so connected; also an “improvement rate,” at a maximum of 10 per cent. on the rack rent, “in respect of works they may judge to be of private benefit,” a provision which has called forth some comments.

The metropolitan sewers rate is now collected in nine districts.

There are at present 42 Commissions or Courts of Sewers throughout England and Wales.

The only return which has yet been prepared of the annual amount assessed and collected under the authority of the Metropolitan Commission of Sewers, is one presented to the House of Commons in 1843. It includes the sum assessed in four of the eight districts within the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Commissioners from 1831 to 1840 inclusive.

------------------------+------------+------------ |Total in the| Annual Districts. | 10 years. | Average. ------------------------+------------+------------ | £ | £ Westminster | 235,397 | 23,539-7/10 Holborn and Finsbury | 123,317 | 12,331-7/10 Tower Hamlets | 82,468 | 8,246-8/10 From East Moulsey, | | in Surrey, to | | Ravensbourne, in Kent | 175,137 | 17,513-7/10 ------------------------+------------+------------ | 616,319 | 61,631-9/10 ------------------------+------------+------------

The following amounts were returned to Parliament as that expended in two other of the metropolitan districts in the year 1833:--

In the City £17,718-2/10 Poplar district 2,746-9/10 ------------ £20,465-1/10

Annual average of the four above-mentioned districts 61,631-9/10 -------------------------------------------------- Yearly total £82,097

The two districts excluded from the above total are the minor ones of St. Katherine and Greenwich, so that altogether the gross sum levied within the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Commissioners must have been between 85,000_l._ and 90,000_l._

The annual amount of the local rates in England and Wales is, according to a work on the subject (“The Local Taxes of the United Kingdom”), published “under the direction of the Poor Law Commissioners” in 1846, 8,801,838_l._[68] In this large sum only the average annual outlay on the six districts of the sewers of the metropolis is included (82,097_l._), and it is stated that not even an approximate average could be arrived at as regards the expenditure on sewers in the country districts. Such absence of statistical knowledge,--and it is a want continually observable--is little creditable to the legislative, executive, and administrative powers of the State.

I shall now proceed to show, from the best data at my command, the present outlay on the metropolitan sewers.

According to the present law, the Commissioners are required to submit to Parliament yearly returns of the money collected on account of, and expended in, the sewerage of the metropolis.

I need only state, that in the latest and, indeed, the sole returns upon the subject, the rates in 1845-6-7, under the former separate commissions, were 1_d._ and 2_d._ in the pound on land, and from 3_d._ (Ranelagh and Westminster) to 1_s._ 10_d._ (Greenwich) on houses.

The rates made under the combined and consolidated Commissions, from 30th Nov., 1847, to 8th Oct., 1849, were all 6_d._, excepting the Western division of Westminster sewers, which were 3_d._, and a part of the Surrey and Kent district, 8_d._

The rates under the present Metropolitan Commission, from 8th October, 1849, to 31st July, 1851, are all 6_d._, with a similar exception in Surrey and Kent. The following are the only further returns bearing immediately on the subject:--

RETURN OF THE PERCENTAGE ON THE TOTAL RATEABLE ANNUAL VALUE OF THE PROPERTY ASSESSED, to which the Rates collected under the separate COMMISSIONS, between January, 1845, and November, 1847, amounted; SIMILAR RETURN as to the combined and consolidated COMMISSIONS, from November, 1847, to October, 1849; and as to the present COMMISSION, from October, 1849, to July 31, 1851.

------------------------------------+---------------------+----------------+----------------------------------+ | Total Rateable | | | Annual Value of the | | Amount of the | Districts on | Average Amount | Percentage of | November 30, 1847, | collected | the Rates collected | and October 8, 1849,| for One Year. | on the Rateable | and July 31, 1851, | | Annual Value. | respectively. | | ------------------------------------+---------------------+----------------+----------------------------------+ | £ _s._ _d._| _£ s. d._| _£ s. d._ Under the old separate Commissions }| | | of Sewers, between }| 6,683,896 0 0 | 81,738 11 0 |{ 1 4 5 or 2-3/4_d._ ·72 in the January, 1845, and November }| | |{ pound per annum. 30, 1847 }| | | | | | Under the combined and consolidated}| | | Commissions, from November }| | |{ 0 18 11-3/4 or 2-1/4_d._ ·11 in 30, 1847, to October 8, }| 7,128,111 0 0 | 67,707 16 3 |{ the pound per 1849 (including first Metropolitan }| | |{ annum. Commission) }| | | | | | Under the present Metropolitan }| 8,135,090[69] 0 0 |{ |{ 1 1 11 or 2-1/2_d._ ·52 in the Commission of Sewers, from October }| |{ 89,341 16 0 |{ pound per annum. 8, 1849, to July 21, 1851 }| 8,820,325[70] 0 0 |{ |{ 1 0 3 or 2-1/4_d._ ·72 in the | | |{ pound per annum. ------------------------------------+---------------------+----------------+----------------------------------+

AUGUST, 1851.

THOMAS COGGIN, _Clerk of Rates and Collections._

return of the present annual amount of the local rates in England and Wales.

I. RATES.

A. RATES OF INDEPENDENT DISTRICTS.

1. _On the basis of the poor rate._

The poor rate, including the purposes of-- The workhouse building rate } The survey and valuation rate } Relief of the poor £4,976,093 Other objects 567,567 Contributions to county and borough rates (see below). Jail fees rate } Constables rate } unknown Highway rates 1,312,812 Lighting and watching rate unknown Militia rate not needed

2. _Not on the basis of the poor rate._

Church rates 506,812 Sewers rate-- General sewers tax-- In the metropolis 82,097 In the rest of the country unknown Drainage and inclosure rates } Inclosure rate } unknown Regulated pasture rate }

B. RATES OF AGGREGATE DISTRICTS.

County rates { Contributed } Hundred rate { from the } 1,356,457 Borough rates { poor rate. } ---------- Total rates of England and Wales £8,801,834

The amount of the taxation in the shape of tolls, dues, and fees is as follows:--

II. TOLLS, DUES, AND FEES.

Turnpike tolls £1,348,085 Borough tolls and dues £172,911 City of London 205,100 -------- 378,011 Light dues 257,776 Port dues 554,645 Church dues and fees } Marriage fees } unknown Registration fees } Justiciary fees-- Clerks of the Peace £11,057 Justices’ clerks 57,668 ------- 68,725 ----------

Total tolls, dues, and fees of England and Wales £2,607,241

The subjoined, then adds the same work, founded on the preceding details, may be regarded as exhibiting an approximate estimate of the present amount of the local taxes in England and Wales, _being, however, obviously below the actual total_.

Rates £8,801,838 Tolls, dues, and fees 2,607,241 ---------- £11,409,079

“The annual amount of the local taxation of England and Wales may at the present time be stated, in round numbers, at not less than £12,000,000;” or we may say that the local taxation of the country is one-fourth of the amount of the general taxation.

RETURN OF THE COST OF MANAGEMENT PER ANNUM ON THE TOTAL RATEABLE ANNUAL VALUE OF THE DISTRICTS.

--------+------------------+----------------+----------------------------- | Total | | Rate per Cent. |Rateable Annual | Cost of | per Annum of Cost of YEARS. | Value of the | Management | Management on the | Districts. | per Annum. | Rateable Annual | | | Value of the Districts. --------+------------------+----------------+-------------------------+ | £ _s._ _d._| £ _s._ _d._| £ _s._ _d._ 1845 | 6,320,331 0 0 | 18,591 4 3 | 0 5 10-1/2 1846 | 6,423,909 0 0 | 18,097 5 1 | 0 5 7-1/2 1847 | 6,683,896 0 0 | 24,371 16 9 | 0 7 3-1/2 1848 | 6,783,111 0 0 | 20,008 7 10 | 0 5 10-3/4 1849 | 8,077,591 0 0 | 20,005 7 6 | 0 4 11-1/4 1850 | 8,791,967 0 0 | 23,465 18 7 | 0 5 4 --------+------------------+----------------+-------------------------+

AUGUST 7, 1851.

G. S. HATTON, _Accountant._

OF THE CLEANSING OF THE SEWERS--VENTILATION.

There are two modes of purifying the sewers; the one consists in removing the foul air, the other in removing the solid deposits. I shall deal first with that mode of purification which consists in the mechanical removal or chemical decomposition of the noxious gases engendered within the sewers.

This is what is termed the Ventilation of the Sewers, and forms a very important branch of the inquiry into the character and working of the underground refuse-channels, for it relates to the risk of explosions and the consequent risk of destruction to men’s lives; while, if the sewer be ill-ventilated, the surrounding atmosphere is often prejudicially affected by the escape of impure air from the subterranean channels.

A survey as to the ventilation, &c., of the sewers was made by Mr. Hawkins, Assistant-Surveyor, and Mr. Jenkins, Clerk of the Works. Four examinations took place of sewers; of those in Bloomsbury; those from Tottenham-court-road to Norfolk-street, Strand; from the Guard-room in Buckingham Palace to the Horseferry-road, Millbank; and in Grosvenor-square and the streets adjacent. There were difficulties attending the experiment. From Castle-street to Museum-street there was a drop of 4 feet in the levels, so that the examiners had to advance on their hands and knees, and it was difficult to make observations. In some places in Westminster also the water and silt were knee deep, and the lamps (three were used) splashed all over. In Bloomsbury the sewers gave no token of the presence of any gas, but in the other places its presence was very perceptible, especially in a sewer on the west side of Grosvenor-square, a very low one, in which the gas was ignited within the wire shade of one of the lamps, but without producing any effect beyond that of immediately extinguishing the light. There was also during the route, in the neighbourhood of Sir Henry Meux’s brewery and of an adjoining distillery in Vine-street, a considerable quantity of steam in the sewer, but it had no material effect upon the light.

The examiners came to the conclusion that where there was any liability to an explosion from the presence of carburetted hydrogen, or other causes, the Improved Davy Lamp afforded an almost certain protection.

The attention of the Commissioners seems to have been chiefly given of late, as regards ventilation and indeed general improvement, to the sewers on the Surrey side of the metropolis. Among these a new sewer along Friar-street, running from the Blackfriars to the Southwark-bridge-road, is one of the most noticeable.

Friar-street is one of the smaller off thoroughfares, the character of which is, perhaps, little suspected by those who pass along the open Blackfriars-road. As you turn out of that road to the left hand, advancing from the bridge, almost opposite the Magdalen Hospital, is Friar-street. On its left hand, as you proceed along it, are gas-works, and the factories, or work places, of tradesmen in the soap-boiling, tallow-melting, cat and other gut manufacturing, bone-boiling, and other noisome callings. On the right hand are a series of short and often neatly-built streets, but the majority of them have the look of unmistakable squalor or poverty, though _not_ of the poverty of the industrious. Across Flint-street, Green-street, and other ways, few of them horse thoroughfares, hang, on a fair day, lines of washed clothes to dry. Yellow-looking chemises and petticoats are affixed alongside men’s trowsers and waistcoats; coarse-featured and brazen-looking women, with necks and faces reddened, as if with brick-dust, from exposure to the weather, stand at their doors and beckon to the passers by. Perhaps in no part of the metropolis is there a more marked manifestation of moral obsceneness on the one hand, and physical obsceneness on the other. With the low prostitution of this locality is mixed the low and the bold crime of the metropolis. Some of the off-shoots from Friar-street communicate with places of as nefarious a character. Hackett, whom his newspaper admirers seem to wish to elevate into the fame of a second Jack Sheppard, resided in this quarter. The gang who were last winter repulsed in their burglarious attack on Mr. Holford’s villa in the Regent’s-park favoured the same locality, and were arrested in their old haunts. Public-houses may be seen here and there--houses, perhaps, not greatly discouraged by the police--which are at once the rendezvous and the trap of offenders, for to and from such resorts they can be readily traced. And all over this place of moral degradation extends the stench of offensive manufactures and ill-ventilated sewers. Certainly there is now an improvement, but it is still bad enough.

A Report of the 21st September, 1848, shows that a new sewer, 1500 feet in length, had been “put in along Friar-street, with a fall of 15 inches from the level of the sewer in Blackfriars-road to Suffolk-street. The sewer,” states the Report, “with which it communicates at its upper end in the Blackfriars-road contains nearly 2 feet in depth of soil; it in consequence has silted up to that level with semi-fluid black filth, principally from the factories, of the most poisonous and sickening description, forming an _elongated cesspool_ 1500 feet in length, the filth at its lower end being upwards of 3 feet in depth. Since the building of this sewer, the foul matter so discharged into it has been in a state of decomposition, constantly giving off pestilential and poisonous gases, which have spread into and filled the adjoining sewers; thence they are being drawn into the houses by the house-drains, and into the streets by the street-drains, to such a fearful extent as to infect the whole atmosphere of the neighbourhood, and so to cause the very offensive odour so generally complained of there. Sulphuretted hydrogen is present in these sewers in large quantities, as metals, silver and copper, are attacked and blackened by it; and the smell from it is so sickening as to be almost unbearable.”

On the question of how best to deal with sewers such as the Friar-street, Messrs. John Roe and John Phillips (surveyors) and Mr. Henry Austin (consulting engineer) have agreed in the following opinion:--

“The most simple and convenient method would be by placing large strong fires in shafts directly over the crown of the sewers. The expense of each furnace, with the inclosure around it, will be about 20_l._ The fires would be fed almost constantly, by which little smoke would be generated. The heat to be produced from these fires would rarefy the air so much as to create rapidly ascending currents in the shafts, and strong draughts through the sewers, the foul air in which would then be drawn to the fires and there consumed; and as it was being destroyed fresh air would be drawn in at all the existing inlets of house and street drains, pushing forward and supplying the place of the foul air.”

Concerning the explosions of, or deaths in, the sewers from the impure gases, there is, I believe, no statistical account. The most remarkable catastrophe of this kind was the death of five persons in a sewer in Pimlico, in October, 1849; of these, three were regular sewer-men, and the others were a policeman and Mr. Wells, a surgeon, who went into the sewer in the hopes of giving assistance. Mr. Phillips, the then chief surveyor of the Commission of Sewers, stated that the cause of these deaths in the sewers was entirely an exceptional case, and the gas which had caused the accident inquired into was not a sewer gas. “There is often,” he said, “a great escape of gas from the mains, which found its way into the sewers. The gas, however, which has done the mischief in the present instance would not explode.”

Dr. Ure’s opinion was, that the deceased men died from asphixia, caused by inhaling sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid gas in mixture with prussic vapour, and that these noxious emanations were derived from the refuse lime of gas-works thrown in with other rubbish to make up the road above the sewer. Other scientific gentlemen attributed the five deaths to the action of sulphuretted hydrogen gas, or, according to Dr. Lyon Playfair, to be chemically correct, hydro-sulphate of ammonia. The coroner (Mr. Bedford), in summing up, said that Mr. Phillips wished it to be supposed that gas lime was the cause of the foul gas; and Dr. Ure said that gas lime had to do with the calamity. But Dr. Miller, Mr. Richard Phillips, Mr. Campbell, and Dr. Playfair, more especially the latter, were perfectly sure that lime had nothing to do with it. The verdict was the following:--“We find that Daniel Pert, Thomas Gee, and John Attwood died from the inhalation of noxious gas generated in a neglected and unventilated sewer in Kenilworth-street. And we find that Henry Wells and John Walsh met their deaths from the same cause, in their laudable endeavours to save the lives of the first three sufferers. The jury unanimously consider the commissioners and officers of the Metropolitan Sewers are much to blame for having neglected to avail themselves of the unusual advantages offered, from the local situation of the Grosvenor-canal, for the purpose of flushing the sewers in this district.”

OF “FLUSHING” AND “PLONGING,” AND OTHER MODES OF WASHING THE SEWERS.

The next step in our inquiry--and that which at present concerns us more than any other--is the mode of removing the solid deposits from the sewers, as well as the condition of the workmen connected with that particular branch of labour. The sewers are the means by which a larger proportion of the wet refuse of the metropolis is removed from our houses, and we have now to consider the means by which the more solid part of this refuse is removed from the sewers themselves. The latter operation is quite as essential to health and cleanliness as the former; for to allow the filth to collect in the channels which are intended to remove it, and there to remain decomposing and vitiating the atmosphere of the metropolis, is manifestly as bad as not to remove it at all; and since the more solid portions of the sewage _will_ collect and form hard deposits at the bottom of each duct, it becomes necessary that some means should be devised for the periodical purgation of the sewers themselves.

There have been two modes of effecting this object. The one has been the _carting_ away of the more solid refuse, and the other the _washing_ of it away, or, as it is termed, _flushing_ in the case of the _covered_ sewers, and _plonging_ in the case of the _open_ ones. Under both systems, whether the refuse be carted or flushed away, the hard deposit has to be first loosened by manual labourers--the difference consisting principally in the means of after-removal.

The first of these systems--viz., the cartage method--was that which prevailed in the metropolis till the year 1847. I shall therefore give a brief description of this mode of cleansing the sewers before proceeding to treat of the now more general mode of “flushing.”

Under the old system, the clearing away of the deposit was a “nightman’s” work, differing little, except in being more toilsome, offensive to the public, and difficult. A hole was made from the street down into the sewer where the deposit was thickest, and the deposit was raised by means of a tub, filled below, drawn up to the street, and emptied into a cart, or spread in mounds in the road to be shovelled into some vehicle. A nightman told me that this mode of work was sometimes a great injury to his trade, because “when it was begun on a night many of the householders sleeping in the neighbourhood used to say to themselves, or to their missusses, as they turned in their beds, ‘It’s them ere cussed cesspools again! I wish they was done away with.’ An’ all the time, sir, the cesspools was as hinnocent and as sweet as a hangel.”

This clumsy and filthy process is now but occasionally resorted to. A man who had superintended a labour of this kind in a narrow, but busy thoroughfare in Southwark, told me that these sewer labourers were the worst abused men in London. No one had a good word for them.

But there have been other modes of removing the indurated sewage, besides that of cartage; and which, though not exactly flushing, certainly consisted in allowing the deposit to be washed away. Some of these contrivances were curious enough.

I learn from a Report printed in 1849, that the King’s Scholars’ Pond Sewer, in the city of Westminster, running near the Abbey, contained a continuous bed of deposit, of soil, sand, and filth, from 10 to 30 inches in depth, and this for a mile and a half next the river--the first mile yielding more than 6000 loads of matter. This sewer was to be cleansed.

“We first used a machine,” says Mr. J. Lysander Hale, “in the form of a plough and harrow combined; a horse dragged it through the deposit in the sewer; one man attended the horse, and another guided the plough. The work done by this machine, in cutting a channel through the soil and causing the water to move through it quickly, was effectual to remove the deposit; but as the sewer is a tidal sewer, and its sole entrance for a horse being its outlet, the machine could only be used for a small part of any day. Sometimes with a strong breeze up the river, the tide would not recede sufficiently to permit the horse to get in at all (and it did not appear advisable to incur the expense of 50_l._ to build a sideway entrance for the animal), so that under these circumstances we were obliged to discontinue the use of the horse and plough; which, under other circumstances, would have been very effective.” From this time, I understand, the sewers of London have remained unploughed by means of horse labour.

But the plough was not altogether abandoned, and as horse-power was not found very easily applicable, water-power was resorted to. The plough and harrow were attached to a barge, which was introduced into the sewer. The sluice gates were kept shut until the ebb of the tide made the difference of level between the contents of the sewer and the surface of the Thames equal to some eight feet. “The gates were then suddenly opened, and the rapid and deep current of water following, was then sufficient to bring the barge and plough down the sewer with a force equal to five or six horse-power.”

This last-mentioned method was also soon abandoned. We now come to the more approved plan of “flushing.”

“The term ‘_flushing_ sewers’ implies,” says Mr. Haywood, in his Report, “cleansing by the application of _bodies_ of water in the sewers; this is periodically effected, varying in intervals according to the necessities of the sewerage or other circumstances.”

The flushing system has a two-fold object, viz., to remove old deposits and prevent the accumulation of new. When the deposit is not allowed to accumulate and harden, “flushing consists,” says Mr. Haywood, “simply in heading back and letting off _flush at once_” (hence the origin of the term) “that which has been delivered into the sewers in a certain number of hours by the various houses draining into them, diluted with large quantities of water specially employed for the purpose.”

Though the operation of “flushing” is one of modern introduction, as regards the metropolis--one, indeed, which may be said to have originated in the modern demand for improved sanitary regulations--it has been practised in some country parts since the days of Henry VIII.

Flushing was practised also by those able engineers, the ancient Romans. One of the grand architectural remains of that people, the best showing their system of flushing, is in the Amphitheatre at Nismes, in France. The site of the ruined amphitheatre presents a large elliptical area, 114,251 superficial feet comprising its extent. Around the arena ran a large sewer 3 feet 6 inches in width, and 4 feet 9 inches in height. With this sewer, elliptical in shape, 348 pipes communicated, carrying into it the rain-fall and the refuse caused by the resort of 23,000 persons, for the seats alone contained that number. “The system of flushing, practised here,” says Mr. Cresy, “with such advantage, deserves to be noticed, there being means of driving through this elliptical sewer a volume of water at pleasure, with such force that no solid matter could by any possibility remain within any of the drains or sewers. An aqueduct, 2 feet 8 inches in width, and 6 feet in height, brought this water from the reservoirs of Nismes, not only to fill but to purge the whole of these sewers; after traversing the arena, it deviated a little to the south-west, where it was carried out at the sixth arcade, east of the southern entrance. Man-holes and steps to descend into this capacious vaulted aqueduct were introduced in several places; and there can be no doubt that by directing for some hours such a stream of water through it, the greatest cleanliness was preserved throughout all the sewers of the building.”

The flushing of sewers appears to have been introduced into the metropolis by Mr. John Roe in the year 1847, but did not come into general use till some years later. There used to be a partial flushing of the London sewers twelve years ago. The mode of flushing as at present practised is as follows:--

In the first instance the inspector examines and reports the condition of the sewer, and receives and issues his orders accordingly. When the sewer is ordered to be flushed--and there is no periodical or regular observance of time in the operation--the men enter the sewers and rake up the deposit, loosening it everywhere, so as to render the whole easy to be swept along by the power of the volume of water. The sewers generally are, in their widest part, provided with grooves, or, as the men style them, “framings.” Into these framings are fitted, or permanently attached, what I heard described as “penstocks,” but which are spoken of in some of the reports as “traps,” “gates,” or “sluice gates.” They are made both of wood and iron. By a series of bolts and adjustments, the penstocks can be fixed ready for use when the tide is highest in the sewer, and the volume of water the greatest. They then, of course, are in the nature of dams, the water having accumulated in consequence of the stoppage. The deposit having been loosened, the bolts are withdrawn, when the gates suddenly fly back, and the accumulated water and stirred-up sewage sweeps along impetuously, while the men retreat into some side recesses adapted for the purpose. The same is done with each penstock until the matter is swept through the outlet. The men always follow the course of this sewage-current when the sewer is of sufficient capacity to enable them to do so, throwing or pushing forward any more solid matter with their shovels.

“To flush we generally go and draw a slide up and let a flush of water down,” said one man to me, “and then we have iron rakers to loosen the stuff. We have got another way that we do it as well; one man stands here, when the flush of water’s coming down, with a large board; then he lets the water rise to the top of this board, and then there’s two or three of us on ahead, with shovels, loosening the stuff--then he ups with this board and lets a good heavy flush of water come down. Precious hard work it is, I can assure you. I’ve had many a wet shirt. We stand up to our fork in the water, right to the top of our jack-boots, and sometimes over them.” “Ah, I should think you often get over the top of yours, for you come home with your stockings wet enough, goodness knows,” exclaimed his wife, who was present. “When there’s a good flush of water coming down,” he resumed, “we’re obligated to put our heads fast up against the crown of the sewer, and bear upon our shovels, so that we may not be carried away, and taken bang into the Thames. You see there’s nothing for us to lay hold on. Why, there was one chap went and lifted a slide right up, when he ought to have had it up only 9 or 10 inches at the furthest, and he nearly swamped three of us. If we should be taken off our legs there’s a heavy fall--about 3 feet--just before you comes to the mouth of the sewer, and if we was to get there, the water is so rapid nothing could save us. When we goes to work we nails our lanterns up to the crown of the sewer. When the slide is lifted up the rush is very great, and takes all before it. It roars away like a wild beast. We’re always obliged to work according to tide, both above and below ground. When we have got no water in the sewer we shovels the dirt up into a bank on both sides, so that when the flush of water comes down the loosened dirt is all carried away by it. After flushing, the bottom of the sewer is as clean as this floor, but in a couple of months the soil is a foot to 15 inches deep, and middling hard.”

“Flushing-gates,” an engineer has reported, “are chiefly of use in sewers badly constructed and without falls, but containing plenty of water; and they are of very little use where the gate has to be shut 24 hours and longer, before a head of water has accumulated; but where intermittent flushing is practised, strong smells are often caused _solely_ by the stagnation of the water or sewage while accumulating behind the gate.”

The most general mode of flushing at present adopted is not to keep in the water, &c., which has flowed into the sewer from the streets and houses, as well as the tide of the river, but to convey the flushing water from the plugs of the water companies into the kennels, and so into the sewers. I find in one of the Reports acknowledgments of the liberal supplies granted for flushing by the several companies. The water of the Surrey Canal has been placed, for the same object, at the disposal of the Sewer Commissioners.

It is impossible to “flush” at all where a sewer has a “dead-end;” that is, where there is a “block,” as in the case of the Kenilworth-street sewer, Pimlico, in which five persons lost their lives in 1848.

There is no difference in the system of flushing in the Metropolitan and City jurisdictions, except that for the greater facilities of the process, the City provides water-tanks in Newgate-market, where the heads of three sewers meet, and where the accumulation of animal garbage, and the fierceness and numbers of the rats attracted thereby, were at one time frightful; at Leadenhall-market, and elsewhere, such tanks were also provided to the number of ten, the largest being the Newgate-market tank, which is a brick cistern of 8000 gallons capacity. Of these tanks, however, only four are now kept filled, for this collection of water is found unnecessary, the regular system of flushing answering the purpose without them; and I understand that in a little time there will be no tanks at all. The tank is filled, when required, by a water company, and the penstocks being opened, the water rushes into the sewers with great force. There is also another point peculiar to the City--in it all the sewers are flushed regularly twice a week; in the metropolitan sewers, only when the inspector pronounces flushing to be required. The City plan appears the best to prevent the accumulation of deposit.

There still remains to be described the system of “_plonging_,” or mode of cleansing the open sewers, as contradistinguished from “_flushing_,” or the cleansing of the covered sewers.

“When we go plonging,” one man said, “we has long poles with a piece of wood at the end of them, and we stirs up the mud at the bottom of the ditches while the tide’s a going down. We has got slides at the end of the ditches, and we pulls these up and lets out the water, mud, and all, into the Thames.” “Yes, for the people to drink,” said a companion drily. “We’re in the water a great deal,” continued the man. “We can’t walk along the sides of all of ’em.”

The difference of cost between the old method of removal and the new, that is to say, between carting and flushing, is very extraordinary.

This cartage work was done chiefly by contract and according to a Report of the surveyors to the Commissioners (Aug. 31, 1848), the usual cost for such work (almost always done during the night) was 7_s._ the cubic yard; that is, 7_s._ for the removal of a cubic yard of sewage by manual labour and horse and cart. In February, 1849 (the date of another Report on the subject), the cost of removing a cubic yard by the operation of flushing, was but 8_d._ This gives the following result, but in what particular time, instance, or locality, is not mentioned:--

79,483 cubic yards of deposit removed by the contract flushing system, at 8_d._ per cubic yard £2,649

Same quantity by the old system of casting and cartage, 7_s._ per cubic yard 27,819 ------- Difference £25,170 -------

“It appears, therefore,” says Mr. Lovick, “that by the adoption of the contract flushing system, a saving has been effected within the comparatively short period of its operation over the filthy and clumsy system formerly practised, of 25,170_l._, showing the cost of this system to be ten and a half times greater than the cost of flushing by contract.”

An official Report states: “When the accumulations of years had to be removed from the sewers, the rate of cost per lineal mile has varied from about 40_l._ to 58_l._, or from 6_d._ to 8_d._ per lineal yard. The works in these cases (excepting those in the City) have not exceeded nine lineal miles.”

“On an average of weeks,” says Mr. Lovick, in his Report on flushing operations, a few months after the introduction of the contract system, in Sept., 1848, “under present arrangements, about 62 miles of sewers are passed through each week, and deposit prevented from accumulating in them by periodic (weekly) flushing. The average cost per lineal mile per week is about 2_l._ 10_s._

“The nature of the agreements with the contractors or gangers are now for the prevention of accumulations of deposit in a district. For this purpose the large districts are subdivided, each subdivision being let to one man. In the Westminster district there are four, in the Holborn and Finsbury two, in the Surrey and Kent, seven subdivisions.

“The Tower Hamlets and Poplar districts are each let to one man.

“In the Tower Hamlets it will be perceived that a reduction of 8_l._ has been effected for the performance of precisely the same work as that heretofore performed; the rates of charge standing thus:--

“Under the day-work system 23_l._ per week. „ contract „ 15_l._ „

“In those portions specially contracted for, the work has been let by the lineal measure of the sewer, in preference to the amount of deposit removed.

“In the Surrey and Kent districts the open ditches have been cleansed thrice as often as formerly.

“A large proportion of the deposit removed is from the open ditches; in these the accumulations are rapid and continuous, caused chiefly by their being the receptacles for the ashes and refuse of the houses, the refuse of manufactories, and the sweepings of the roads.

“In the covered sewers one of the chief sources of accumulation is the detritus and mud from the streets, swept into the sewers.

“The accumulations from these sources will not, I think, be over-estimated at two-thirds of the whole amount of deposit removed.

“The contracts in operation, February, 1849, with the districts which they embrace, are as follows:--

“TABLE NO. I.

------------------+--------------+-------------+------------- | | Average Rate| |Sewers let for| of Work | Contract | Prevention of| performed in| Charge Districts. | Accumulations|Sewers passed| per | of Deposit. | through each| Week. | | Week. | ------------------+--------------+-------------+------------- | Lineal Feet. | Lineal Feet.| £ _s._ _d._ Westminster | 485,795 | 150,615 | 40 0 0 Holborn & Finsbury| 355,085 | 118,000 | 23 0 0 Tower Hamlets | 223,738 | 30,000 | 15 0 0 Surrey and Kent | 440,642 | 40,000 | 75 0 0 Poplar | 26,000 | 2,000 | 6 16 0 ------------------+--------------+-------------+------------- | 1,531,260 | 340,615 |159 16 0 ------------------+--------------+-------------+ Westminster--Attendance on Flaps, &c. 4 0 0 -------------- £163 16 0 -------------------------------------------------------------

“The weekly cost prior to the contract system was in the several districts as follows:--

“TABLE NO. II.

-------------------------------+------------- | £ _s._ _d._ In the Westminster District | 78 10 0 „ Holborn and Finsbury do.| 24 17 0 „ Tower Hamlets do. | 23 0 0 „ Surrey and Kent do. | 56 8 0 „ Poplar do. | 6 13 0 +------------- |189 8 0 -------------------------------+-------------

Hence there would appear to have been a saving of 25_l._ 12_s._ effected. But by what means was this brought about? It is the old story, I regret to say--a reduction of the wages of the labouring men. But this, indeed, is the invariable effect of the contract system. The wages of the flushermen previous to Sept., 1848, were 24_s._ to 27_s._ a week; under the present system they are 21_s._ to 22_s._ Here is a reduction of 4_s._ per week per man, at the least; and as there were about 150 hands employed at this period, it follows that the gross weekly saving must have been equal to 30_l._, so that, according to the above account, there would have been about 5_l._ left for the contractors or middlemen. It is unworthy of _gentlemen_ to make a parade of economy obtained by such ignoble means.

The engineers, however, speak of flushing as what is popularly understood as but “a make-shift”--as a system imperfect in itself, but advantageously resorted to because obviating the evils of a worse system still.

“With respect to these operations,” says Mr. Lovick, in a Report on the subject, in February, 1849, “I may be permitted to state that, although I do not approve of the flushing as an ultimate system, or as a system to be adopted in the future permanent works of sewerage, or that its use should be contemplated with regulated sizes of sewers, regulated supplies of water, and proper falls, it appears to be the most efficacious and economical for the purpose to which it is adapted of any yet introduced.”

A gentleman who was at one time connected professionally with the management of the public sewerage, said to me,--

“Mr. John Roe commenced the general system of flushing sewers in London in 1847. It is, however, but a clumsy expedient, and quite incompatible with a perfect system of sewerage. It has, nevertheless, been usefully applied as an auxiliary to the existing system, though the cost is frightful.”

OF THE WORKING FLUSHERMEN.

When the system of sewer cleansing first became general, as I have detailed, the number of flushermen employed, I am assured, on good authority, was about 500. The sewers were, when this process was first resorted to, full of deposit, often what might be called “coagulated” deposit, which could not be affected except by constantly repeated efforts. There are now only about 100 flushermen, for the more regularly flushing is repeated, the easier becomes the operation.

Until about 18 months ago, the flushermen were employed directly by the Court of Sewers, and were paid (“in Mr. Roe’s time,” one man said, with a sigh) from 24_s._ to 27_s._ a week; now the work is _all done by contract_. There are some six or seven contractors, all builders, who undertake or are responsible for the whole work of flushing in the metropolitan districts (I do not speak of the City), and they pay the working flushermen 21_s._ a week, and the gangers 22_s._ This wage is always paid in money, without drawbacks, and without the intervention of any other middleman than the contractor middleman. The flushermen have no perquisites except what they may chance to find in a sewer. Their time of labour is 6-1/2 hours daily.

The state of the tide, however, sometimes, as a matter of course, compels the flushermen to work at every hour of the day and night. At all times they carry lights, common oil lamps, with cotton wicks; only the inspectors carry Davy’s safety-lamp. I met no man who could assign any reason for this distinction, except that “the Davy” gave “such a bad light.”

The flushermen wear, when at work, strong blue overcoats, waterproofed (but not so much as used to be the case, the men then complaining of the perspiration induced by them), buttoned close over the chest, and descending almost to the knees, where it is met by huge leather boots, covering a part of the thigh, such as are worn by the fishermen on many of our coasts. Their hats are fan-tailed, like the dustmen’s. The flushermen are well-conducted men generally, and, for the most part, fine stalwart good-looking specimens of the English labourer; were they not known or believed to be temperate, they would not be employed. They have, as a body, no benefit or sick clubs, but a third of them, I was told, or perhaps nearly a third, were members of general benefit societies. I found several intelligent men among them. They are engaged by the contractors, upon whom they call to solicit work.

“Since Mr. Roe’s time,” and Mr. Roe is evidently the popular man among the flushermen, or somewhat less than four years ago, the flushermen have had to provide their own dresses, and even their own shovels to stir up the deposit. To contractors, the comforts or health of the labouring men must necessarily be a secondary consideration to the realization of a profit. New men can always be found; safe investments cannot.

The wages of the flushermen therefore have been not only decreased, but their expenses increased. A pair of flushing-boots, covering a part of the thigh, similar to those worn by sea-side fishermen, costs 30_s._ as a low price, and a flusherman wears out three pairs in two years. Boot stockings cost 2_s._ 6_d._ The jacket worn by the men at their work in the sewers, in the shape of a pilot-jacket, but fitting less loosely, is 7_s._ 6_d._; a blue smock, of coarse common cloth (generally), worn over the dress, costs 2_s._ 6_d._; a shovel is 2_s._ 6_d._ “Ay, sir,” said one man, who was greatly dissatisfied with this change, “they’ll make soldiers find their own regimentals next; and, may be, their own guns, a’cause they can always get rucks of men for soldiers or labourers. I know there’s plenty would work for less than we get, but what of that? There always is. There’s hundreds would do the work for half what the surveyors and inspectors gets; but it’s all right among the nobs.”

Nor is the labour of the flushermen at all times so easy or of such circumscribed hours as I have stated it to be in the regular way of flushing. When small branch-sewers have to be flushed, the deposit must first be loosened, or the water, instead of sweeping it away, would flow over it, and in many of these sewers (most frequent in the Tower Hamlets) the height is not more than 3 feet. Some of the flushermen are tall, bulky, strong fellows, and cannot stand upright in less than from 5 feet 8 inches to 6 feet, and in loosening the deposit in low narrow sewers, “we go to work,” said one of them, “on our bellies, like frogs, with a rake between our legs. I’ve been blinded by steam in such sewers near Whitechapel Church from the brewhouses; I couldn’t see for steam; it was a regular London fog. You must get out again into a main sewer on your belly; that’s what makes it harder about the togs, they get worn so.”

The division of labour among the flushermen appears to be as follows:--

The _Inspector_, whose duty it is to go round the several sewers and see which require to be flushed.

The _Ganger_, or head of the working gang, who receives his orders from the inspector, and directs the men accordingly.

The _Lock-keeper_, or man who goes round to the sewers which are about to be flushed, and fixes the “penstocks” for retaining the water.

The _Gang_, which consists of from three to four men, who loosen the deposit from the bottom of the sewer. Among these there is generally a “for’ard man,” whose duty it is to remove the penstocks.

The ganger gets 1_s._ a week over and above the wages of the men.

TABLE SHOWING THE DISTRICTS UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF THE COMMISSIONERS OF SEWERS; ALSO THE NUMBER AND SALARIES OF THE CLERKS OF THE WORKS, ASSISTANT CLERKS OF THE WORKS, AND INSPECTORS OF FLUSHING, PAID BY THE COMMISSIONERS, AND THE NUMBER AND WAGES PAID TO THE FLUSHERMEN BY THE GENERAL CONTRACTORS.

--------------------+------------------------------------------------------ | Paid by the Commissioners of Sewers. +----------------------+----------+----------+--------- | | Assist. |Inspectors| Flap & | |Clerks of | Clerks of | of | Sluice | DISTRICTS. |Works. | Works[71].|Flushings.| Keepers. | | | | | |Aggregate --------------------+---+------+---+-------+---+------+---+------+ Total. | |Annual| | | |Annual| |Yearly| | |Salary| |Rate of| |Salary| |Wages | |No.|of the|No.| Annual|No.|of the|No.|of the| | |whole.| |Salary.| |whole.| |whole.| --------------------+---+------+---+-------+---+-----------------+--------- | | £ | | £ | | £ | | £ | £ Fulham and | | | | | | | | | Hammersmith.-- | | | | | | | | | Counter’s | | | | | | | | | Creek and | | | | | | | | | Ranelagh | | | | | | | | | Districts | 3| 450 | 4| 400 | 1| 120 | ..| .. | 970 Westminster | | | | | | | | | Sewers.-- | | | | | | | | | Western Division, | | | | | | | | | Eastern Division, | | | | | | | | | Regent-street | | | | | | | | | District, | | | | | | | | | Holborn Division | 4| 600 | 3| 300 | 1| 80 | 6| 390 | 1370 Finsbury Division.--| | | | | | | | | Tower Hamlets | | | | | | | | | Levels, and | | | | | | | | | Poplar and | | | | | | | | | Blackwall | | | | | | | | | Districts | 3| 450 | 2| 200 | 3| 280 | 1| 70 | 1000 Districts south of | | | | | | | | | the Thames | 3| 450 | 6| 600 | 4| 320 | 12| 374 | 1744 --------------------+---+------+---|-------+---+------+---+------+--------- Total | 13| 1950 | 15| 1500 | 9| 800 | 19| 834 | 5084 CITY | ..| .. | ..| .. | 1| 80 | 3| 148 | 228 --------------------+---+------+---+-------+---+------+---+------+---------

--------------------+--------------------------------- | Paid by Contractors. +-----------+-----------+--------- | Gangers. | Flushers. | DISTRICTS. +---+-------+---+-------+ | | Weekly| | Weekly|Aggregate |No.|Wage of|No.|Wage of|Total. | | each. | | each. | --------------------+---+-------+---+-------+--------- | | _s._ | | | £ _s._ Fulham and | | | | | Hammersmith.-- | | | | | Counter’s | | | | | Creek and | | | | | Ranelagh | | | | | Districts | 2| 22 | 13| 21 | 824 4 Westminster | | | | | Sewers.-- | | | | | Western Division, | | | | | Eastern Division, | | | | | Regent-street | | | | | District, | | | | | Holborn Division | 3| 22 | 30| 21 |1809 12 Finsbury Division.--| | | | | Tower Hamlets | | | | | Levels, and | | | | | Poplar and | | | | | Blackwall | | | | | Districts | 3| 22 | 27| 21 |1645 16 Districts south of | | | | | the Thames | 2| 22 | 22| 21 |1315 12 --------------------+---+-------+---|-------+--------- Total | 10| .. | 92| .. |5595 4 CITY | 1| 22 | 9| 21 | 548 12 --------------------+---+-------+---+-------+---------

Total cost of flushing the sewers £12,000 per annum.

⁂ The above division of districts is the one adopted by the Commissioners of Sewers, but the districts of the Flushermen are more numerous than those above given, being as follows:--

Ganger. Flushermen. Fulham and Hammersmith employing 1 and 6 } Counter’s Creek and Ranelagh }1st District of Districts. „ 1 „ 7 } Commissioners.

Westminster (Western Division) „ 1 „ 10 } Ditto (Eastern Division) „ 1 „ 12 }2nd District of Holborn Division „ 1 „ 8 } Commissioners.

Finsbury Division „ 1 „ 9 } Tower Hamlets Levels „ 1 „ 10 }3rd District of Poplar and Blackwall „ 1 „ 8 } Commissioners.

Districts south of the Thames „ 2 „ 22 4th District of Commissioners.

City „ 1 „ 9

Holborn and Finsbury districts are under one contractor, and so are the two divisions of Westminster. The same men who flush Holborn flush the Finsbury district also, 17 being the average number employed; but the Finsbury district requires rather more men than the Holborn; and the same men who work on the western division of Westminster flush also the eastern, the number of flushers in the western district being more, on account of its being the larger division.

The inspector receives 80_l._ per annum.

The table on p. 429 shows the number of clerks of the works, inspectors of flushing, flap and sluice keepers, gangers, and flushermen employed in the several districts throughout the metropolis, as well as the salaries and wages of each and the whole.

None of the flushermen can be said to have been “brought up to the business,” for boys are never employed in the sewers. Neither had the labourers been confined in their youth to any branch of trade in particular, which would appear to be consonant to such employment. There are now among the flushermen men who have been accustomed to “all sorts of ground work:” tailors, pot-boys, painters, one jeweller (some time ago there was also one gentleman), and shoemakers. “You see, sir,” said one informant, “many of such like mechanics can’t live above ground, so they tries to get their bread underneath it. There used to be a great many pensioners flushermen, which weren’t right,” said one man, “when so many honest working men haven’t a penny, and don’t know which way to turn theirselves; but pensioners have often good friends and good interest. I don’t hear any complaints that way now.”

Among the flushermen are some ten or twelve men who have been engaged in sewer-work of one kind or another between 20 and 30 years. The cholera, I heard from several quarters, did not (in 1848) attack any of the flushermen. The answer to an inquiry on the subject generally was, “Not one that I know of.”

“It is a somewhat singular circumstance,” says Mr. Haywood, the City Surveyor, in his Report, dated February, 1850, “_that none of the men employed in the City sewers in flushing and cleansing, have been attacked with, or have died of, cholera during the past year; this was also the case in 1832-3_. I do not state this to prove that the atmosphere of the sewers is not unhealthy--I by no means believe an impure atmosphere is healthy--but I state the naked fact, as it appears to me a somewhat singular circumstance, and leave it to pathologists to argue upon.”

“I don’t think flushing work disagrees with my husband,” said a flusherman’s wife to me, “for he eats about as much again at that work as he did at the other.” “The smell underground is sometimes very bad,” said the man, “but then we generally take a drop of rum first, and something to eat. It wouldn’t do to go into it on an empty stomach, ’cause it would get into our inside. But in some sewers there’s scarcely any smell at all. _Most of the men are healthy who are engaged in it; and when the cholera was about many used to ask us how it was we escaped._”

* * * * *

The following statement contains the history of an individual flusherman:--

“I was brought up to the sea,” he said, “and served on board a man-of-war, the _Racer_, a 16-gun brig, laying off Cuba, in the West Indies, and there-away, watching the slavers. I served seven years. We were paid off in ’43 at Portsmouth, and a friend got me into the _shores_. It was a great change from the open sea to a close _shore_--great; and I didn’t like it at all at first. But it suits a married man, as I am now, with a family, much better than being a seaman, for a man aboard a ship can hardly do his children justice in their schooling and such like. Well, I didn’t much admire going down the man-hole at first--the ‘man-hole’ is a sort of iron trap-door that you unlock and pull up; it leads to a lot of steps, and so you get into the _shore_--but one soon gets accustomed to anything. I’ve been at flushing and _shore_ work now since ’43, all but eleven weeks, which was before I got engaged.

“We work in gangs from three to five men.” [Here I had an account of the process of flushing, such as I have given.] “I’ve been carried off my feet sometimes in the flush of a _shore_. Why, to-day,” (a very rainy and windy day, Feb. 4,) “it came down Baker-street, when we flushed it, 4 foot plomb. It would have done for a mill-dam. One couldn’t smoke or do anything. Oh, yes, we can have a pipe and a chat now and then in the _shore_. The tobacco checks the smell. No, I can’t say I felt the smell very bad when I first was in a _shore_. I’ve felt it worse since. I’ve been made innocent drunk like in a _shore_ by a drain from a distiller’s. That happened me first in Vine-street _shore_, St. Giles’s, from Mr. Rickett’s distillery. It came into the _shore_ like steam. No, I can’t say it tasted like gin when you breathed it--only intoxicating like. It was the same in Whitechapel from Smith’s distillery. One night I was forced to leave off there, the steam had such an effect. I was falling on my back, when a mate caught me. The breweries have something of the same effect, but nothing like so strong as the distilleries. It comes into the _shore_ from the brewers’ places in steam. I’ve known such a steam followed by bushels of grains; ay, sir, cart-loads washed into the _shore_.

“Well, I never found anything in a _shore_ worth picking up but once a half-crown. That was in the Buckingham Palace sewer. Another time I found 16_s._ 6_d._, and thought that _was_ a haul; but every bit of it, every coin, shillings and sixpences and joeys, was bad--all smashers. Yes, of course it was a disappointment, naturally so. That happened in Brick-lane _shore_, Whitechapel. O, somebody or other had got frightened, I suppose, and had shied the coins down into the drains. I found them just by the chapel there.”

A second man gave me the following account of his experience in flushing:--

“You remember, sir, that great storm on the 1st August, 1848. I was in three _shores_ that fell in--Conduit-street and Foubert’s-passage, Regent-street. There was then a risk of being drowned in the _shores_, but no lives were lost. All the house-drains were blocked about Carnaby-market--that’s the Foubert’s-passage _shore_--and the poor people was what you might call houseless. We got in up to the neck in water in some places, ’cause we had to stoop, and knocked about the rubbish as well as we could, to give a way to the water. The police put up barriers to prevent any carts or carriages going that way along the streets. No, there was no lives lost in the _shores_. One man was so overcome that he was falling off into a sort of sleep in Milford-lane _shore_, but was pulled out. I helped to pull him. He was as heavy as lead with one thing or other--wet, and all that. Another time, six or seven year ago, Whitechapel High-street _shore_ was almost choked with butchers’ offal, and we had a great deal of trouble with it.”

OF THE RATS IN THE SEWERS.

I will now state what I have learned from long-experienced men, as to the characteristics of the rats in the sewers. To arrive even at a conjecture as to the numbers of these creatures--now, as it were, the population of the sewers--I found impossible, for no statistical observations have been made on the subject; but all my informants agreed that the number of the animals had been greatly diminished within these four or five years.

In the better-constructed sewers there are no rats. In the old sewers they abound. The sewer rat is the ordinary house or brown rat, excepting at the outlets near the river, and here the water-rat is seen.

The sewer-rat is the common brown or Hanoverian rat, said by the Jacobites to have come in with the first George, and established itself after the fashion of his royal family; and undoubtedly such was about the era of their appearance. One man, who had worked twelve years in the sewers before flushing was general, told me he had never seen but _two_ black (or old English) rats; another man, of ten years’ experience, had seen but one; others had noted no difference in the rats. I may observe that in my inquiries as to the sale of rats (as a part of the live animals dealt in by a class in the metropolis), I ascertained that in the older granaries, where there were series of floors, there were black as well as brown rats. “Great black fellows,” said one man who managed a Bermondsey granary, “as would frighten a lady into asterisks to see of a sudden.”

The rat is the only animal found in the sewers. I met with no flusherman or other sewer-worker who had ever seen a lizard, toad, or frog there, although the existence of these creatures, in such circumstances, has been presumed. A few live cats find their way into the subterranean channels when a house-drain is being built, or is opened for repairs, or for any purpose, and have been seen by the flushermen, &c., wandering about, looking lost, mewing as if in misery, and avoiding any contact with the sewage. The rats also--for they are not of the water-rat breed--are exceedingly averse to wetting their feet, and “take to the sewage,” as it was worded to me, only in prospect of danger; that is, they then swim across or along the current to escape with their lives. It is said that when a luckless cat has ventured into the sewers, she is sometimes literally worried by the rats. I could not hear of such an attack having been witnessed by any one; but one intelligent and trustworthy man said, that a few years back (he believed about eight years) he had in one week found the skeletons of two cats in a particular part of an old sewer, 21 feet wide, and in the drains opening into it were perfect colonies of rats, raging with hunger, he had no doubt, because a system of trapping, newly resorted to, had prevented their usual ingress into the houses up the drains. A portion of their fur adhered to the two cats, but the flesh had been eaten from their bones. About that time a troop of rats flew at the feet of another of my informants, and would no doubt have maimed him seriously, “but my boots,” said he, “stopped the devils.” “The sewers generally swarms with rats,” said another man. “I runs away from ’em; I don’t like ’em. They in general gets away from us; but in case we comes to a stunt end where there’s a wall and no place for ’em to get away, and we goes to touch ’em, they fly at us. They’re some of ’em as big as good-sized kittens. One of our men caught hold of one the other day by the tail, and he found it trying to release itself, and the tail slipping through his fingers; so he put up his left hand to stop it, and the rat caught hold of his finger, and the man’s got an arm now as big as his thigh.” I heard from several that there had been occasionally battles among the rats, one with another.

“Why, sir,” said one flusherman, “as to the number of rats, it ain’t possible to say. There hasn’t been a census (laughing) taken of them. But I can tell you this--I was one of the first flushermen when flushing came in general--I think it was before Christmas, 1847, under Mr. Roe--and there was cart-loads and cart-loads of drowned rats carried into the Thames. It was in a West Strand _shore_ that I saw the most. I don’t exactly remember which, but I think Northumberland-street. By a block or a hitch of some sort, there was, I should say, just a bushel of drowned rats stopped at the corner of one of the gates, which I swept into the next stream. I see far fewer drowned rats now than before the _shores_ was flushed. They’re not so plenty, that’s one thing. Perhaps, too, they may have got to understand about flushing, they’re that ’cute, and manage to keep out of the way. About Newgate-market was at one time the worst for rats. Men couldn’t venture into the sewers then, on account of the varmint. It’s bad enough still, I hear, but I haven’t worked in the City for a few years.”

The rats, from the best information at my command, do not derive much of their sustenance from the matter in the sewers, or only in particular localities. These localities are the sewers neighbouring a connected series of slaughter-houses, as in Newgate-market, Whitechapel, Clare-market, parts adjoining Smithfield-market, &c. There, animal offal being (and having been to a much greater extent five or six years ago) swept into the drains and sewers, the rats find their food. In the sewers, generally, there is little food for them, and none at all in the best-constructed sewers, where there is a regular and sometimes rapid flow, and little or no deposit.

The sewers are these animals’ breeding grounds. In them the broods are usually safe from the molestation of men, dogs, or cats. These “breeding grounds” are sometimes in the holes (excavated by the industry of the rats into caves) which have been formed in the old sewers by a crumbled brick having fallen out. Their nests, however, are in some parts even more frequent in places where old rotting large house-drains or smaller sewers, empty themselves into a first-class sewer. Here, then, the rats breed, and, in spite of precautions, find their way up the drains or pipes, even through the openings into water-closets, into the houses for their food, and almost always at night. Of this fact, builders, and those best informed, are confident, and it is proved indirectly by what I have stated as to the deficiency of food for a voracious creature in all the sewers except a few. One man, long in the service of the Commissioners of Sewers, and in different capacities, gave me the following account of what may be called a rat settlement. The statement I found confirmed by other working men, and by superior officers under the same employment.

“Why, sir, in the Milford-lane sewer, a goodish bit before you get to the river, or to the Strand--I can’t say how far, a few hundred yards perhaps--I’ve seen, and reported, what was a regular chamber of rats. If a brick didn’t fall out from being rotted, the rats would get it out, and send it among other rubbish into the sewer, for this place was just the corner of a big drain. I couldn’t get into the rat-hole, of course not, but I’ve brought my lamp to the opening, and--as well as others--have seen it plain. It was an open place like a lot of tunnels, one over another. Like a lot of rabbit burrows in the country--as I’ve known to be--or like the partitions in the pigeon-houses: one here and another there. The rat-holes, as far as I could tell, were worked one after another. I should say, in moderation, that it was the size of a small room; well, say about 6 yards by 4. I can’t say about the height from the lowest tunnel to the highest. I don’t see that any one could. Bless you, sir, I’ve sometimes heerd the rats fighting and squeaking there, like a parcel of drunken Irishmen--I have indeed. Some of them were rare big fellows. If you threw the light of your lamp on them sudden, they’d be off like a shot. Well, I should say, there was 100 pair of rats there--there might be more, besides all their young-uns. If a poor cat strayed into that sewer, she dursn’t tackle the rats, not she. There’s lots of such places, sir, here, and there, and everywhere.”

“I believe rats,” says a late enthusiastic writer on the subject, under the cognomen of Uncle James, “to be one of the most fertile causes of national and universal distress, and their attendants, misery and starvation.”

From the author’s inquiries among practical men, and from his own study of the natural history of the rat, he shows that these animals will have six, seven, or eight nests of young in the year, for three or four years together; that they have from twelve to twenty-three at a litter, and breed at three months old; and that there are more female than male rats, by ten to six.

The author seems somewhat of an enthusiast about rats, and as the sewerage is often the head-quarters of these animals--their “breeding-ground” indeed--I extract the following curious matter. He says:--

“Now, I propose to lay down my calculations at something less than one-half. In the first place, I say four litters in the year, beginning and ending with a litter, so making thirteen litters in three years; secondly to have eight young ones at a birth, half male and half female; thirdly, the young ones to have a litter at six months old.

“At this calculation, I will take one pair of rats; and at the expiration of three years what do you suppose will be the amount of living rats? Why no less a number than 646,808.

“Mr. Shaw’s little dog ‘Tiny,’ under six pounds weight, has destroyed 2525 pairs of rats, which, had they been permitted to live, would, at the same calculation and in the same time, have produced 1,633,190,200 living rats!

“And the rats destroyed by Messrs. Shaw and Sabin in one year, amounting to 17,000 pairs, would, had they been permitted to live, have produced, at the above calculation and in the same time, no less a number than 10,995,736,000 living rats!

“Now, let us calculate the amount of human food that these rats would destroy. In the first place, my informants tell me that six rats will consume day by day as much food as a man; secondly, that the thing has been tested, and that the estimate given was, that eight rats would consume more than an ordinary man.

“Now, I--to place the thing beyond the smallest shadow of a doubt--will set down ten rats to eat as much as a man, not a child; nor will I say anything about what rats waste. And what shall we find to be the alarming result? Why, that the first pair of rats, with their three years’ progeny, would consume in the night more food than 64,680 men the year round, and leaving eight rats to spare!”

The author then puts forth the following curious statement:--

“And now for the vermin destroyed by Messrs. Shaw and Sabin--34,000 yearly! Taken at the same calculation, with their three years’ progeny--can you believe it?--they would consume more food than the whole population of the earth? Yes, if Omnipotence would raise up 29,573,600 more people, these rats would consume as much food as them all! You may wonder, but I will prove it to you:--The population of the earth, including men, women, and children, is estimated to be 970,000,000 souls; and the 17,000 rats in three years would produce 10,995,736,000: consequently, at ten rats per man, there would be sufficient rats to eat as much food as all the people on the earth, and leaving 1,295,736,000. So that if the human family were increased to 1,099,573,600, instead of 970,000,000, there would be rats enough to eat the food of them all! Now, sirs, is not this a most appalling thing, to think that there are at the present time in the British Empire thousands--nay, millions--of human beings in a state of utter starvation, while rats are consuming that which would place them and their families in a state of affluence and comfort? I ask this simple question: Has not Parliament, ere now, been summoned upon matters of far less importance to the empire? I think it has.”

The author then advocates the repeal of the “rat-tax,” that is, the tax on what he calls the “true friend of man and remorseless destroyer of rats,” the well-bred terrier dog. “Take the tax off rat-killing dogs” he says, “and give a legality to rat-killing, and let there be in each parish a man who will pay a reward per head for dead rats, which are valuable for manure (as was done in the case of wolves in the old days), and then rats would be extinguished for ever!” Uncle James seems to be a perfect Malthus among rats. The over-population and over-rat theories are about equal in reason.

OF THE CESSPOOLAGE AND NIGHTMEN OF THE METROPOLIS.

I have already shown--it may be necessary to remind the reader--that there are two modes of removing the wet refuse of the metropolis: the one by carrying it off by means of sewers, or, as it is designated, _sewerage_; and the other by depositing it in some neighbouring cesspool, or what is termed _cesspoolage_.

The object of sewerage is “to transport the wet refuse of a town to a river, or some powerfully current stream, by a series of ducts.” By the system of cesspoolage, the wet refuse of the household is collected in an adjacent tank, and when the reservoir is full, the contents are removed to some other part.

The gross quantity of wet refuse annually produced in the metropolis, and which consequently has to be removed by one or other of the above means, is, as we have seen,--liquid, 24,000,000,000 gallons; solid, 100,000 tons; or altogether, by admeasurement, 3,820,000,000 cubic feet.

The quantity of this wet refuse which finds its way into the sewers by street and house-drainage is, according to the experiments of the Commissioners of Sewers (as detailed at p. 388), 10,000,000 cubic feet per day, or 3,650,000,000 cubic feet per annum, so that there remain about 170,000,000 cubic feet to be accounted for. But, as we have before seen, the extent of surface from which the amount of so-called _Metropolitan_ sewage was _removed_ was only 58 square miles, whereas that from which the calculation was made concerning the gross quantity of wet refuse _produced_ throughout the metropolis was 115 square miles, or double the size. The 58 miles measured by the Commissioners, however, was by far the denser moiety of the town, and that in which the houses and streets were as 15 to 1; so that, allowing the remaining 58 miles of the suburban districts to have produced 20 times less sewage than the urban half of the metropolis, the extra yield would have been about 180,500,000 cubic feet. But the greater proportion, if not the whole, of the latter quantity of wet house-refuse would be drained into open ditches, where a considerable amount of evaporation and absorption is continually going on, so that a large allowance must be made for loss by these means. Perhaps, if we estimate the quantity of sewage thus absorbed and evaporated at between 10 and 20 per cent of the whole, we shall not be wide of the truth, so that we shall have to reduce the 182,000,000 cubic feet of suburban sewage to somewhere about 150,000,000 cubic feet.

This gives us the quantity of wet refuse carried off by the sewers (covered and open) of the metropolis, and deducted from the gross quantity of wet house-refuse, annually _produced_ (3,820,000,000 cubic feet), leaves 20,000,000 cubic feet for the gross quantity carried off by other means than the sewers; that is to say, the 20,000,000 cubic feet, if the calculation be right, should be about the quantity deposited every year in the London cesspools. Let us see whether this approximates to anything like the real quantity.

To ascertain the absolute quantity of wet refuse annually conveyed into the metropolitan cesspools, we must first ascertain the number and capacity of the cesspools themselves.

Of the city of London, where the sewer-cesspool details are given with a minuteness highly commendable, as affording statistical data of great value, Mr. Heywood gives us the following returns:--

“HOUSE-DRAINAGE OF THE CITY.

“The total number of premises drained during the year was 310

“The approximate number of premises drained at the expiration of the year 1850 was 10,923

“The total number of premises which may now therefore be said to be drained is 11,233

“And undrained 5,067

“I am induced,” adds Mr. Heywood, “to believe, from the reports of the district inspectors, that a very far larger number of houses are already drained than are herein given. Indeed my impression is, that as many as 3000 might be deducted from the 5067 houses as to the drainage of which you have no information.

“Now, until the inspectors have completed their survey of the whole of the houses within the city,” continues the City surveyor, “precise information cannot be given as to the number of houses yet undrained; such information appears to me very important to obtain speedily, and I beg to recommend that instructions be given to the inspectors to proceed with their survey as rapidly as possible.”

Hence it appears, that out of the 16,299 houses comprised within the boundaries of the City, rather less than one-third are _reported_ to have cesspools. Concerning the number of cesspools without the City, the Board of Health, in a Report on the cholera in 1849, put forward one of its usual _extraordinary_ statements.

“At the last census in 1841,” runs the Report, “there were 270,859 houses in the metropolis. _It is_ KNOWN _that there is scarcely a house without a cesspool under it, and that a large number have two, three, four, and_ MORE _under them_; so that the number of such receptacles in the metropolis may be taken at 300,000. The exposed surface of each cesspool measures on an average 9 feet, and the mean depth of the whole is about 6-1/2 feet; so that each contains 58-1/2 cubic feet of fermenting filth of the most poisonous, noisome, and disgusting nature. The exhaling surface of all the cesspools (300,000 × 9) = 2,700,000 feet, or equal to 62 acres nearly; and the total quantity of foul matter contained within them (300,000 × 58-1/2) = 17,550,000 cubic feet; or equal to one enormous elongated stagnant cesspool 50 feet in width, 6 feet 6 inches in depth, and extending through London from the Broadway at Hammersmith to Bow-bridge, a length of 10 miles.

“This,” say the Metropolitan Sanitary Commissioners, a body of functionaries so intimately connected with the Board, that the one is ever ready to swear to what the other asserts, “there is reason to believe is an _under estimate!_”

Let us now compare this statement, which declares it to be _known_ that there is scarcely a house in London without a cesspool, and that many have two, three, four, and even more under them--let us compare this, I say, with the facts which were elicited by the same functionaries by means of a house-to-house inquiry in three different parishes--a poor, a middle-class, and a rich one--the average rental of each being 22_l._, 119_l._, and 128_l._

RESULTS OF A HOUSE-TO-HOUSE INQUIRY IN THE PARISHES OF ST. GEORGE THE MARTYR, SOUTHWARK, ST. ANNE’S, SOHO, AND ST. JAMES’S, AS TO THE STATE OF THE WORKS OF WATER SUPPLY AND DRAINAGE.

----------------------------------------------+--------------------------- | PARISHES. +----------+-------+-------- CONDITION OF THE HOUSES. | St George| | | the | St. | St. | Martyr, |Anne’s,|James’s. |Southwark.| Soho. | ----------------------------------------------+----------+-------+-------- From which replies have been | | | received (Number) | 5,713 | 1,339 | 2,960 | | | _With supply of Water_-- | | | To the house or premises (Per cent)| 80·97 | 95·56 | 96·48 Near the privy „ | 48·87 | 38·99 | 43·42 Butts or cisterns, covered (Number) | 1,879 | 776 | 1,621 „ „ uncovered „ | 2,074 | 294 | 393 With a sink (Per cent)| 48·31 | 89·29 | 86·70 | | | _With a Well_-- | | | On or near premises „ | 5·32 | 13·97 | 13·85 Well tainted or foul „ | 46·92 | 3·71 | 7·36 Houses damp in lower parts „ | 52·13 | 30·90 | 26·67 Houses with stagnant water on | | | premises „ | 18·54 | 7·95 | 2·95 Houses flooded in times of storm „ | 18·15 | 5·04 | 4·05 | | | _Houses with Drain_-- | | | To premises „ | 87·56 | 97·12 | 96·42 Houses with drains emitting | | | offensive smells „ | 45·11 | 37·62 | 21·41 Houses with drains stopped at times „ | 22·37 | 28·50 | 13·97 Houses with dust-bin „ | 42·69 | 92·34 | 89·80 Houses receiving offensive smells from | | | adjoining premises „ | 27·82 | 22·54 | 16·74 Houses with privy „ | 97·03 | 70·63 | 62·53 _Houses with cesspool_ „ | 82·12 | 47·27 | 36·62 Houses with water-closet „ | 10·06 | 45·99 | 65·86 ----------------------------------------------+----------+-------+--------

In this minute and searching investigation there is not only an official guide to an estimation of the number of cesspools in London, but a curious indication of the character of the houses in the respective parishes. In the poorer parish of St. George the Martyr, Southwark, the cesspools were to every 100 houses as 82·12; in the aristocratic parish of St. James, Westminster, as only 36·62; while in what may be represented, perhaps, as the middle-class parish of St. Anne, Soho, the cesspools were 47·27 per cent. The number of wells on or near the premises, and the proportion of those tainted; the ratio of the dampness of the lower parts of the houses, of the stagnant water on the premises, and of the flooding of the houses on occasions of storms, are all significant indications of the difference in the circumstances of the inhabitants of these parishes--of the difference between the abodes of the rich and the poor, the capitalists and the labouring classes. But more significant still, perhaps, of the domestic wants or comforts of these dwellings, is the proportion of water-closets to the houses in the poor parish and the rich; in the one they were but 10·06 per cent; in the other 65·86 per cent.

These returns are sufficient to show the extravagance of the Board’s previous statement, that there is “scarcely a house in London without a cesspool under it,” while “a large number have two, three, four, and more,” for we find that even in the poorer parishes there are only 82 cesspools to 100 houses. Moreover, the engineers, after an official examination and inquiry, reported that in the “fever-nest, known as Jacob’s-island, Bermondsey,” there were 1317 dwelling-houses and 648 cesspools, or not quite 50 cesspools to 100 houses.

In rich, middle-class, and poor parishes, the proportion of cesspools, then, it appears from the _inquiries_ of the Board of Health (their _guesses_ are of no earthly value), gives us an average of something between 50 or 60 cesspools to every 100 houses. A subordinate officer whom I saw, and who was engaged in the cleansing and the filling-up of cesspools when condemned, or when the houses are to be drained anew into the sewers and the cesspools abolished, thought from his own experience, the number of cesspools to be less than one-half, but others thought it more.

On the other hand, a nightman told me he was confident that every two houses in three throughout London had cesspools; in the City, however, we perceive that there is, at the utmost, only one house in every three undrained. It will, therefore, be safest to adopt a middle course, and assume 50 per cent of the houses of the metropolis to be still without drainage into the sewers.

Now the number of houses being 300,000, it follows that the number of cesspools within the area of the metropolis are about 150,000; consequently the next step in the investigation is to ascertain the average capacity of each, and so arrive at the gross quantity of wet house-refuse annually deposited in cesspools throughout London.

The average size of the cesspools throughout the metropolis is said, by the Board of Health, to be 9 feet by 6-1/2, which gives a capacity of 58-1/2 cubic feet, and this for 150,000 houses = 8,775,000 cubic feet. But according to all accounts these cesspools require on an average two years to fill, so that the gross quantity of wet refuse annually deposited in such places can be taken at only half the above quantity, viz. in round numbers, 4,500,000 cubic feet. This by weight, at the rate of 35·9 cubic feet to the ton, gives 125,345 tons. This, however, would appear to be of a piece with the generality of the statistics of the Board of Health, and as wide of the truth as was the statement that there was scarcely a house in London without a cesspool, while many had _three, four, and even more_. But I am credibly informed that the average size of a cesspool is rather more than 5 feet square and 6-1/2 deep, so that the ordinary capacity would be 5-3/4 × 5-1/4 × 6-1/2 = 197 cubic feet, and this multiplied by 150,000 gives an aggregate capacity of 29,550,000 cubit feet. But as the cesspools, according to all accounts, become full only once in two years, it follows that the gross quantity of cesspoolage annually deposited throughout the metropolis must be only one-half that quantity, or about 14,775,000 cubic feet.

The calculation may be made another way, viz. by the experience of the nightmen and the sewer-cesspoolmen as to the average quantity of refuse removed from the London cesspools whenever emptied, as well as the average number emptied yearly.

The contents of a cesspool are never estimated for any purpose of sale or labour by the weight, but always, as regards the nightmen’s work, by the load. Each night-cart load of soil is considered, on an average, a ton in weight, so that the nightmen readily estimate the number of tons by the number of cart-loads obtained. The men employed in the cleansing of the cesspools by the new system of pumping agree with the nightmen as to the average contents of a cesspool.

As a general rule, a cesspool is filled every two years, and holds, when full, about five tons. One man, who had been upwards of 30 years in the nightman’s business, who had worked at it more or less all that time himself, and who is now foreman to a parish contractor and master-nightman in a large way, spoke positively on the subject. The cesspools, he declared, were emptied, as an average, by nightmen, once in two years, and their average contents were five loads of night-soil, it having been always understood in the trade that a night-cartload was about a ton.[72] The total of the cesspool matter is not affected by the frequency or paucity of the cleansing away of the filth, for if one cesspool be emptied yearly, another is emptied every second, third, fourth, or fifth year, and, according to the size, the fair average is five tons of cesspoolage emptied from each every other year. One master-nightman had emptied as much as fourteen tons of night-soil from a cesspool or soil-tank, and a contractor’s man had once emptied as many as eighteen tons, but both agreed as to the average of five tons every two years from all. Neither knew the period of the accumulation of the fourteen or the eighteen tons, but supposed to be about five or six years.

According to this mode of estimate, the quantity of wet house-refuse deposited in cesspools would be equal to 150,000 × 5, or 750,000 tons every two years. This, by admeasurement, at the rate of 35·9 cubic feet to the ton, gives 26,925,000 cubic feet; and as this is the accumulation of two years, it follows that 13,462,500 cubic feet is the quantity of cesspoolage deposited yearly.

There is still another mode of checking this estimate.

I have already given (see p. 385, _ante_) the average production of each individual to the wet refuse of the metropolis. According to the experiments of Boussingault, confirmed by Liebig, this, as I have stated, amounted to 1/4 lb. of solid and 1-1/4 lb. of liquid excrement from each individual per diem (= 150 lbs. for every 100 persons), while, including the wet refuse from culinary operations, the average yield, according to the surveyor of the Commissioners of Sewers, was equal to about 250 lbs. for every 100 individuals daily. I may add that this calculation was made officially, with engineering minuteness, with a view to ascertain what quantity of water, and what inclination in its flow, would be required for the effective working of a system of drainage to supersede the cesspools.[73] Now the census of 1841 shows us that the average number of inhabitants to each house throughout the metropolis was 7·6, and this for 150,000 houses would give 1,140,000 people; consequently the gross quantity of wet refuse proceeding from this number of persons, at the rate of 250 lbs. to every 100 people daily, would be 464,400 tons per annum; or, by admeasurement, at the rate of 35·9 cubic feet to the ton, it would be equal to 16,670,950 cubic feet.

A small proportion of this amount of cesspoolage ultimately makes its appearance in the sewers, being pumped into them directly from the cesspools when full by means of a special apparatus, and thus tends not only to swell the bulk of sewage, but to decrease in a like proportion the aggregate quantity of wet house-refuse, which is removed by cartage; but though the proportion of cesspoolage which finally appears as sewage is daily increasing, still it is but trifling compared with the quantity removed by cartage.

Here, then, we have three different estimates as to the gross quantity of the London cesspoolage, each slightly varying from the other two.

The first, drawn from the Cubic Feet. average capacity of the London cesspools, makes the gross annual amount of cesspoolage 14,775,000

The second, deduced from the average quantity removed from each cesspool 13,462,500

And the third, calculated from the individual production of wet refuse 16,670,950

The mean of these three results is, in round numbers, 15,000,000 cubic feet, so that the statement would stand thus:--

The quantity of wet house-refuse annually carried off by sewers (chiefly covered) from the urban moiety of the metropolis is (in cubic feet) 3,650,000,000

The quantity annually carried off by sewers (principally open) from the suburban moiety of the metropolis 150,000,000 ------------- The total amount of wet house-refuse annually carried off by the sewers of the metropolis 3,800,000,000

The gross amount of wet house-refuse annually deposited in cesspools throughout the metropolis 15,000,000 ------------- The total amount of sewage and cesspoolage of the metropolis 3,815,000,000

Thus we perceive that the total quantity of wet house-refuse annually _removed_, corresponds so closely with the gross quantity of wet house-refuse annually _produced_, that we may briefly conclude the gross sewage of London to be equal to 3,800,000,000 cubic feet, and the gross cesspoolage to be equal to 15,000,000 cubic feet.

The accuracy of the above conclusion may be tested by another process; for, unless the Board of Health’s conjectural mode of getting at _facts_ be adopted, it is absolutely necessary that statistics not only upon this, but indeed any subject, be checked by all the different modes there may be of arriving at the same conclusion. False facts are worse than no facts at all.

The number of nightmen may be summed up as follows:--

Masters 521 Labourers 200,000

The number of cesspools emptied during the past year by these men may be estimated at 50,692; and the quantity of soil removed, 253,460 loads, or tons, and this at the rate of 35·9 cubic ft. to the ton gives a total of 6,099,214 cubic ft.

It might, perhaps, be expected, that from the quantity of fæcal refuse proceeding from the inhabitants of the metropolis, a greater quantity would be found in the existent cesspools; but there are many reasons for the contrary.

One prime cause of the dispersion of cesspoolage is, that a considerable quantity of the night-soil does not find its way into the cesspools at all, but is, when the inhabitants have no privies to their dwellings, thrown into streets, and courts, and waste places.

I cannot show this better than by a few extracts from Dr. Hector Gavin’s work, published in 1848, entitled, “Sanitary Ramblings; being Sketches and Illustrations of Bethnal Green, &c.”

“_Digby-walk, Globe-road._--Part of this place is private property, and the landlord of the new houses has built a cesspool, into which to drain his houses, but he will not permit the other houses to drain into this cesspool, unless the parish pay to him 1_l._, a sum which it will not pay.” Of course the inhabitants throw their garbage and filth into the street or the by-places.

“_Whisker’s-gardens._--This is a very extensive piece of ground, which is laid out in neat plots, as gardens. The choicest flowers are frequently raised here, and great taste and considerable refinement are evidently possessed by those who cultivate them. Now, among the cultivators are the poor, even the very poor, of Bethnal-green.... Attached to all these little plots of ground are summer-houses. In the generality of cases they are mere wooden sheds, cabins, or huts. It is very greatly to be regretted that the proprietors of these gardens should permit the slight and fragile sheds in them to be converted into abodes for human beings.... Sometimes they are divided into rooms; they are planted on the damp undrained ground. The privies are sheds erected over holes in the ground; the _soil itself_ is removed from these holes and is _dug into the ground_ to promote its fertility.

“_Three Colt-lane._--A deep ditch has been dug on either side of the Eastern Counties Railway by the Company. These ditches were dug by the Company to prevent the foundations of the arches being endangered, and are in no way to be considered as having been dug to promote the health of the neighbourhood. The double privies attached to the new houses (22 in number) are immediately contiguous to this ditch, and are constructed so that the night-soil shall drain into it. For this purpose the cesspools are small, and the bottoms are above the level of the ditch.”

It would be easy to multiply such proofs of night-soil not finding its way into the cesspools, but the subject need not be further pursued, important as in many respects it may be. I need but say, that in the several reports of the Board of Health are similar accounts of other localities. The same deficiency of cesspoolage is found in Paris, and from the same cause.

What may be the quantity of night-soil which becomes part of the contents of the street scavenger’s instead of the nightman’s cart, no steps have been taken, or perhaps can be taken, by the public sanitary bodies to ascertain. Many of the worst of the nuisances (such as that in Digby-street) have been abolished, but they are still too characteristic of the very poor districts. The fault, however, appears to be with the owners of property, and it is seldom _they_ are coerced into doing their duty. The doubt of its “paying” a capitalist landlord to improve the unwholesome dwellings of the poor seems to be regarded as a far more sacred right, than the right of the people to be delivered from the foul air and vile stenches to which their poverty may condemn them.

There is, moreover, the great but unascertained waste from cesspool evaporation, and it must be recollected that of the 2-1/2 lbs. of cesspool refuse, calculated as the daily produce of each individual, 2-1/4 lbs. are liquid.

The gross cesspoolage of Paris should amount to upwards of 600,000 cubic mètres, or more than 21,000,000 cubic feet, at the estimate of three pints daily per head. The quantity actually collected, however, amounts to only 230,000 cubic mètres, or rather more than 8,000,000 cubic feet, which is 13,000,000 cubic feet less than the amount produced.

In London, the cesspoolage of 150,000 _undrained_ houses should, at the rate of 2-1/2 lbs. to each individual and 15 inhabitants to every two houses, amount to 16,500,000 cubic feet, or about 460,000 loads, whereas the quantity collected amounts to but little more than 250,000 loads, or about 9,000,000 cubic feet. Hence, the deficiency is 210,000 loads, or 7,500,000 cubic feet, which is nearly half of the entire quantity.

In Paris, then, it would appear that only 38 per cent of the refuse which is not removed by sewers is collected in the cesspools, whereas in London about 54-1/2 per cent is so collected. The remainder in both cases is part deposited in by-places and removed by the scavenger’s cart, part lost in evaporation, whereas a large proportion of the deficiency arises from a less quantity of water than the amount stated being used by the very poor.

We have now to see the means by which this 15,000,000 cubic feet of cesspoolage is annually removed, as well as to ascertain the condition and incomes of the labourers engaged in the removal of it.

OF THE CESSPOOL SYSTEM OF LONDON.

A cesspool, or some equivalent contrivance, has long existed in connexion with the structure of the better class of houses in the metropolis, and there seems every reason to believe--though I am assured, on good authority, that there is no public or official record of the matter known to exist--that their use became more and more general, as in the case of the sewers, after the rebuilding of the City, consequent upon the great fire of 1666.

The older cesspools were of two kinds--“soil-tanks” and “bog-holes.”

“Soil-tanks” were the filth receptacles of the larger houses, and sometimes works of solid masonry; they were almost every size and depth, but always perhaps much deeper than the modern cesspools, which present an average depth of 6 feet to 6-1/2 feet.

The “bog-hole” was, and is, a cavity dug into the earth, having less masonry than the soil-tank, and sometimes no masonry at all, being in like manner the receptacle for the wet refuse from the house.

The difference between these old contrivances and the present mode is principally in the following respect: the soil-tank or bog-hole formed a receptacle immediately under the privy (the floor of which has usually to be removed for purposes of cleansing), whereas the refuse is now more frequently carried into the modern cesspool by a system of drainage. Sometimes the soil-tank was, when the nature of the situation of the premises permitted, in some outer place, such as an obscure part of the garden or court-yard; and perhaps two or more bog-holes were drained into it, while often enough, by means of a grate or a trap-door, any kind of refuse to be got rid of was thrown into it.

I am informed that the average contents of a bog-hole (such as now exist) are a cubic yard of matter; some are round, some oblong, for there is, or was, great variation.

Of the few remaining soil-tanks the varying sizes prevent any average being computable.

What the old system of cesspoolage _was_ may be judged from the fact, that until somewhere about 1830 no cesspool matter could, without an indictable offence being committed, be drained into a sewer! _Now_, no new house can be erected, but it is an indictable offence if the cesspool (or rather water-closet) matter be drained anywhere else than into the sewer! The law, at the period specified, required most strangely, so that “the drains and sewers might not be choked,” that cesspools should “be not only periodically emptied, but _made_ by nightmen.”

The principal means of effecting the change from cesspoolage to sewerage was the introduction of Bramah’s water-closets, patented in 1808, but not brought into general use for some twenty years or more after that date. The houses of the rich, owing to the refuse being drained away from the premises, improved both in wholesomeness and agreeableness, and so the law was relaxed.

There are two kinds of cesspools, viz. _public_ and _private_.

The _public cesspools_ are those situated in courts, alleys, and places, which, though often packed thickly with inhabitants, are not horse-thoroughfares, or thoroughfares at all; and in such places one, two, or more cesspools receive the refuse from all the houses. I do not know that any official account of public cesspools has been published as to their number, character, &c., but their number is insignificant when compared with those connected with private houses. The public cesspools are cleansed, and, where possible, filled up by order of the Commissioners of Sewers, the cost being then defrayed out of the rate.

The _private cesspools_ are cleansed at the expense of the occupiers of the houses.

OF THE CESSPOOL AND SEWER SYSTEM OF PARIS.

As the Court of Sewers have recently adopted some of the French regulations concerning cesspoolage, I will now give an account of the cesspool system of France.

When after the ravages of the epidemic cholera of 1848-9, sanitary commissioners under the authority of the legislature pursued their inquiries, it was deemed essential to report upon the cesspool system of Paris, as that capital had also been ravaged by the epidemic. The task was entrusted to Mr. T. W. Rammell, C.E.

Even in what the French delight to designate--and in some respects justly--the most refined city in the world, a filthy and indolent custom, once common, as I have shown, in England, still prevails. In Paris, the kitchen and _dry_ house-refuse (and formerly it was the fæcal refuse also) is deposited in the dark of the night in the streets, and removed, as soon as the morning light permits, by the public scavengers. But the refuse is not removed unexamined before being thrown into the cart of the proper functionary. There is in Paris a large and peculiar class, the chiffonniers (literally, in Anglo-Saxon rendering, the _raggers_, or rag-finders). These men nightly traverse the streets, each provided with a lantern, and generally with a basket strapped to the back; the poorer sort, however--for poverty, like rank, has its gradations--make a bag answer the purpose; they have also a pole with an iron hook to its end; and a small shovel. The dirt-heaps or mounds of dry house-refuse are carefully turned over by these men; for their morrow’s bread, as in the case of our own street-finders, depends upon _something_ saleable being acquired. Their prizes are bones (which sometimes they are seen to gnaw); bits of bread; wasted potatoes; broken pots, bottles, and glass; old pans and odd pieces of old metal; cigar-ends; waste-paper, and rags. Although these people are known as rag-pickers, rags are, perhaps, the very thing of which they pick the least, because the Parisians are least apt to throw them away. In some of the criminal trials in the French capital, the chiffonniers have given evidence (but not much of late) of what they have found in a certain locality, and supplied a link, sometimes an important one, to the evidence against a criminal. With these refuse heaps is still sometimes mixed matter which should have found its way into the cesspools, although this is an offence punishable, and occasionally punished.

Before the habits of the Parisians are too freely condemned, let it be borne in mind that the houses of the French capital are much larger than in London, and that each floor is often the dwelling-place of a family. Such is generally the case in London in the poorer districts, but in Paris it pervades almost all districts. There, some of the houses contain 70, not fugitive but permanent, inmates. The average number of inhabitants to each house, according to the last census, was upwards of _twenty-four_ (in London the average is 7·6), the extremes being eleven to each house in St. Giles’s and between five and six in the immediate suburbs (see p. 165, _ante_). Persons who are circumstanced then, as are the Parisians, can hardly have at their command the proper means and appliances for a sufficient cleanliness, and for the promotion of what we consider--but the two words are unknown to the French language--the _comforts_ of a _home_.

“The greater portion of the liquid refuse,” writes Mr. Rammell, “including water, which has been used in culinary or cleansing processes, is got rid of by means of open channels laid across the court-yards and the foot pavements to the street gutters, along which it flows until it falls through the nearest gully into the sewers, and ultimately into the Seine. If produced in the upper part of a house, this description of refuse is first poured into an external shoot branching out of the rainwater pipe, with one of which every floor is usually provided. Iron pipes have been lately much introduced in place of the open channels across the foot pavements; these are laid level with the surface, and are cast with an open slit, about one inch in width, at the top, to afford facility for cleansing. During the busy parts of the day there are constant streams of such fluids running through most of the streets of Paris, the smell arising from which is by no means agreeable. In hot weather it is the practice to turn on the public stand pipes for an hour or two, to dilute the matter and accelerate its flow.”

“With respect to fæcal refuse,” says Mr. Rammell, “and much of the house-slops, particularly those of bed-chambers, the _cesspool_ is universally adopted in Paris as the immediate receptacle.”

By far the greater proportion of the wet house-refuse of Paris, therefore, is deposited in cesspools.

I shall, then, immediately proceed to show the quantity of matter thus collected yearly, as well as the means by which it is removed.

The aggregate _quantity_ of the cesspool matter of Paris has greatly increased in quantity within the present century, though this might have been expected, as well from the increase of population as from the improved construction of cesspools (preventing leakage), and the increased supply of water in the French metropolis.

The following figures show both the aggregate quantity and the increase that has taken place in the cesspoolage of Paris, from 1810 to the present time:--

Cub. Mètres. Cub. Feet. In 1810 the total quantity of refuse matter deposited in the basins at Montfaucon amounted to 50,151 = 1,770,330 In 1811 the quantity was 49,545 = 1,748,938 In 1812 49,235 = 1,737,995 ------ --------- Giving an average for the three years of 49,877 = 1,760,658 The quantity at present conveyed to Montfaucon and Bondy amounts, according to M. Héloin (a very good authority), to from 600 to 700 cubic mètres daily, giving, in round numbers, an annual quantity of 230,000 = 8,119,000

This shows an increase in 36 years of very nearly 400 per cent, but still it constitutes little more than one-half the cesspoolage of London.

The quantity of refuse matter which is daily drawn from the cesspools, Mr. Rammell states--and he had every assistance from the authorities in prosecuting his inquiries--at “between 600 and 700 cubic mètres; (21,180 and 24,710 cubic feet), giving, in round numbers, the annual quantity of 230,000 cubic mètres.

“Dividing this annual quantity at 230,000 cubic mètres (or 8,000,000 cubic feet) by the number of the population of Paris (94,721 individuals, according to the last census), we have 243 litres only as the annual produce from each individual. The daily quantity of matter (including water necessary for cleanliness) passing from each person into the cesspool in the better class of houses is stated to be 1-3/4 litre (3·08 pints), or 638 litres annually. The discrepancy between these two quantities, wide as it is, must be accounted for by the fact of a large proportion of the lower orders in Paris rarely or ever using any privy at all, and by allowing for the small quantity of water made use of in the inferior class of houses. There can be no doubt that this latter quantity of 1-3/4 litre daily is very nearly correct, and not above the average quantity used in houses where a moderate degree of cleanliness is observed. This proportion was ascertained to hold good in the case of some barracks in Paris, where the contents of the cesspools were accurately measured, the total quantity divided by the number of men occupying the barracks, and the quotient by the number of days since the cesspools had been last emptied; the result showing a daily quantity of 1-3/4 litre from each individual.

“The average charge per cubic mètre for extraction and transport of the cesspoolage is nine francs, giving a gross annual charge of 2,070,000 francs (82,800_l._ sterling), which sum, it would appear, is paid every year by the house-proprietors of Paris for the extraction of the matter from their cesspools, and its transport to the Voirie.”

Mr. Rammell says that, were a tubular system of house-drainage, such as has been described under the proper head, adopted in Paris, in lieu of the present mode, it would cost less than one-tenth of the expense now incurred.

The principal place of deposit for the general refuse of Paris has long been at Montfaucon. A French writer, M. Jules Garnier, in a recent work, “A Visit to Montfaucon,” says:--“For more than nine hundred years Montfaucon has been devoted to this purpose. There the citizens of Paris deposited their filth before the walls of the capital extended beyond what is now the central quarter. The distance between Paris and Montfaucon was then more than a mile and a half.” Thus it appears that Montfaucon was devoted to its present purposes, of course in a much more limited degree, as early as the reign of King Charles the Simple.

This deposit of cesspool matter is the property of the commune (as in the city of London it would be said to belong to the “corporation”), and it is farmed out, for terms of nine years, to the highest bidders. The amount received by the commune has greatly increased, as the following returns, which are official, will show:--

A.D. Francs £ 1808 the cesspoolage fetched 97,000, abt. 3,880 1817 „ 75,000, „ 3,000 1834 „ 165,000, „ 7,000 1843 „ 525,000, „ 21,000

It is here that the “_poudrette_,”[74] of which I have spoken elsewhere, is prepared. Besides this branch of commerce, Montfaucon has establishments for the extracting of ammonia from the cesspool matter, and the right of doing so is now farmed out for 80,000 francs a-year (3200_l_).

Montfaucon is on the north side of Paris, and the place of refuse deposit is known as the Voirie. The following account of it, and of the manufacture of poudrette, is curious in many respects:--

“The area, which is about 40 acres in extent, is divided into three irregular compartments:--

“1. The system of basins.

“2. The ground used for spreading and drying the matter.

“3. The place where the matter is heaped up after having been dried.

“The basins, standing for the most part in gradations, one above another, by reason of the slope of the ground, are six in number. The two upper ones, which are upon a level, first receive the soil upon its arrival at the Voirie; the four others are receptacles for the more liquid portion as it gradually flows off from the upper basins.

“There is a great difference in the character of the soil brought; that taken from the upper part of the cesspools, and amounting to a large proportion of the whole, being entirely liquid; while the remainder is more or less solid, according to the depth at which it is taken. The whole, however, during winter or rainy weather, is indiscriminately deposited in the upper basins; but in dry weather, the nearly solid portion is at once thrown upon the drying-ground.”[75]

“The quantity of poudrette sold in 1818 was:--

At the Voirie 50,000 setiers[76] Sent into the departments 20,000 „ ------ Total sale 70,000 „

at prices of 7, 8, and 9 francs the setier.

“This is equal, at the average price of 8 francs, to 22,400_l._ sterling.

“The refuse liquids, as fast as they overflow the basins, or are passed through the chemical works, are conducted into the public sewers, and through them into the Seine, nearly opposite the Jardin des Plantes. _They thus fall into the river at the very commencement of its course through Paris, and pollute its waters before they have reached the various works lower down and near the centre of the city, where they are raised and distributed for household purposes, for the supply of baths, and for the public fountains._

“Rats are found by thousands in the Voirie, and their voracity is such, that I have often known them, during a single night, convert into skeletons the carcasses of twenty horses which had been brought thither the evening before. The bones are burnt to heat the coppers, or to get rid of them.

“Speaking of the disgusting practices at the Voirie, Mr. Gisquet says, ‘I have seen men stark naked, passing entire days in the midst of the basins, seeking for any objects of value they might contain. I have seen others fishing for the rotten fish the market inspectors had caused to be thrown into the basins. Two cartloads of spoilt and stinking mackerel were thrown into the largest of the basins; two hours afterwards all the fish had disappeared.’

“The emanations from the Voirie are, as may well be supposed, most powerfully offensive. To a stranger unaccustomed to the atmosphere surrounding them it would be almost impossible to make the tour of the basins without being more or less affected with a disposition to nausea. Large and numerous bubbles of gas are seen constantly rising from a lake of urine and water, while evaporation of the most foul description is going on from many acres of surrounding ground, upon which the solid matter is spread to dry.”

The late M. Parent du Châtelet, a high authority on this matter, stated (in 1833) that the emanations from the Voirie were insupportable within a circumference of 2000 mètres (about a mile and a quarter, English measure); while the winds carried them sometimes, as was shown when an official inquiry was made as to the ravages and causes of cholera, 2-1/2 miles; and in certain states of the atmosphere, 8 French miles (not quite 5 English miles). The same high authority has also stated, that in addition to the emanations from the cesspool matter at the Voirie the greater part of the carcasses of about 12,000 horses, and between 25,000 and 30,000 smaller animals, were allowed to rot upon the ground there.

To abate this nuisance a new Voirie was, more than 20 years since, formed in the forest of Bondy, 8 miles from Paris. It consists of eight basins, four on each side of the Canal de l’Ourcq, arranged like those at Montfaucon. The area of these basins is little short of 96,000 square yards, and their collective capacity upwards of 261,000 cubic yards. The expectations of the relief that would be experienced from the establishment of the new Voirie in the forest have not been realized. The movable cesspools only have been conveyed there, by boats on the canal, to be emptied; the empty casks being conveyed back by the same boats. The basins are not yet full; for the conveyance by the Canal de l’Ourcq is costly, and in winter its traffic is sometimes suspended by its being frozen. In one year the cost of conveying these movable cesspools to Bondy was little short of 1500_l._

In the latest Report on this subject (1835) the Commissioners, of whom M. Parent du Châtelet was one, recommend that all the cesspool matter at the Voiries should be disinfected. M. Salmon, after a course of chemical experiments (the Report of the Commission states), disinfected and carbonized a mass of mud and filth, containing much organic matter, deposited (from a sewer) on the banks of the Seine.

The Commissioners say, “The discovery of M. Salmon awakened the attention of the contractors of Montfaucon, who employed one of our most skilful chemists to find for them a means of disinfection other than that for which M. Salmon had taken out a patent. M. Sanson and some other persons made similar researches, and from their joint investigations it resulted that disinfection might be equally well produced with turf ashes, with carbonized turf, and with the simple _débris_ of this very abundant substance; and that the same success might be obtained with saw-dust, with the refuse matter of the tan-yards, with garden mould, so abundant in the environs of Paris, and with many other substances. A curious experiment has even shown, that after mixing with a clayey earth a portion of fæcal matter, it was only necessary to carbonize this mixture to obtain a perfect disinfectant powder. Theory had already indicated the result.”

This disinfection, however, has not been carried out in the Voiries, nor in the manufacture of poudrette.

From the account of the general refuse depositories of Paris we pass to the particular receptacles or cesspools of the French capital.

The Parisian cesspools are of two sorts:--

1. Fixed or excavated cesspools.

2. Movable cesspools.

“In early times the _excavated cesspools_ or pits were constructed in the rudest manner, and cleaned out more or less frequently, or utterly neglected, at the discretion of their owners. As the city increased in size, however, and as the permeations necessarily taking place into the soil accumulated in the lapse of centuries, the evil resulting was found to be of grave magnitude, calling for prompt and vigorous interference on the part of the authorities. It appears certain that prior to the year 1819 (when a strict _ordonnance_ was issued on the subject) the cesspools were very carelessly constructed. For the most part they were far from water-tight, and very probably were not intended to be otherwise. Consequently, nearly the whole of the fluid matter within them drained into the springs beneath the substratum, or became absorbed by the surrounding soil. Nor was this the only evil: the basement walls of the houses became saturated with the offensive permeations, and the atmosphere, more particularly in the interior of the dwellings, tainted with their exhalations.

“The _movable cesspools_, for the most part, consist simply of tanks or barrels, which, when full, are removed to some convenient spot for the purpose of their contents being discharged. This form of cesspool, though not leading to that contamination of the substratum which is naturally induced by the fixed or excavated cesspool, may occasion many offensive nuisances from carelessness in overfilling, or in the process of emptying.”

“The movable cesspools are of two kinds; the one,” says Mr. Rammell, “extremely simple and primitive in construction, the other more complicated. The former retains all the refuse, both liquid and solid, passed into it; the latter retains only the solid matter, the liquid being separated by a sort of strainer, and running off into another receptacle.

“The advantage of this separating apparatus is, that those cesspools provided with it require to be emptied less frequently than the others; the solid matter being alone retained in the movable part. The liquid portion is withdrawn from the tank into which it is received by pumping.

“The other kind of movable cesspool consists simply of a wooden cask set on end, and having its top pierced to admit the soil-pipe. It is intended to retain both solid and liquid matter. When full, it is detached, and the aperture in the top having been closed by a tight-fitting lid secured by an iron bar placed across, it is removed, and an empty one immediately substituted for it.

“The movable cesspool last described is much more generally used than the other kind; very few are furnished with the separating apparatus. But the use of either sort, I am told, is not on the increase. The movable cesspools are found, on the whole, to be more expensive than the fixed, besides entailing many inconveniences, one of which is the frequent entrance of workmen upon the premises for the purpose of removing them, which sometimes has to be done every second or third day. Moreover, if the cask becomes in the slightest degree overcharged, there is an overflow of matter.”

Indeed, the movable system of cesspools (it appears from further accounts) seems to be now adopted only in those places where fixed cesspools could not be altered in accordance with the ordonnance, or where it is desired to avoid the first cost of a fixed cesspool.

An ordonnance of 1819 enacts peremptorily that _all_ cesspools, fixed or excavated, then existing, shall be altered in accordance with its provisions upon the first subsequent emptying after the date of the enactment, “or if that be found impracticable, they shall be filled up.” This full delegation of power to a centralised authority was the example prompting our late stringent enactments as to buildings and sewerage.

The French ordonnance provides also that the walls, arches, and bottoms of the cesspools, shall be constructed of a very hard description of stone, known as “pierres meulières” (mill-stone); the mortar used is to be hydraulic lime and clean river sand. Each arch is to be 30 to 35 centimètres (12 to 14 inches) in thickness, and the walls 45 to 50 centimètres (18 to 20 inches); the interior height not to be less than 2 mètres (2 yards 6 inches). A soil-pipe is always to be placed in the middle of the cesspool; its interior diameter is not to be less than 9-7/8 inches in pottery-ware piping, or 7-7/8 inches in cast iron. A vent-pipe, not less than 9-7/8 inches in diameter, is to be carried up to the level of the chimney-tops, or to that of the chimneys of the adjoining houses. This is, if possible, to divert the smell from the house to which the cesspool is attached.

“A principal object of the _ordonnance_,” it is stated in the Reports, “was to ensure the cesspools being thenceforth made water-tight; so that further pollution of the substratum and springs might be prevented; and the provisions for its attainment have been very strictly enforced by the police. The present cesspools are, in fact, water-tight constructions, retaining the whole of the liquids passed into them until the same are withdrawn by artificial means. The advantage has its attendant inconveniences, and, moreover, has been dearly paid for; for, independently of the cost of the alterations and the increased cost of making the cesspools in the outset--the liquids no longer draining away by natural permeation--the constant expense of emptying them has enormously increased. In the better class of houses, where water is more freely used, the operation has now to be repeated every three, four, or five months, whereas formerly the cesspool was emptied every eighteen months or two years. An increased water supply has added to the evil, moderate even now as the extent of that supply is.”

“It is estimated that, in the better class of houses, the daily quantity of matter, including the water necessary for cleanliness and to ensure the passage of the solids through the soil-pipe, passing into the cesspool from each individual, amounts to 1-3/4 litre (3·08 English pints). Foreign substances are found in great abundance in the cesspools; the large soil-pipes permitting their easy introduction; so that the cesspool becomes the common receptacle for a great variety of articles that it is desired secretly to get rid of. Article 19 of the Police Regulations directs that nightmen finding any articles in the cesspools, especially such as lead to the suspicion of a crime or misdemeanor, shall make a declaration of the fact the same day to a Commissary of Police.”

In all such matters the police regulations of France are far more stringent and exacting than those of England.

“The cesspools vary considerably in foulness,” continues the Report; “and _it is remarkable that those containing the greatest proportion of water are the most foul and dangerous_. This is accounted for by the increased quantity of sulphuretted hydrogen gas evolved: and is more particularly the case where, from their large size, or from the small number of people using them, much time is allowed for the matter to stagnate and decompose in them. Soap-suds are said to add materially to their offensive and dangerous condition. _The_ FOULNESS _of the cesspools, therefore, would appear to be in direct proportion to the_ CLEANLY _habits of the inmates of the houses to which they respectively belong._ Where urine predominates ammoniacal vapours are given off in considerable quantities, and although these affect the eyes of those exposed to them--and the nightmen suffer much from inflammation of these organs--no danger to life results. The inflammation, however, is often sufficiently acute to produce temporary blindness, and from this cause the men are at times thrown out of work for days together.”[77]

The _emptying of the cesspools_ is the next point to be considered.

No cesspool is allowed to be emptied in Paris, and no nightman’s cart, containing soil, is allowed to be in the streets from 8 A.M. to 10 P.M. from October 1st to March 31st, nor from 6 A.M. to 11 P.M. from April 1st to September 30th. In the winter season the hours of labour permitted by law are ten, and in the summer season seven, out of the twenty-four; while in London the hours of night-work are limited to five, without any distinction of season. These hours, however, only relate to the cleansing of the fixed cesspools of Paris.

Fixed or excavated cesspools are emptied into carts, which are driven to the receptacles. As far as regards the removal of night-soil along the streets, there are far more frequent complaints of stench and annoyance in Paris than in London. None of these cesspools can be emptied without authority from the police, and the police exercise a vigilant supervision over the whole arrangements; neither can any cesspool, after being emptied, be closed without a written authority, after inspection, by the Director of Health; nor can a cesspool, if found defective when emptied, be repaired without such authority.

“With regard to the movable cesspool,” it is reported, “the process of emptying is very simple, though undoubtedly demanding a considerable expenditure of labour. The tank or barrel, when filled, is disconnected from the soil-pipe, an empty one being immediately substituted in its place, and the bung-hole being securely closed, it is conveyed away on a vehicle, somewhat resembling a brewer’s dray (which holds about eight or ten of them), to the spot appointed as the depository of its discharged contents. The removal of movable cesspools is allowed to take place during the day.”

In opening a cesspool in Paris, precautions are always taken to prevent accidents which might result from the escape or ignition of the gases.

The general, not to say universal, mode of emptying the fixed or excavated cesspools is to pump the contents into closed carts for transport.

“This operation is,” says Mr. Rammell, “performed with two descriptions of pumps, one working on what may be called the _hydraulic_ principle, the other on the _pneumatic_. In the former, the valves are placed in the pipe communicating between the cesspool and the cart, and the matter itself is pumped. In the latter, the valves are placed beyond the cart, and the air being pumped out of the cart, the matter flows into it to fill up the vacuum so occasioned. The real principle is of course the same in both cases, the matter being forced up by atmospheric pressure. One advantage of the pneumatic system is, that there are no valves to impede the free passage of matter through the suction-pipe; another, that it permits the use of a pipe of larger diameter.

“The cart employed for the pneumatic system consists of an iron cylinder, mounted sometimes upon four, but generally upon two wheels, the latter arrangement being found to be the more convenient. Previous to use at the cesspool, the carts are drawn to a branch establishment, situate just within the Barrière du Combat, where they are exhausted of air with an air-pump, worked by steam power. A 12-horse engine erected there is capable of exhausting five carts at the same time; the vacuum produced being equal to 28-3/8 inches (72 centimètres) of mercury. A cart (in good repair, and upon two wheels) will preserve a practical vacuum for 48 hours after exhaustion.”

The total weight of one of these carts when full is about 3 tons and 8 cwt. This is somewhat more than the weight of the contents of a London waggon employed in night-soil carriage. Three horses are attached to each cart.

When an opening into the cesspool has been effected, a suction-pipe on the pneumatic principle is laid from the cesspool to the cart. This pipe is 3-15/16 inches in diameter, and is in separate pieces of about 10 feet each, with others shorter (down even to 1 foot), to make up any exact length required. Two kinds are commonly used; one made of leather, having iron wire wound spirally inside to prevent collapse, the other of copper. The leather pipe is used where a certain degree of pliability is required; the copper for the straight parts of the line, and for determined curves; pieces struck from various radii being made for the purpose.

Gutta-percha has been tried as a substitute for leather in the piping, but was pronounced liable to split, and its use was abandoned. So with India-rubber in London.

The communication between the suction-pipe and the vehicle used by the nightmen is opened by withdrawing a plug by means of a forked rod into the “recess” (hollow) of the machine, an operation tasking the muscular powers of two men. This done, the cesspool contents rush into the cart, being forced up by the weight of the atmosphere to occupy the existing vacuum; this occupies about three minutes. The cart, however, is then but three-fourths filled with matter, the remaining fourth being occupied by the rarefied air previously in the cart, and by the air contained in the suction-pipe. This air is next withdrawn by the action of a small air-pump, worked usually by two, but sometimes by one man. The air-pump is placed on the ground at a little distance from the cesspool cart, and communicates with it by a flexible India-rubber tube, an inch in diameter. The air, as fast as it is pumped out, is forced through another India-rubber tube of similar dimensions, which communicates with a furnace, also placed on the ground at a little distance from the air-pump, the pump occupying the middle space between the cart and the furnace, the furnace and the pump being portable. To ascertain when the vehicle is full, a short glass tube is inserted in the end of the air-pipe (the end being of brass), and through this, with the help of a small lantern, the matter is seen to rise.

“The number of carts required for each operation,” states Mr. Rammell, “of course varies according to the size of the cesspool to be emptied; but as these contain on the average about five cartloads, that is the number usually sent.[78]

“In addition to the carts for the transport of the night-soil, a light-covered spring van drawn by one horse is used to carry the tools, &c., required in the process.

“These tools consist of--

“1. An air-pump when the work is to be done on the pneumatic system, and of an hydraulic pump when it is to be done on the hydraulic system.

“2. About 50 mètres of suction-pipe of various forms and lengths.

“3. A furnace for the purpose of burning the gases.

“4. Wooden hods for the removal of the solid night-soil.

“5. Pails, a ladder, pincers, levers, hammers, and other articles.”

I have hitherto spoken of the _Pneumatic_ System of emptying the Parisian cesspools. The results of the _Hydraulic_ System are so similar, as regards time, &c., that only a brief notice is required. The hydraulic pump is worked by four men; it is placed on the ground in the place most convenient for the operation, and the cart is filled in the space of from three to five minutes.

A furnace is used.

“The furnace,” says the Report, “consists of a sheet-iron cylinder, about nine inches in diameter, pierced with small holes, and covered with a conical cap to prevent the flame spreading. The vent-pipe first communicates underneath with a small reservoir, intended to contain the matter in case the operation should be carried too far. A piece is inserted in the bottom of this reservoir, by unscrewing which it may be emptied. The furnace is sometimes fixed upon a plank, which rests upon two projecting pieces behind the cart.”

An indicator is also used to show the advancement of the filling of the cart; a glass tube and a cork float are the chief portions of the apparatus of the indicator.

“Towards the end of the operation, when the quantity of matter remaining in the cesspool, although sufficiently fluid, is too shallow for pumping, it is scooped into a large pail; and, the end of the suction-pipe being introduced, drawn up into the cart. When the matter is in too solid a state to pass through the pipe, it is carried to the cart in hods, unless it is in considerable quantity. In that case it is removed in vessels called _tinettes_, in the shape of a truncated cone, holding each about 3-1/2 cubic feet. These vessels are closed with a lid, and are lifted into an open waggon for transport.”

Of these two systems the pneumatic is the more costly, and is likely to be supplanted by the hydraulic. Each system, according to Mr. Rammell, is still a nuisance, as, in spite of every precaution, the gases escape the moment the cesspool emptying is commenced, and vitiate the atmosphere. They force their way very often through the joints of the pipes, and are insufficiently consumed in the furnaces. Mr. Rammell mentions his having twice, after witnessing two of these operations, suffered from attacks of illness. On the first occasion, the men omitted to burn the foul air, and the atmosphere being heavy with moisture, the odour was so intense that it was smelt from the Rue du Port Mahon to the Rue Menars, more than 400 yards distant.

The emptying of the cesspools is let by contract, the commune acting in the light of a proprietor. To obtain a contract, a man must have license or permission from the prefect of police, and such license is only granted after proof that the applicant is provided with the necessary apparatus, carts, &c., and also with a suitable dépôt for the reception of the pumps, carts, &c., when not in use. The stock-in-trade of a contractor is inspected at least twice a-year, and if found inadequate or out of repair the license is commonly withdrawn. The “gangs” of nightmen employed by the contractors are fixed by the law at four men each (the number employed in London), but without any legal provision on the subject. The terms of these contracts are not stated, but they appear to have ceased to be undertakings by individual capitalists, being all in the hands of companies, known as _compagnies de vidanges_ (filth companies). There are now eight companies in Paris carrying on these operations. More than half of the whole work, however, is accomplished by one company, the “_Compagnie Richer_.” The capital invested in their working stock is said to exceed 4,800,000 francs (200,000_l._). They now require the labour of 350 horses, and the use of 120 vehicles of different descriptions.

The construction of a cesspool in Paris costs about 18_l._ as an average. The houses containing from 30 to 70 inmates may have two, and occasionally more, cesspools. Taking the average at one and a half, the capital sunk in a cesspool is 27_l._ Mr. Rammell says:--

“Adopting these calculations of the number of cesspools to each house, and their cost, and allowing only the small quantity of 1-3/4 litre (3·08 pints) of matter to each individual, the annual expense of the cesspool system in Paris, per house containing 24 persons, will be,--

“For interest, at 5 per cent upon capital sunk in works of construction, 1_l._ 7_s._

“For extraction and removal of matter, 5_l._ 11_s._

“Total, 6_l._ 18_s._

“The annual expense per inhabitant will be 5_s._ 9_d._

“The latter, then, may be taken as the average yearly sum per head actually paid by that portion of the inhabitants of Paris who use the cesspools.”

The following, among others before shown, are the conclusions arrived at by Mr. Rammell:--

1. “That with the most perfect regulations, and the application of machines constructed upon scientific principles, the operation of emptying cesspools is still a nuisance, not only to the inmates of the house to which it belongs, but to those of the neighbouring houses, and to persons passing in the street.

2. “That the cesspool system of Paris presents an obstacle to the proper extension of the water supply, and consequently represses the growth of habits of personal and domestic cleanliness, with their immense moral results; and that in this respect it may be said to be inconsistent with a high degree of civilization of the masses of any community.

3. “That, compared with a tubular system of refuse drainage, it is an exceedingly expensive mode of disposing of the fæcal refuse of a town.”

OF THE EMPTYING OF THE LONDON CESSPOOLS BY PUMP AND HOSE.

Having now ascertained the quantity of wet house-refuse annually deposited in the cesspools of the metropolis, the next step is to show the means by which these 15,000,000 cubic feet of cesspoolage are removed, and whence they are conveyed, as well as the condition of the labourers engaged in the business.

There are two methods of removing the soil from the tanks:--

1. By pump and hose, or the hydraulic method;

2. By shovel and tube, or manual labour.

The first of these is the new French mode, and the other the old English method of performing the work. The distinctive feature between the two is, that in the one case the refuse is discharged by means of pipes into the sewers, and in the other that it is conveyed by means of carts to some distant night-yard.

According to the French method, therefore, the cesspoolage ultimately becomes sewage, the refuse being deposited in a cesspool for a greater or a less space of time, and finally discharged into the sewers; so that it is a kind of intermediate process between the cesspool system and the sewer system of defecating a town, being, as it were, a compound of the two.

The great advantage of the sewer system, as contradistinguished from the cesspool system of defecation, is, that it admits of the wet refuse being removed from the neighbourhood of the house as soon as it is produced; while the advantage of the cesspool system, as contradistinguished from the sewer system, is, that it prevents the contamination of the river whence the town draws its principal supply of water. The cesspool system of defecation remedies the main evil of the sewer system, and the sewer system the main evil of the cesspool system. The French mode of emptying cesspools, however, appears to have the peculiar property of combining the ill effects of both systems without the advantages of either. The refuse of the house not only remains rotting and seething for months under the noses of the household, but it is ultimately--that is, after more than a year’s decomposition--washed into the stream from which the inhabitants are supplied with water, and so returned to them diluted in the form of _aqua pura_, for washing, cooking, or drinking. The sole benefit accruing from the French mode of nightmanship is, that it performs a noisome operation in a comparatively cleanly manner; but surely this is a small compensation for the evils attendant upon it. The noses of those who prefer stagnant cesspools to rapid sewers cannot be so particularly sensitive, that for the sake of avoiding the smell of the nightman’s cart they would rather that its contents should be discharged into the water that they use for household purposes.

The hydraulic or pump-and-hose method of emptying the cesspools is now practised by the Court of Sewers, who introduced the process into London in the winter of 1847. The apparatus used in this country consists of an hydraulic pump, which is generally placed six or eight feet distant from, but sometimes close to, the cesspool--indeed, on its edge. It is worked by two men, “just up and down,” as one of the labourers described it to me, “like a fire-engine.” A suction-pipe, with an iron nozzle, is placed in the cesspool, into which is first introduced a deodorising fluid, in the proportion, as well as can be estimated, of a pint to a square yard of matter, and diluted with water from the fire-plugs.

The pipes are of leather, the suction-pipes being wrapped with spring-iron wire at the joints. India-rubber pipes were used, and “answered very tidy,” one of the gangers told me, but they were too expensive, the material being soon worn out: they were only tried five or six months. The pipes now employed differ in no respect of size or appearance from the leathern fire-engine pipes; and as the work is always done in the daytime, and no smell arises from it, the neighbourhood is often alarmed, and people begin to ask where the fire is. One outsideman said, “Why, that’s always asked. I’ve been asked--ay, I dare say a hundred times in a day--‘Where’s the fire? where’s the fire?’” A cesspool, by this process, has been emptied into a sewer at 300 yards distant. The pipe is placed within the nearest gullyhole, down which the matter is washed into the sewer. When the cesspool is emptied, it is well sluiced with water; the water is pumped into the sewer, and then the work is complete.

The pumping is occasionally very hard work, making the shoulders and back ache grievously; indeed, some cesspools have been found so long neglected, and so choked with rags and rubbish, that manual labour had to be resorted to, and the matter dug and tubbed out, after the old mode of the nightmen. A square yard of cesspoolage is cleared out, under ordinary circumstances, in an hour; while an average duration of time for the cleansing of a regularly-sized cesspool is from three to four hours.

A pneumatic pump, with an iron cart, drawn by two horses (similar to the French invention), was tried as an experiment, but discontinued in a fortnight.

For the hydraulic method of emptying cesspools, a gang of four men, under the direction of a ganger, who makes a fifth, is required.

The _division of labour_ is as follows:--

1. The pumpmen, who, as their name implies, work the engine or pumps.

2. The holeman, who goes into the cesspool and stirs up the matter, so as to make it as fluid as possible.

3. The outsideman, whose business it is to attend to the pipe, which reaches from the cesspool, along the surface of the street, or other place, to the gullyhole.

4. The ganger, who is the superintendent of the whole, and is only sometimes present at the operation; he is not unfrequently engaged, while one cesspool is being emptied, in making an examination or any necessary arrangement for the opening of another. He also gives notice (acting under the instruction of the clerk of the works) to the water company of the district, that the pumps will be at work in this or that place, a notice generally given a day in advance, and the water is supplied gratuitously, from a street fire-plug, and used at discretion, some cesspool contents requiring three times more water than others to liquefy them sufficient for pumping.

The cesspool-pumping gangs are six in number, each consisting of five men, although the “outsideman” is sometimes a strong youth of seventeen or eighteen. The whole work is done by a contractor, who makes an agreement with the Court of Sewers, and finds the necessary apparatus, appointing his own labourers. All the present labourers, however, have been selected as trusty men from among the flushermen, the contractor concurring in the recommendation of the clerk of the works, or the inspector. The cesspool-sewermen work in six districts. Two divisions (east and west) of Westminster; Finsbury and Holborn; Surrey and Kent; Tower Hamlets (now including Poplar); and the City. The districts vary in size, but there is usually a gang devoted to each: in case of emergency, however, a gang from another district (as among the flushermen) is sent to expedite any pressing work. All the men are paid by the job, the payment being 2_s._ each per job, to the pumpmen and holeman, and 3_s._ to the ganger; but in addition to the 2_s._ per job, the holeman has 6_d._ a-day extra; and the outsideman has 6_d._ a-day _deducted_ from the 4_s._ he would earn in two jobs, which is a frequent day’s work. The men told me that they had four or four and a-half days’ work (or eight or nine jobs) every week; but such was the case more particularly when the householders were less cognizant of the work, and did not think of resorting to it; now, I am assured, the men’s average employment may be put at five days a week, or ten jobs.

The perquisites of these workmen are none, except the householder sends them some refreshment on his own accord. There may be a perquisite, but very rarely, occurring to the holeman, should he find anything in the soil; but the finding is far less common than among the nightmen, with whom the process goes through different stages. I did not hear among cesspool-sewermen of anything being found by them or by their comrades; of course, when the soil is once absorbed into the pipe, it is unseen on its course of deposit down the gullyhole.

The men have no trade societies, and no arrangements of any equivalent nature; no benefit clubs or sick clubs, for which their number, indeed, is too small; or, as my informant sometimes wound up in a climax, “No, nothing that way, sir.” They are sober and industrious men, chiefly married, and with families. Into further statistics, however, of diet, rent, &c., I need not enter, concerning so small a body; they are the same as among other well-conducted labourers.

The men find their own dresses, which are of the same cost, form, and material as I have described to pertain to the flushermen; also their own “picks” and shovels, costing respectively 2_s._ 6_d._ and 2_s._ 3_d._ each.

One cesspool-sewerman told me, that when he was first a member of one of those gangs he was “awful abused” by the “regular nightmen,” if he came across any of them “as was beery, poor fellows;” but that had all passed over now.

The total sum paid to the six gangs of labourers in the course of the year would, at the rate of ten cesspools emptied per week, amount to the following:--

Yearly Total. 12 pumpmen, 10 jobs a-week each, 20_s._ per week, or 52_l._ per year, each £624

6 holemen, ditto, ditto, with 2_s._ 6_d._ a-week extra 351

6 outsidemen, 20_s._ a-week, less by 6_d._ a-day, or 2_s._ 6_d._ a-week, 45_l._ 10_s._ a-year 296 6 gangers, 30_s._ a-week each, or 78_l._ per year 468 ----- £1739

Any householder, &c., who applies to the Court of Sewers, or to any officer of the court whom he may know, has his cesspool cleansed by the hydraulic method, in the same way as he might employ any tradesman to do any description of work proper to his calling. The charge (by the Court of Sewers) is 5_s._ or 6_s._ per square yard, according to pipeage, &c. required; a cesspool emptied by this system costs from 20_s._ to 30_s._ The charges of the nightmen, who have to employ horses, &c., are necessarily higher.

Estimating that throughout London 60 cesspools are emptied by the hydraulic method every week, or 3120 every year, and the charge for each to be on an average 25_s._, we have for the gross receipts 3120 × 25_s._ = £3900

And deducting from this the sum paid for labour 1739 ----- It shows a profit of £2161

This is upwards of 123 per cent; but out of this, interest on capital and wear and tear of machinery have to be paid.

During the year 1851, I am credibly informed that as many as 3000 sewers were emptied by the hydraulic process; and calculating each to have contained the average quantity of refuse, viz. five tons or loads, or about 180 cubic feet, we have an aggregate of 540,000 cubic feet of cesspoolage ultimately carried off by the sewers. This, however, is only a twenty-seventh of the entire quantity.

The sum paid in wages to the men engaged in emptying these 3000 cesspools by the hydraulic process would, at the rate of 2_s._ per man to the four members of the gang, and 3_s._ to the ganger, or 11_s._ in all for each cesspool, amount to 1650_l._, which is 139_l._ and 250 cesspools less than the amount above given.

STATEMENT OF A CESSPOOL-SEWERMAN.

I give the following brief and characteristic statement, which is peculiar in showing the habitual _restlessness_ of the mere labourer. My informant was a stout, hale-looking man, who had rarely known illness. All these sort of labourers (nightmen included) scout the notion of the cholera attacking _them!_

“Work, sir? Well, I think I _do_ know what work is, and has known it since I was a child; and then I was set to help at the weaving. My friends were weavers at Norwich, and 26 years ago, until steam pulled working men down from being well paid and well off, it was a capital trade. Why, my father could sometimes earn 3_l._ at his work as a working weaver; there was money for ever then; now 12_s._ a-week is, I believe, the tip-top earnings of his trade. But _I didn’t like the confinement or the close air in the factories_, and so, when I grew big enough, I went to ground-work in the city (so he frequently called Norwich); I call ground-work such as digging drains and the like. Then I ’listed into the Marines. _Oh, I hardly know what made me_; men does foolish things and don’t know why; it’s human natur. I’m sure it wasn’t the bounty of 3_l._ that tempted me, for I was doing middling, and sometimes had night-work as well as ground-work to do. I was then sent to Sheerness and put on board the _Thunderer_ man-of-war, carrying 84 guns, as a marine. She sailed through the Straits (of Gibraltar), and was three years and three months blockading the Dardanelles, and cruising among the islands. I never saw anything like such fortifications as at the Dardanelles; why, there was mortars there as would throw a ton weight. No, I never heard of their having been fired. Yes, we sometimes got leave for a party to go ashore on one of the islands. They called them Greek islands, but I fancy as how it was Turks near the Dardanelles. O yes, the men on the islands was civil enough to us; they never spoke to us, and we never spoke to them. The sailors sometimes, and indeed the lot of us, would have bits of larks with them, laughing at ’em and taking sights at ’em and such like. Why, I’ve seen a fine-dressed Turk, one of their grand gentlemen there, when a couple of sailors has each been taking a sight at him, and dancing the shuffle along with it, make each on ’em a low bow, as solemn as could be. Perhaps he thought it was a way of being civil in our country! I’ve seen some of the head ones stuck over with so many knives, and cutlasses, and belts, and pistols, and things, that he looked like a cutler’s shop-window. We were ordered home at last, and after being some months in barracks, which I didn’t relish at all, were paid off at Plymouth. Oh, a barrack life’s anything but pleasant, but I’ve done with it. After that I was eight years and a quarter a gentleman’s servant, coachman, or anything (in Norwich), and then got tired of that and came to London, and got to ground and new sewer-work, and have been on the sewers above five years. Yes, I prefer the sewers to the Greek islands. I was one of the first set as worked a pump. There was a great many spectators; I dare say as there was 40 skientific gentlemen. I’ve been on the sewers, flushing and pumping, ever since. The houses we clean out, all says it’s far the best plan, ours is. ‘Never no more nightmen,’ they say. You see, sir, our plan’s far less trouble to the people in the house, and there’s no smell--least I never found no smell, and it’s cheap, too. In time the nightmen’ll disappear; in course they must, there’s so many new dodges comes up, always some one of the working classes is a being ruined. If it ain’t steam, it’s something else as knocks the bread out of their mouths quite as quick.”

OF THE PRESENT DISPOSAL OF THE NIGHT-SOIL.

It would appear, according to the previous calculations, that of the 15,000,000 cubic feet of house-refuse annually deposited in the cesspools of the metropolis, about 500,000 cubic feet are pumped by the French process into the sewers; consequently there still remains about 14,500,000 cubic feet, or about 404,000 loads, to be disposed of by other means. I shall now proceed to explain how the cesspoolage proper, that is to say, that which is removed by cartage rather than by being discharged into the sewers, is ultimately got rid of.

Until about twenty months ago, when the new sanitary regulations concerning the disposal of night-soil came into operation, the cesspool matter was “shot” in a night-yard, generally also a dust-yard. These were the yards of the parish contractors, and were situate in Maiden-lane, Paddington, &c., &c. Any sweeper-nightman, or any nightman, was permitted by the proprietor of one of these places to deposit his night-soil there. For this the depositor received no payment, the privilege of having “a shoot” being accounted sufficient.

There were, till within these six or eight years, I was informed, 60 places where cesspool manure could be shot. These included the nightmen’s yards and the wharves of manure dealers (some of the small coasting vessels taking it as ballast); but as regards the cesspool filth, there are now none of these places of deposit, though some little, I was told, might be done by stealth.

Of one of these night-yard factories Dr. Gavin gave, in 1848, the following account:--

“On the western side of Spitalfields workhouse, and entering from a street called Queen-street, is a nightman’s yard. A heap of dung and refuse of every description, about the size of a tolerably large house, lies piled to the left of the yard; to the right is an artificial pond, into which the contents of cesspools are thrown. The contents are allowed to desiccate in the open air; and they are frequently stirred for that purpose. The odour which was given off when the contents were raked up, to give me an assurance that there was nothing so very bad in the alleged nuisance, drove me from the place with the utmost speed.

“On two sides of this horrid collection of excremental matter was a patent manure manufactory. To the right in this yard was a large accumulation of dung, &c., but to the left there was an extensive layer of a compost of blood, ashes, and nitric acid, which gave out the most horrid, offensive, and disgusting concentration of putrescent odours it has ever been my lot to be the victim of. The whole place presented a most foul and filthy aspect, and an example of the enormous outrages which are perpetrated in London against society.

“It is a curious fact, that the parties who had charge of these two premises were each dead to the foulness of their own most pestilential nuisances. The nightman’s servant accused the premises of the manure manufacturer as the source of perpetual foul smells, but thought his yard free from any particular cause of complaint; while the servant of the patent manure manufacturer diligently and earnestly asserted the perfect freedom of his master’s yard from foul exhalations; but considered that the raking up of the drying night-soil on the other side of the wall was ‘quite awful, and enough to kill anybody.’

“Immediately adjoining the patent manure manufactory is the establishment of a bottle merchant. He complained to me in the strongest terms of the expenses and annoyances he had been put to through the emanations which floated in the atmosphere having caused his bottles to spoil the wine which was placed in such as had not been _very_ recently washed. He was compelled frequently to change his straw, and frequently to wash his bottles, and considered that unless the nuisance could be suppressed, he would be compelled to leave his present premises.”

This and similar places were suppressed soon after the passing of the sanitary measures of September, 1848.

The cesspool refuse, which was disposed of for manure, was at that time first shot into recesses in the night-yard, where it was mixed with exhausted hops procured from the brewhouses, which were said to absorb the liquid portions, when stirred up with the matter, and to add not only to the consistency of the mass, but to its readier portability for land manure or for stowage in a barge. It was also mixed with littered straw from the mews, and with stable manure generally. An old man who had worked many years--he did not know how many--in one of these yards, told me that when this night-soil was “fresh shot and first mixed” (with the hops, &c.), the stench was often dreadful. “How we stood it,” he said, “I don’t know; but we did stand it.”

In one of the night-and-dust-yards, I ascertained that as many as 50 loads, half of them waggon-loads, have been shot from the proprietor’s own carts, and from the carts of the nightmen “using” the yard, in one morning, but the average “shoot” was about ten loads (half a waggon) a-day for six days in the week.

Of the mode of manufacture of this manure, a full account has been given in the details of the cesspool system of Paris, for the process was the same in London, although on a much smaller scale; and indeed the manufacture here was chiefly in the hands of Frenchmen.

The manure was, after it had been deposited for periods varying from one month to five or six, sold to farmers and gardeners at from 4_s._ to 5_s._ the cart-load, although 4_s._, I was informed, might have been the general average. The cesspool matter, considered _per se_, was not worth, of late years, I am told, above 2_s._ a ton (or a load, which is sometimes rather more and sometimes less than a ton). It was when mixed that the price was 4_s._ to 5_s._ a ton. This cesspool filth was shot on the premises of the manufacturer gratuitously, as it was in any of the night-yards. It was not until it had been kept some time, and had been mixed (generally) with other manures, and sometimes with road-sweepings, that this manure was used in gardens; for it was said that if this had not been done, its ammoniacal vapours would have been absorbed and retained by the leaves of the fruit-trees.

This night-soil manure was devoted to two purposes--to the manufacture of deodorized and portable manure for exportation (chiefly to our sugar-growing colonies), and to the fertilization of the land around London.

When manufactured into manure it was shipped--in new casks generally, the manure casks of the outward voyage being transformed into the brown sugar casks of the homeward-bound vessels. I was told by a seaman who some years ago sailed to the West Indies, that these manure casks in damp weather gave out an unpleasant odour.

It was only to the home cultivators who resided at no great distance from a night-yard, from five to six miles or a little more, that this manure was sold to be carted away; their attendance at the markets with carts, waggons, and horses, giving them facilities of conveying the manure at a cheap rate. But upwards of three-fourths of the whole was sent in barges into the more distant country parts, having a ready water communication either by the Thames or by canal.

The purchaser nearer home conveyed it away in his own cart, and with his own horses, which had perhaps come up to town laden with cabbages to Covent Garden, or hay to Cumberland-market, the cart being made water-tight for the purpose. The “legal hours” to be observed in the cleansing of cesspools, and the transport of the contents upon such cleansing, not being required to be observed in this second transport of the cesspool manure, it was carted away at any hour, as stable dung now is.

It is not possible at the present time, when night-yards are no longer permitted to exist in London, and the manufacture of the night-soil manure is consequently suppressed, to ascertain the precise quantities disposed of commercially, in a former state of things.

The money returns to the master-nightman for the manure he now collects need no figures. The law requires him to refrain from shooting this soil in his own yard, or in _any_ inhabited part of the metropolis, and it is shot on the nearest farm to which he has access, merely for the privilege of shooting it, the farmer paying nothing for the deposit, with which he does what he pleases. It is mixed with other refuse, I was told, at present, and kept as compost, or used on the land, but the change is too recent for the establishment of any systematic traffic in the article.

OF THE WORKING NIGHTMEN AND THE MODE OF WORK.

Nightwork, by the provisions of the Police Act, is not to be commenced before twelve at night, nor continued beyond five in the morning, winter and summer alike. This regulation is known among the nightmen as the “legal hours,” and tends, in a measure, to account for the heterogeneous class of labourers who still seek nightwork; for strong men think little of devoting a part of the night, as well as the working hours of the day, to toil. A rubbish-carter, a very powerfully-built man, told me he was partial to nightwork, and always looked out for it, even when in daily employ, as “it was sometimes like found money.” The scavengers, sweeps, dustmen, and labourers known as ground-workers, are anxious to obtain night-work when out of regular employment; and, ten years and more since, it was often an available and remunerative resource.

Night-work is, then, essentially, and perhaps necessarily, extra-work, rather than a distinct calling followed by a separate class of workers. The generality of nightmen are scavengers, or dustmen, or chimney-sweepers, or rubbish-carters, or pipe-layers, or ground-workers, or coal-porters, carmen or stablemen, or men working for the market-gardeners round London--all either in or out of employment. Perhaps there is not at the present time in the whole metropolis a working nightman who is _solely_ a working nightman.

It is almost the same with the master-nightmen. They are generally master-chimney-sweepers, scavengers, rubbish-carters, and builders. Some of the contractors for the public street scavengery, and the house-dust-bin emptying, are (or have been) among the largest employers of nightmen, but only in their individual trading capacity, for they have no contracts with the parishes concerning the emptying of cesspools; indeed the parish or district corporations have nothing to do with the matter. I have already shown, that among the best-patronised master-nightmen are now the Commissioners of the Court of Sewers.

For how long a period the master and working chimney-sweepers and scavengers have been the master and labouring nightmen I am unable to discover, but it may be reasonable to assume that this connexion, as a matter of trade, existed in the metropolis at the commencement of the eighteenth century.

The police of Paris, as I have shown, have full control over cesspool cleansing, but the police of London are instructed merely to prevent night-work being carried on at a later or earlier period than “the legal hours;” still a few minutes either way are not regarded, and the legal hours, I am told, are almost always adhered to.

Nightwork is carried on--and has been so carried on, within the memory of the oldest men in the trade, who had never heard their predecessors speak of any other system--after this method:--A gang of four men (exclusive of those who have the care of the horses, and who drive the night-carts to and from the scenes of the men’s labours at the cesspools) are set to work. The labour of the gang is divided, though not with any individual or especial strictness, as follows:--

1. The _holeman_, who goes into the cesspool and fills the tub.

2. The _ropeman_, who raises the tub when filled.

3. The _tubmen_ (of whom there are two), who carry away the tub when raised, and empty it into the cart.

The mode of work may be thus briefly described:--Within a foot, or even less sometimes, though often as much as three feet, below the surface of the ground (when the cesspool is away from the house) is what is called the “main hole.” This is the opening of the cesspool, and is covered with flag stones, removable, wholly or partially, by means of the pickaxe. If the cesspool be immediately under the privy, the flooring, &c., is displaced. Should the soil be near enough to the surface, the tub is dipped into it, drawn out, the filth scraped from its exterior with a shovel, or swept off with a besom, or washed off by water flung against it with sufficient force. This done, the tubmen insert the pole through the handles of the tub, and bear it on their shoulders to the cart. The mode of carriage and the form of the tub have been already shown in an illustration, which I was assured by a nightman who had seen it in a shopwindow (for he could not read), was “as nat’ral as life, tub and all.”

Thus far, the ropeman and the holeman generally aid in filling the tub, but as the soil becomes lower, the vessel is let down and drawn up full by the ropeman. When the soil becomes lower still, a ladder is usually planted inside the cesspool; the “holeman,” who is generally the strongest person in the gang, descends, shovels the tub full, having stirred up the refuse to loosen it, and the contents, being drawn up by the ropeman, are carried away as before described.

The labour is sometimes severe. The tub when filled, though it is never quite filled, weighs rarely less than eight stone, and sometimes more; “but that, you see, sir,” a nightman said to me, “depends on the nature of the sile.”

Beer, and bread and cheese, are given to the nightmen, and frequently gin, while at their work; but as the bestowal of the spirit is voluntary, some householders from motives of economy, or from being real or pretended members or admirers of the total-abstinence principles, refuse to give any strong liquor, and in that case--if such a determination to withhold the drink be known beforehand--the employers sometimes supply the men with a glass or two; and the men, when “nothing better can be done,” club their own money, and send to some night-house, often at a distance, to purchase a small quantity on their own account. One master-nightman said, he thought his men worked best, indeed he was sure of it, “with a drop to keep them up;” another thought it did them neither good nor harm, “in a moderate way of taking it.” Both these informants were themselves temperate men, one rarely tasting spirits. It is commonly enough said, that if the nightmen have no “allowance,” they will work neither as quickly nor as carefully as if accorded the customary gin “perquisite.” One man, certainly a very strong active person, whose services where quickness in the work was indispensable might be valuable (and he had work as a rubbish-carter also), told me that he for one would not work for any man at nightwork if there was not a fair allowance of drink, “to keep up his strength,” and he knew others of the same mind. On my asking him what he considered a “fair” allowance, he told me that at least a bottle of gin among the gang of four was “looked for, and mostly had, over a gentleman’s cesspool. And little enough, too,” the man said, “among four of us; what it holds if it’s public-house gin is uncertain: for you must know, sir, that some bottles has great ‘kicks’ at their bottoms. But I should say that there’s been a bottle of gin drunk at the clearing of every two, ay, and more than every two, out of three cesspools emptied in London; and now that I come to think on it, I should say that’s been the case with three out of every four.”

Some master-nightmen, and more especially the sweeper-nightmen, work at the cesspools themselves, although many of them are men “well to do in the world.” One master I met with, who had the reputation of being “warm,” spoke of his own manual labour in shovelling filth in the same self-complacent tone that we may imagine might be used by a grocer, worth his “plum,” who quietly intimates that he will serve a washerwoman with her half ounce of tea, and weigh it for her himself, as politely as he would serve a duchess; for _he_ wasn’t above his business: neither was the nightman.

On one occasion I went to see a gang of nightmen at work. Large horn lanterns (for the night was dark, though at intervals the stars shone brilliantly) were placed at the edges of the cesspool. Two poles also were temporarily fixed in the ground, to which lanterns were hung, but this is not always the case. The work went rapidly on, with little noise and no confusion.

The scene was peculiar enough. The artificial light, shining into the dark filthy-looking cavern or cesspool, threw the adjacent houses into a deep shade. All around was perfectly still, and there was not an incident to interrupt the labour, except that at one time the window of a neighbouring house was thrown up, a night-capped head was protruded, and then down was banged the sash with an impatient curse. It appeared as if a gentleman’s slumbers had been disturbed, though the nightmen laughed and declared it was a lady’s voice! The smell, although the air was frosty, was for some little time, perhaps ten minutes, literally sickening; after that period the chief sensation experienced was a slight headache; the unpleasantness of the odour still continuing, though without any sickening effect. The nightmen, however, pronounced the stench “nothing at all;” and one even declared it was refreshing!

The cesspool in this case was so situated that the cart or rather waggon could be placed about three yards from its edge; sometimes, however, the soil has to be carried through a garden and through the house, to the excessive annoyance of the inmates. The nightmen whom I saw evidently enjoyed a bottle of gin, which had been provided for them by the master of the house, as well as some bread and cheese, and two pots of beer. When the waggon was full, two horses were brought from a stable on the premises (an arrangement which can only be occasionally carried out) and yoked to the vehicle, which was at once driven away; a smaller cart and one horse being used to carry off the residue.

TABLE SHOWING THE NUMBER OF MASTER-SWEEPS, DUST, AND OTHER CONTRACTORS, AND MASTER-BRICKLAYERS, THROUGHOUT THE METROPOLIS, ENGAGED IN NIGHT-WORK, AS WELL AS THE NUMBER OF CESSPOOLS EMPTIED, AND QUANTITY OF SOIL COLLECTED YEARLY. ALSO THE PRICE PAID TO EACH OPERATIVE PER LOAD, OR PER NIGHT, AND THE TOTAL AMOUNT ANNUALLY PAID TO THE MASTER-NIGHTMEN.

--------------+------------------------------------------------------------ |Number of Cesspools |emptied during the year. | | | |Quantity of Night-soil | |collected annually. | | | | | |Number of operative | | |Nightmen employed to | | |empty each Cesspool. | | | | | | | |Total number of times | | | |the working Nightmen are | | | |employed during the year. | | | | | SWEEPS | | | | |Sum paid to each operative EMPLOYED | | | | |Nightman engaged in removing AS | | | | |soil from Cesspools. NIGHTMEN | | | | | | | | | | | |Total Amount | | | | | |paid to the operative | | | | | |Nightmen during | | | | | |the year. | | | | | | | | | | | | | |Total Amount | | | | | | |paid to | | | | | | |Master-Nightmen | | | | | | |during the year | | | | | | |for emptying | | | | | | |Cesspools, at | | | | | | |10_s._ per load. --------------+----+------+----+------+------+--------------+---------------- | |Loads.| | |Pence.| £ _s._ _d._ | £. KENSINGTON. | | | | | | | Hurd | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Francis | 12| 72 | 4 | 48| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Russell | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Hough | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 CHELSEA. | | | | | | | Burns | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Clements | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Groves | 18| 108 | 3 | 54| 6 | 2 14 0 | 54 Clayton | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Sheppard | 14| 84 | 4 | 56| 6 | 2 2 0 | 32 Nie | 16| 96 | 3 | 48| 6 | 2 8 0 | 48 Haddox | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Albrook | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 5 5 0 | 90 WESTMINSTER. | | | | | | | Peacock | 60| 360 | 4 | 240| 7 | 10 10 0 | 180 Reiley | 40| 240 | 4 | 160| 7 | 6 13 4 | 120 White | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Ramsbottom | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Ness | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Porter | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 4 | 30 Edwards | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Andrews | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Foreman | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 4 | 30 ST. MARTIN’S. | | | | | | | Wakefield | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Whateley | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Templeton | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Pearce | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 MARYLEBONE. | | | | | | | Effery | 2| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Brigham | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Ballard | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Pottle | 25| 150 | 4 | 100| 7 | 3 15 0 | 75 Shadwick | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Wilson | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Lewis | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Cuss | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 4 10 0 | 90 Wood | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 PADDINGTON. | | | | | | | Prichard | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Randall | 25| 150 | 3 | 75| 6 | 3 15 0 | 75 Brown | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Lamb | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Bolton | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Davis | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Rickwood | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 4 Elkins | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 HAMPSTEAD. | | | | | | | Kippin | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Bowden | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 ISLINGTON. | | | | | | | Hughes | 25| 150 | 3 | 75| 6 | 3 15 0 | 75 Boven | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Chilcott | 25| 150 | 3 | 75| 6 | 3 15 0 | 75 Baker | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Burrows | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 ST. PANCRAS. | | | | | | | Justo | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Neill | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Robinson | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Marriage | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Rose | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Hall | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Jenkins | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Steel | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 Lake | 60| 360 | 4 | 240| 7 | 10 10 0 | 180 Hewlett | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Snell | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 McDonald | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 5 5 0 | 90 HACKNEY. | | | | | | | Mason | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Clark | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Starkey | 25| 150 | 4 | 100| 6 | 3 15 0 | 75 Attewell | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Brown | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 ST. GILES | | | | | | | AND ST. | | | | | | | GEORGE’S, | | | | | | | BLOOMSBURY. | | | | | | | Store | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Richards | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Norris | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 3 16 0 | 36 Eldridge | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Davis | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Francis | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Tiney | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Johnson | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Tinsey | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Randall | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 Day | 60| 360 | 4 | 240| 7 | 10 10 0 | 180 STRAND. | | | | | | | Catlin | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Richards | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Hutchins | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Barker | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 HOLBORN. | | | | | | | Duck | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 5 5 0 | 90 Eagle | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Froome | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Smith | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 CLERKENWELL. | | | | | | | Davis | 30| 180 | 3 | 90| 6 | 4 10 0 | 90 Brown | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Day | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Hawkins | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Grant | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 ST. LUKE’S. | | | | | | | Brown | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 0 0 | 60 Mawley | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 0 0 | 60 Stevens | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Badger | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Lewis | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 EAST LONDON. | | | | | | | Crozier | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 5 5 0 | 90 James | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Dawson | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Newell | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Lumley | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Harvey | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 WEST LONDON. | | | | | | | Rayment | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Clarke | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 0 0 | 60 Watson | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Desater | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 LONDON, CITY. | | | | | | | Tyler and | | | | | | | Tyso | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 7 | 5 5 0 | 90 Burgess | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Wilson | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 7 | 3 10 0 | 60 Potter | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Wright | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 SHOREDITCH. | | | | | | | Wells | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Whittle | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Collins | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 Crew | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Atwood | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Conroy | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Pusey | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Pedrick | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 BETHNAL GREEN.| | | | | | | Crosby | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Mull | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Darby | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Hall | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Collins | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 WHITECHAPEL. | | | | | | | Brazier | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Harrison | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Harris | 16| 96 | 3 | 48| 6 | 2 8 0 | 48 Mantz | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Whitehead | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 ST. GEORGE-IN-| | | | | | | THE-EAST. | | | | | | | Rawton | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Wrotham | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Harewood | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Rawthorn | 25| 150 | 4 | 100| 6 | 3 15 0 | 75 Darling | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Jones | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 Johnson | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Simpson | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 BERMONDSEY. | | | | | | | Wilkinson | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Goring | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 36 Lively | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 2 4 0 | 30 Stone | 9| 54 | 3 | 27| 6 | 1 7 0 | 24 Ward | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 24 WALWORTH AND | | | | | | | NEWINGTON. | | | | | | | Kingsbury | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 27 Goodge | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 18 Wells | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 18 Wilks | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 12 James | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 45 Morgan | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 36 Croney | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 30 Holmes | 8| 48 | 3 | 4| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 STEPNEY. | | | | | | | Newell | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Fleming | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Tuff | 20| 120 | 3 | 60| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Hillings- | | | | | | | worth | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Smith | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Field | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 POPLAR. | | | | | | | Weaver | 18| 108 | 3 | 54| 6 | 2 14 0 | 54 Strawson | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Culloder | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Ward | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 ST. OLAVE’S, | | | | | | | ST. | | | | | | | SAVIOUR’S, | | | | | | | AND ST. | | | | | | | GEORGE’S, | | | | | | | SOUTHWARK. | | | | | | | Vines | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Humfry | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 Young | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 James | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Penn | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Holliday | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Muggeridge | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 Alcorn | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Fisher | 12| 72 | 3 | 26| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Goode | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Smith | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Roberts | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Pilkington | 9| 54 | 3 | 27| 6 | 1 7 0 | 27 Lindsey | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Daycock | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Moulton | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 LAMBETH. | | | | | | | Roberts | 25| 150 | 4 | 100| 7 | 4 7 6 | 75 Holland | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Ballard | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Brown | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Mills | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Giles | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Spooner | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Green | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 Barnham | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 Price | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 CHRISTCHURCH, | | | | | | | LAMBETH. | | | | | | | Plummer | 18| 108 | 3 | 54| 6 | 2 14 0 | 54 Steers | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Clare | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Garlick | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Hudson | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Jones | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 WANDSWORTH & | | | | | | | BATTERSEA. | | | | | | | Foreman | 15| 90 | 3 | 45| 6 | 2 5 0 | 45 Smith | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 Giles | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Davis | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Flushman | 4| 24 | 3 | 12| 6 | 0 12 0 | 12 ROTHERHITHE. | | | | | | | Shelley | 6| 36 | 3 | 18| 6 | 0 18 0 | 18 Richardson | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Norris | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 Smith | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Dyer | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 GREENWICH & | | | | | | | DEPTFORD. | | | | | | | Manning | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 6 | 4 10 0 | 90 Vines | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Roseworthy | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Tyler | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Munshin | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 WOOLWICH. | | | | | | | Pearce | 30| 180 | 4 | 120| 6 | 4 10 0 | 90 Fiddeman | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Sims | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Smithers | 12| 72 | 3 | 36| 6 | 1 16 0 | 36 Rooke | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 James | 8| 48 | 3 | 24| 6 | 1 4 0 | 24 LEWISHAM. | | | | | | | Ridgeway | 20| 120 | 4 | 80| 6 | 3 0 0 | 60 Binney | 10| 60 | 3 | 30| 6 | 1 10 0 | 30 +----+------+----+------+------+------------- +----- Total for |2992| 14960|3&4 |10,062|6&7d. |455 15 0 |£7480 Sweep-nightmen

DUST AND OTHER CONTRACTORS ENGAGED AS NIGHTMEN.

--------------+------+-------+----+-------+------+----------+---------- | | Loads.| | |Pence.| £ _s. d._| £ _s._ Darke | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Cooper | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200 | 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Dodd | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200 | 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Starkey | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Williams | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Boyer | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Gore | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Limpus | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Emmerson | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Duggins | 360| 2160 | 4 | 1440 | 8 |72 0 0| 1134 0 Bugbee | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Gould | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Reddin | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Newman | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Tame | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200 | 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Sinnot | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Tomkins | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Cordroy | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Samuels | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Robinson | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Bird | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Clarke | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Brown | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Bonner | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Guess | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Jeffries | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Ryan | 60| 360 | 4 | 240 | 8 |12 0 0| 189 0 Hewitt | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Leimming | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Ellis | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Monk | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Phillips | 250| 1000 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |33 6 8| 525 0 Porter | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Dubbins | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Taylor | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Nicholls | 250| 1000 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |33 6 8| 525 0 Freeman | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Pattison | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Rawlins | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Watkins | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Liddiard | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Farmer | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Francis | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Chadwick | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Perkins | 80| 480 | 4 | 320 | 8 |16 0 0| 252 0 Culverwell | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Rutty | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Crook | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 M’Carthy | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Bateman | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Boothe | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Wood | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Calvert | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Tilley | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Abbott | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Potter | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Church | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Humphries | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Jackson | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Batterbury | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Smith | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Perkins | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Rose | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Croot | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Speller | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Piper | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 North | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Crooker | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Tingey | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Jones | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Whitten | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200 | 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Webbon | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Ryder | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |30 0 0| 315 0 Wright | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Duckett | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200 | 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Elworthy | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Slee | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Adams | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Gutteris | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Martainbody | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Nicholson | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Mears | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Parsons | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Kenning | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Hooke | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Michell | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Walton | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Evans | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Walker | 90| 540 | 4 | 360 | 8 |18 0 0| 283 10 Hobman | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Stevens | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000 | 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Jeffry | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Hiscock | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Allen | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Connall | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Waller | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Mullard | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Miller | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Barnes | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Sharpe | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Graham | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Wellard | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Hollis | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Fletcher | 150| 900 | 4 | 600 | 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Hearne | 100| 600 | 4 | 400 | 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Stapleton | 50| 300 | 4 | 200 | 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Martin | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800 | 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Prett and | | | | | | | Sewell | 300| 1800 | 4 | 1200| 8 |60 0 0| 945 0 Jenkins | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Westley | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Bird | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Gale | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Porter | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Wells | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Hall | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Kitchener | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Wickham | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Walker | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Bindy | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Styles | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Kirtland | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Kingston | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Eldred | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Rumball | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Mildwater | 60| 360 | 4 | 240| 8 |12 0 0| 189 0 Lovell | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Clarkson | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Rhodes | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Pine | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Monk | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Gabriel | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Packer | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Crawley | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Easton | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Marsland | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 East | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Turtle | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Fuller | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Taylor | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Ginnow | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Peakes | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Fleckell | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |60 0 0| 157 10 Cook | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Stewart | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Cooper | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Bentley | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Harford | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Litten | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Mills | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Voy | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Cortman | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Forster | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Davison | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Williams | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Draper | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Claxton | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Robertson | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Cornwall | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Price | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Milligan | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 West | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Wilson | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Lawn | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Oakes | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Joliffe | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Liley | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 313 0 Treagle | 120| 720 | 4 | 480| 8 |24 0 0| 378 0 Coleman | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Brooker | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Dignam | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Hillier | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Simmonds | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Penrose | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Jordan | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Macey | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Williams | 150| 900 | 4 | 600| 8 |30 0 0| 472 10 Palmer | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 650 0 Anderson | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 George | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Hasleton | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Willis | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Farringdon | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Doyle | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Lamb | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Bolton | 200| 1200 | 4 | 800| 8 |40 0 0| 630 0 Lovelock | 250| 1500 | 4 | 1000| 8 |50 0 0| 787 10 Ashfield | 50| 300 | 4 | 200| 8 |10 0 0| 157 10 Braithwaite | 100| 600 | 4 | 400| 8 |20 0 0| 315 0 Total for Dust+------+-------+----+-------+------+----------+---------- and other | Contractors | engaged as | Nightmen |27,820|139,100| 4 |101,240| 8_d._|£5596 13 4|£73,027 10

MASTER-BRICKLAYERS ENGAGED AS NIGHTMEN.

-----------+-----+--------+---+------+---------+----------+-------- | | | | |Average 2| | | | | | |Cesspools| | | | | | | a Night.| | | | Loads. | | | |£. _s. d._| £. _s._ Albon | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 |5_s._ ea.| 12 10 0 | 315 0 Danver | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Buck | 90 | 540 | 4 | 360 | „ | 11 5 0 | 283 10 Aldred | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Bowler | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Deacon | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Barrett | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Elmes | 90 | 540 | 4 | 360 | „ | 11 5 0 | 283 10 Gray | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Emmerton | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Coleman | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Belchier | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 0 Wade | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Turner | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Sutton | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Cutmore | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Plowman | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Brockwell | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Bellamy | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Janes | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200 | „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Higgs | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200 | „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Avery | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Bailey | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Pitman | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Hosier | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Chambers | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Turner | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Sutton | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Phenix | 80 | 480 | 4 | 320 | „ | 10 0 0 | 252 0 Elsden | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200 | „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Fuller | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Heath | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Beach | 80 | 480 | 4 | 320 | „ | 10 0 0 | 252 0 Jones | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Gilbert | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Green | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 King | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Parker | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Kelsey | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Palmer | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Sinclair | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Peck | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Young | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200 | „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Winter | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Wolfe | 90 | 540 | 4 | 360 | „ | 11 5 0 | 283 10 Taber | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200 | „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Kellow | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Mercer | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Oswell | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Mallett | 90 | 540 | 4 | 360 | „ | 11 5 0 | 283 10 Handley | 180 | 1080 | 4 | 720 | „ | 22 10 0 | 567 0 Bull | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Atkinson | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800 | „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Dennis | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000 | „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Fordham | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400 | „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Wigmore | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600 | „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Ricketts | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Linnegar | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Price | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 James | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Wills | 180 | 1080 | 4 | 720| „ | 22 10 0 | 567 0 Templar | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Tolley | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200| „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Smallman | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Macey | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Livermore | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Oakham | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Rudd | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Kerridge | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Perrin | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Thomas | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Moore | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Reeves | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Pearson | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Stollery | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200| „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Connew | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Floyd | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Girling | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Gilbert | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 742 10 Carter | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Clayden | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Bibbing | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200| „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Dunn | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Howell | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Fursey | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Archer | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Hart | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Cole | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Essex | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Hinton | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Wiseman | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Tepner | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Unwin | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Treharne | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Havenny | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200| „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Williams | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Plant | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Linfield | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Morris | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Jenkins | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Buck | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Hadnutt | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Cuming | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Douglas | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Hogden | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 M’Currey | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Warne | 50 | 300 | 4 | 200| „ | 6 5 0 | 157 10 Whitechurch| 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Stevenson | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Izard | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Jones | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Rutley | 100 | 600 | 4 | 400| „ | 12 10 0 | 315 0 Prichard | 200 | 1200 | 4 | 800| „ | 25 0 0 | 630 0 Watts | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Woodcock | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Osborn | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Morland | 250 | 1500 | 4 | 1000| „ | 31 5 0 | 787 10 Brown | 300 | 1800 | 4 | 1200| „ | 37 10 0 | 945 0 Hughes | 150 | 900 | 4 | 600| „ | 18 15 0 | 472 10 Total for +-------+------+---+------+---------+----------+-------- Master- | Bricklayers| engaged as | Nightmen |19,880|99,400 | 4 |59,520| 5_s._ |£2,485 0 |£52,185 0

SUMMARY OF THE ABOVE TABLE.

------------------------+-----+-------------------------------------------------------------- |Number of Masters employed as Nightmen. | |-------+------------------------------------------------------ | | Number of Cesspools emptied during the year. | | +------------------------------------------------------ | | |Quantity of Night soil collected annually. | | | +--------------------------------------------- | | | |Number of working Nightmen employed to | | | |each Cesspool. | | | | +------------------------------------- MASTER-SWEEPS EMPLOYED | | | | |Sum per load paid to each operative AS NIGHTMEN IN | | | | | Nightman engaged in removing soil | | | | |from Cesspools. | | | | | +----------------------- | | | | | |Total amount | | | | | |paid to Master-Nightmen | | | | | |during the Year for | | | | | |emptying Cesspools. ------------------------+-----+-------+--------+-------+-------------+----------------------- | | | Loads. | | Pence. | £ _s._ _d._ Kensington | 4 | 48 | 240 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 120 0 0 Chelsea | 8 | 140 | 700 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 350 0 0 Westminster | 9 | 180 | 900 | 3 | 6 | 450 0 0 St. Martin’s | 4 | 34 | 170 | 3 | 6 | 85 0 0 Marylebone | 9 | 155 | 775 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 387 10 0 Paddington | 8 | 107 | 535 | 3 | 6 | 267 10 0 Hampstead | 2 | 16 | 80 | 3 | 6 | 40 0 0 Islington | 4 | 82 | 410 | 3 | 6 | 205 0 0 St. Pancras | 13 | 226 | 1,130 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 565 0 0 Hackney | 5 | 89 | 445 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 222 10 0 St. Giles’s and St. | | | | | | George’s, Bloomsbury | 11 | 172 | 860 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 430 0 0 Strand | 4 | 30 | 150 | 3 | 6 | 75 0 0 Holborn | 4 | 74 | 370 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 185 0 0 Clerkenwell | 5 | 78 | 390 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 195 0 0 St. Luke’s | 5 | 68 | 340 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 170 0 0 East London | 6 | 92 | 460 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 230 0 0 West London | 4 | 64 | 320 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 160 0 0 London, City | 5 | 88 | 440 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 220 0 0 Shoreditch | 7 | 95 | 475 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 237 10 0 Bethnal-green | 5 | 68 | 340 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 170 0 0 Whitechapel | 5 | 66 | 330 | 3 | 6 | 165 0 0 St. George’s-in-the-East| 8 | 152 | 760 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 380 0 0 Stepney | 6 | 80 | 400 | 3 | 6 | 200 0 0 Poplar | 4 | 48 | 240 | 3 | 6 | 120 0 0 St. Olave’s, St. | | | | | | Saviour’s, and St. | | | | | | George’s, Southwark | 16 | 157 | 785 | 3 | 6 | 392 10 0 Bermondsey | 6 | 60 | 300 | 3 | 6 | 150 0 0 Walworth and Newington | 8 | 71 | 355 | 3 | 6 | 177 10 0 Lambeth | 10 | 91 | 455 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 227 10 0 Christchurch, Lambeth | 6 | 58 | 290 | 3 | 6 | 145 0 0 Wandsworth and Battersea| 5 | 43 | 215 | 3 | 6 | 107 10 0 Rotherhithe | 5 | 54 | 270 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 135 0 0 Greenwich and Deptford | 5 | 94 | 470 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 235 0 0 Woolwich | 6 | 82 | 410 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 205 0 0 Lewisham | 2 | 30 | 150 | 3 & 4 | 6 | 75 0 0 Total for Sweeps |-----+-------+--------+-------+-------------+----------------------- employed as Nightmen | 214 | 2,992 | 14,960 | 3 & 4 | 6 & 7 | 7,480 0 0 Total for Dust and other| | | | | | Contractors employed | | | | | | as Nightmen | 188 |27,820 |139,600 | 4 | 8 | 72,027 0 0 Total for Bricklayers | | | | | | employed as Nightmen | 119 |19,880 | 99,400 | 4 |5_s._ a night| 52,185 0 0 |-----+-------+--------+-------+-------------+----------------------- Gross Total | 521 |50,692 |253,960 | 3 & 4 |6_d._ 7_d._ &|131,692 10 0 | | | | |8_d._ per 1d.| | | | | |& 5_s._ per | | | | | |night. |

A TABLE SHOWING THE QUANTITY OF REFUSE BOUGHT, COLLECTED, OR FOUND, IN THE STREETS OF LONDON.

----------------+---------------+-------------------------------- Articles bought | Annual | Average Number of Buyers, collected, | gross | and quantity sold or found. | quantity. | Daily or Weekly. ----------------+---------------+-------------------------------- REFUSE METAL. | | Copper | 291,600 lbs. |200 buyers 1/4 cwt. each weekly Brass | 291,600 „ |200 do. 1/4 „ do. Iron |2,329,600 „ |200 do. 2 „ do. Steel | 62,400 „ |200 do. 6 lbs. do. Lead |1,164,800 „ |200 do. 1 cwt. do. Pewter | 291,600 „ |200 do. 1/4 „ do. | | HORSE & | | CARRIAGE | | FURNITURE. | | Carriages | 120 „ | 4 do. 30 sets yearly Wheels (4, | | from coach- | | builders) | 600 sets |100 do. 8 do. Wheels, | | in pairs | | for carts | | & trucks | 600 pairs| 50 do. 12 pairs yearly Springs | | for trucks and | | small carts | 780 „ | 5 do. 3 „ weekly Lace, from | | coach-builders | 1,344 lbs. | 12 do. 112 lbs. yearly Fringe and | | tassels, | | from ditto | 2,688 „ | 12 do. 224 „ do. Coach & | | carriage | | linings, | | singly | 156 | 12 do. 13 yearly Harness | | (carriage | | pairs) | 60 pairs| 10 do. 6 pairs do. Ditto | | (single sets) | 144 sets | 12 do. 12 sets do. Ditto | | (sets of donkey| | and pony) | 41,600 „ |100 do. 8 sets weekly Saddles | 1,040 „ | 10 do. 2 „ do. Collars | 2,080 „ | 10 do. 4 „ do. Bridles | 4,160 „ | 10 do. 6 „ do. Pads | 2,080 „ | 10 do. 4 „ do. Bits | 4,160 „ | 10 do. 3 „ do. Leather (new | | cuttings from | | coach-builders)| 58,136 lbs. | 24 do. 22 cwt. yearly Ditto (morocco | | cuttings from | | do.) | 960 „ | 20 do. 48 „ do. Old leather | | (waste from | | ditto) | 53,760 „ | 12 do. 20 „ do. | | REFUSE LINEN, | | COTTON, &C. | | Rags (woollen, | | consisting of | | tailors’ | | shreds, old | | flannel | | drugget, | | carpet, and | | moreen) |4,659,200 lbs. |200 do. 4 „ weekly Ditto (coloured | | cotton) |2,912,000 „ |200 do. 2-1/2 „ do. Ditto (white) |1,164,800 „ |200 do. 1 „ do. Canvas | 44,800 „ |200 do. 2 „ yearly Rope and sacking| 291,200 „ |200 do. 1/4 „ weekly | | PAPER. | | Waste paper |1,397,760 „ | 60 colls. each disposing | | of 4 cwt. weekly GLASS AND | | CROCKERYWARE. | | Bottles (common | | and doctors’) | 62,400 doz. |200 buyers, 24 weekly Ditto (wine) | 31,200 „ |200 do. 12 do. Ditto (porter | | and stout) | 4,800 „ |200 do. 24 dozen yearly Flint glass | 15,600 lbs. |200 do. 1-1/2 lbs. weekly Pickling jars | 7,200 „ |200 do. 36 yearly Gallipots | 20,800 doz. |200 do. 24 weekly

-----------+---------------+------------+------------------------ Obtained of| Price per | Average | Parties the Street| pound | Yearly | to Buyers. | weight, &c. |Money Value.| whom sold. -----------+---------------+------------+------------------------ | | £ _s. d._| 1-500th | 6_d._ per lb. | 7,290 0 0 |Sold to brass-founders | | | and pewterers. „ | 4_d._ „ | 4,860 6 8 | Do. do. 1-200th |1/4_d._ „ | 2,246 13 4 |Do. to iron-founders | | | and manufacturers. none | 1_d._ „ | 260 0 0 |Do. to manufacturers. 1-500th |1-1/2_d._ „ | 7,280 0 0 |Do. to brass-founders | | | and pewterers. „ | 5_d._ „ | 6,075 13 4 | Do. do. | |----------- | | |28,182 13 4 | | |=========== | none | 11l. each | 1,320 0 0 |Sold to Jew dealers. „ | 25s. a set | 750 0 0 |Do. to costers and | | | small tradesmen. „ | 7s. a pair | 210 0 0 | Do. do. „ | 6s. per pair | 234 0 0 |Do. to costers | | | and others. „ | 1_d._ per lb. | 5 12 0 |Do. to cab-masters | | | and to Jews. „ |1/2_d._ „ | 5 12 0 |Do. to Jews. „ | 25s. each | 195 0 0 |Do. to cab-masters. „ | 3l. per pair | 180 0 0 |Do. to omnibus | | | proprietors. „ | 30s. per set | 216 0 0 |Do. to cab-masters. harness- | 4s. a set | 8,320 0 0 |Do. to little master makers | | | harness-makers. none | 4s. „ | 203 0 0 | Do. do. „ | 9_d._ „ | 78 0 0 | Do. do. and | | | marine stores. „ | 9_d._ „ | 138 13 4 | Do. do. do. „ | 6_d._ „ | 52 0 0 | Do. do. „ | 2_d._ „ | 34 13 4 | Do. do. do. „ | 4_d._ „ | 985 12 0 |Do. to Jews and also | | | to gunsmiths. „ |1s. 6_d._ „ | 72 0 0 |Do. to tailors’ | | | trimming-sellers. „ |2-1/2_d._ „ | 560 0 0 |Do. to Jews. | |----------- | | |13,560 2 8 | | |=========== | 1-1000th |1/2_d._ per lb.| 9,706 13 4 |Sold for manure and to | | | nail up fruit-trees. 1-500th |1/2_d._ „ | 6,066 13 4 |Do. to paper-makers | | | and for quilts. 1-1000th | 2_d._ „ | 9,706 13 4 |Do. to paper-makers. none | 1_d._ „ | 186 13 4 |Do. to chance customers. 1-500th |1/2_d._ „ | 606 13 4 |Do. for oakum and sacking | | | to mend old sacks. | |----------- | | |36,898 13 4 | | |=========== | all | 18s. per cwt. |11,232 0 0 |Do. to shopkeepers. 1-100th | 2_d._ per doz.| 520 0 0 |Do. to doctors | | | and chemists. 1-200th | 6_d._ „ | 780 0 0 |Do. to Brit. wine | | | merchants & ale stores. none | 6_d._ „ | 120 0 0 |Do. to ale and | | | porter stores. 1-1000th |1/4_d._ per lb.| 16 5 0 |Do. to glass | | | manufacturers. none |3/4_d._ each | 22 10 0 |Do. to Italian | | | warehouses, &c. „ | 2_d._ per doz.| 173 6 8 | Do. do. | |----------- | | | 1,632 1 8 | | |=========== |

REFUSE APPAREL. | | Coats | 624,000 |300 colls. each purchasing 8 coats | | daily Trousers | 312,000 pairs |300 do. do. 4 pr. trousers do. Waistcoats | 312,000 |300 do. do. 3 waistcoats do. Under-waistcoats| 46,800 |300 do. do. 3 weekly Breeches and | | gaiters | 15,600 pairs |300 do. do. 1 pair weekly Dressing-gowns | 3,000 |100 do. do. 30 yearly Cloaks (men’s) | 1,000 |100 do. do. 10 cloaks yearly Boots and shoes |1,560,000 pairs |100 do. do. 60 pairs daily | | Boot and shoe | | soles | 648,000 dz. pr|100 do. each collecting 30 dz. pr. | |daily | | Boot legs | 520,000 „ „ |200 do. do. 50 „ weekly Hats |1,879,000 |300 colls. each purchasing 24 hats daily Boys’ suits | 3,600 |300 do. do. 12 suits yearly Shirts and | | chemises | 626,400 |300 do. do. 8 daily Stockings of | | all kinds | 783,000 pairs |100 do. do. 30 pair daily Drawers (men’s | | and women’s) | 93,600 „ |300 do. do. 6 „ weekly Women’s dresses | | of all kinds | 496,800 |300 do. do. 6 dresses daily Petticoats | 939,600 |300 do. do. 12 daily Women’s stays | 261,000 pairs |100 do. do. 10 pair do. Children’s | | shirts | 187,920 | 60 do. do. 12 daily Ditto petticoats| 261,000 |200 do. do. 5 do. Ditto frocks | 522,000 |200 do. do. 10 do. Cloaks | | (women’s), | | capes, | | visites, &c. | 5,200 | 20 do. do. 5 cloaks weekly Bonnets |1,409,400 |150 do. do. 3 doz. daily Shawls of all | | kinds | 469,800 |300 do. do. 6 daily Fur boas and | | victorines | 261,000 |100 do. do. 10 do. Fur tippets and | | muffs | 130,500 |100 do. do. 5 do. Umbrella and | | parasol frames | 518,400 |200 do., each collecting 12 daily | | | | | | HOUSEHOLD | | REFUSE. | | Tea-leaves | 78,000 lbs. | ... ... ... ... Fish-skins | 3,900 „ | 25 do. do. 2 lbs. weekly for | | 6 months. Hare-skins | 80,000 | 50 do. do. 50 weekly Kitchen-stuff | 62,400 lbs. |200 do. do. 6 lbs. weekly Dripping | 52,000 „ |200 do. do. 5 „ do. Bones |3,494,400 „ |200 buyers 3 cwt. weekly Hogwash |2,504,000 gals. |200 do., each purchasing 40 gal. daily Dust (from | | houses) | 900,000 loads | ... ... ... ... Soot | 800,000 bush. |800 colls. each collectg. 19 bush. weekly Soil (from | | cesspools) | 750,000 loads | ... ... ... ... | | | | | | STREET REFUSE. | | Street sweepings| | (scavengers’) | 140,983 „ |444 do. the whole „ 452 lds. daily Ditto (street | | orderlies’) | 2,817 „ |546 do. do. „ 9 „ do. Coal and coke | | (mudlarks’) | 64,656 cwt. |550 do., each collecting 42 lbs. do. “Pure” | 52,000 pails |200 do. do. 5 pails weekly Cigar ends | 2,240 lbs. | 50 do. do. 8-1/2 lbs. do.

bt. of old clo’men|6_s._ each | 187,200 0 0|Sold to old clo’men | | | and wholesale dealers. „ |3_s._ 3_d._ per| | | pr. | 50,700 0 0| Do. do. „ |7_d._ each | 9,100 0 0| Do. do. „ |2_d._ „ | 390 0 0|Do. to wholesale and | | | wardrobe dealers. | | | „ |2_s._ per pair | 1,560 0 0|Do. to old clo’men | | | and wholesale dealers. „ |4_s._ 2_d._ | 625 0 0|Do. to wholesale | each | | and wardrobe dealers. „ |10_s._ „ | 500 0 0|Do. to wholesale dealers. „ |7_d._ per pair | 45,500 0 0|Do. to wardrobe dealers | | | and second-hand | | | boot and shoe makers. | | | | | | none |1_s._ per dz. | 32,400 0 0|Do. to Jews and gunsmiths | pr. | | to temper gun-barrels. „ |5_s._ „ | 130,000 0 0|Do. to translators. bt. of old clo’men|4_d._ each | 31,200 0 0|Do. to dealers and | | | master hatters. „ |3_s._ a suit | 540 0 0|Do. Jew dealers. | | | „ |4_d._ each | 10,400 0 0|Do. to old clo’men | | | and wholesale dealers. | | | „ |1_d._ per pair | 3,272 10 0|Do. to wholesale | | | and wardrobe dealers. | | | „ |3_d._ „ | 1,170 0 0| Do. do. | | | „ |1_s._ 9_d._ | | | each | 41,107 10 0| Do. do. „ |7_d._ „ | 27,405 0 0| Do. do. „ |5_d._ per pair | 5,437 10 0| Do. do. | | | „ |3_d._ a doz. | 195 15 0| Do. do. „ |1-1/2_d._ each | 1,639 11 8| Do. do. „ |4_d._ „ | 8,700 0 0| Do. do. | | | | | | | | | „ |4_s._ „ | 1,040 0 0|Do. to wholesale dealers. „ |6_d._ „ | 35,235 0 0| Do. do. | | | „ |1_s._ 2_d._ „ | 27,405 0 0|Do. to wholesale | | | and wardrobe dealers. | | | „ |1_s._ 2_d._ „ | 15,220 0 0| Do. do. | | | „ |1_s._ 2_d._ „ | 7,612 10 0| Do. do. | | | all |5_d._ „ | 10,300 0 0|Do. to Jews and old | | | umbrella menders. | +--------------+ | | 675,555 6 8| | +==============+ | | | | | | „ |2-1/2_d._ per | 812 10 0|Do. to merchants to | lb. | | re-make into tea. costers and |1_d._ „ | |Do. to brewers to fine | | | their ale. fishmongers | | 16 5 0| all |1_s._ a doz. | 333 6 8|Do. to Jews, hatters, | | | and furriers. none |1-1/2_d._ per | | | lb. | 390 0 0|Do. at marine stores. „ |3_d._ „ | 650 0 0| Do. do. 1-1000th |1/4_d._ „ | 105,625 0 0|Do. for manure, | | | knife-handles, &c. all |1_d._ per | | | gallon | 10,433 6 8|Do. to pig-dealers. | | | none |2_s._ 6_d._ per| 112,500 0 0|Do. for manure and | ld. | | to brickmakers. „ |5_d._ per | 16,666 13 4|Do. to farmers, | bushel | | graziers, and | | | gardeners. | | | „ |10_s._ per load| 375,000 0 0|Do. for manure. | +--------------+ | | 622,427 1 8| | +==============+ | | | | | | „ |3_s._ „ | 21,147 9 0| Do. do. | | | „ |2_s._ 6_d._ „ | 2,352 2 6| Do. do. | | | „ |8_d._ per cwt. | 2,151 17 4|Do. to the poor. „ |1_s._ per pail | 2,600 0 0|Do. to tanners and | | | leather-dressers. street-finders |8_d._ per lb. | 74 13 4|Do. to Jews in | | | Rosemary-lane. | +==============+ | | 28,326 2 2| | +--------------+ |Gross Total |1,406,592 1 6|

Curious and ample as this Table of Refuse is--one, moreover, perfectly original--it is not sufficient, by the mere range of figures, to convey to the mind of the reader a full comprehension of the ramified vastness of the Second-Hand trade of the metropolis. Indeed tables are for reference more than for the current information to be yielded by a history or a narrative.

I will, therefore, offer a few explanations in elucidation, as it were, of the tabular return.

I must, as indeed I have done in the accompanying remarks, depart from the order of the details of the table to point out, in the first instance, the particulars of the greatest of the Second-Hand trades--that in Clothing. In this table the reader will find included every indispensable article of man’s, woman’s, and child’s apparel, as well as those articles which add to the ornament or comfort of the person of the wearer; such as boas and victorines for the use of one sex, and dressing-gowns for the use of the other. The articles used to protect us from the rain, or the too-powerful rays of the sun, are also included--umbrellas and parasols. The whole of these articles exceed, when taken in round numbers, twelve millions and a quarter, and that reckoning the “pairs,” as in boots and shoes, &c., as but one article. This, still pursuing the round-number system, would supply nearly _five_ articles of refuse apparel to every man, woman, and child in this, the greatest metropolis of the world.

I will put this matter in another light. There are about 35,000 Jews in England, nearly half of whom reside in the metropolis. 12,000, it is further stated on good authority, reside within the City of London. Now at one time the trade in old clothes was almost entirely in the hands of the City Jews, the others prosecuting the same calling in different parts of London having been “Wardrobe Dealers,” chiefly women, (who had not unfrequently been the servants of the aristocracy); and even these wardrobe dealers sold much that was worn, and (as one old clothes-dealer told me) much that was “not, for their fine customers, because the fashion had gone by,” to the “Old Clo” Jews, or to those to whom the street-buyers carried their stock, and who were able to purchase on a larger scale than the general itinerants. Now, supposing that even one twelfth of these 12,000 Israelites were engaged in the old-clothes trade (which is far beyond the mark), each man would have _twelve hundred and twenty-five_ articles to dispose of yearly, all second-hand!

Perhaps the most curious trade is that in waste paper, or as it is called by the street collectors, in “waste,” comprising every kind of used or useless periodical, and books in all tongues. I may call the attention of my readers, by way of illustrating the extent of this business in what is proverbially refuse “waste paper,” to their experience of the penny postage. Three or four sheets of note paper, according to the stouter or thinner texture, and an envelope with a seal or a glutinous and stamped fastening, will not exceed half-an-ounce, and is conveyed to the Orkneys and the further isles of Shetland, the Hebrides, the Scilly and Channel Islands, the isles of Achill and Cape Clear, off the western and southern coasts of Ireland, or indeed to and from the most extreme points of the United Kingdom, and no matter what distance, provided the letter be posted within the United Kingdom, for a penny. The weight of waste or refuse paper annually disposed of to the street collectors, or rather buyers, is 1,397,760 lbs. Were this tonnage, as I may call it, for it comprises 12,480 tons yearly, to be distributed in half-ounce letters, it would supply material, as respects weight, for _forty-four millions, seven hundred and twenty-eight thousand, four hundred and thirty_ letters on business, love, or friendship.

I will next direct attention to what may be, by perhaps not over-straining a figure of speech, called “the crumbs which fall from the rich man’s table;” or, according to the quality of the commodity of refuse, of the tables of the _comparatively_ rich, and that down to a low degree of the scale. These are not, however, unappropriated crumbs, to be swept away uncared for; but are objects of keen traffic and bargains between the possessors or their servants and the indefatigable street-folk. Among them are such things as champagne and other wine bottles, porter and ale bottles, and, including the establishments of all the rich and the comparative rich, kitchen-stuff, dripping, hog-wash, hare-skins, and tea-leaves. Lastly come the very lowest grades of the street-folk--the _finders_; men who will quarrel, and have been seen to quarrel, with a hungry cur for a street-found bone; not to pick or gnaw, although Eugène Sue has seen that done in Paris; and I once, very early on a summer’s morning, saw some apparently houseless Irish children contend with a dog and with each other for bones thrown out of a house in King William-street, City--as if after a very late supper--not to pick or gnaw, I was saying, but to _sell_ for manure. Some of these finders have “seen better days;” others, in intellect, are little elevated above the animals whose bones they gather, or whose ordure (“pure”), they scrape into their baskets.

I do not know that the other articles in the arrangement of the table of street refuse, &c., require any further comment. Broken metal, &c., can only be disposed of according to its quality or weight, and I have lately shown the extent of the trade in such refuse as street-sweepings, soot and night-soil.

The gross total, or average yearly money value, is 1,406,592_l._ for the second-hand commodities I have described in the foregoing pages; or as something like a minimum is given, both as to the number of the goods and the price, we may fairly put this total at a million and a half of pounds sterling!

CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

That portion of the London street-folk who earn a scanty living by sweeping crossings constitute a large class of the Metropolitan poor. We can scarcely walk along a street of any extent, or pass through a square of the least pretensions to “gentility,” without meeting one or more of these private scavengers. Crossing-sweeping seems to be one of those occupations which are resorted to as an excuse for begging; and, indeed, as many expressed it to me, “it was the last chance left of obtaining an honest crust.”

The advantages of crossing-sweeping as a means of livelihood seem to be:

1st, the smallness of the capital required in order to commence the business;

2ndly, the excuse the apparent occupation it affords for soliciting gratuities without being considered in the light of a street-beggar;

And 3rdly, the benefits arising from being constantly seen in the same place, and thus exciting the sympathy of the neighbouring householders, till small weekly allowances or “pensions” are obtained.

The first curious point in connexion with this subject is what constitutes the “_property_,” so to speak, in a crossing, or the _right_ to sweep a pathway across a certain thoroughfare. A nobleman, who has been one of her Majesty’s Ministers, whilst conversing with me on the subject of crossing-sweepers, expressed to me the curiosity he felt on the subject, saying that he had noticed some of the sweepers in the same place for years. “What were the rights of property,” he asked, “in such cases, and what constituted the title that such a man had to a particular crossing? Why did not the stronger sweeper supplant the weaker? Could a man bequeath a crossing to a son, or present it to a friend? How did he first obtain the spot?”

The answer is, that crossing-sweepers are, in a measure, under the protection of the police. If the accommodation afforded by a well-swept pathway is evident, the policeman on that district will protect the original sweeper of the crossing from the intrusion of a rival. I have, indeed, met with instances of men who, before taking to a crossing, have asked for and obtained permission of the police; and one sweeper, who gave me his statement, had even solicited the authority of the inhabitants before he applied to the inspector at the station-house.

If a crossing have been vacant for some time, another sweeper may take to it; but should the original proprietor again make his appearance, the officer on duty will generally re-establish him. One man to whom I spoke, had fixed himself on a crossing which for years another sweeper had kept clean on the Sunday morning only. A dispute ensued; the one claimant pleading his long Sabbath possession, and the other his continuous every-day service. The quarrel was referred to the police, who decided that he who was oftener on the ground was the rightful owner; and the option was given to the former possessor, that if he would sweep there every day the crossing should be his.

I believe there is only one crossing in London which is in the gift of a householder, and this proprietorship originated in a tradesman having, at his own expense, caused a paved footway to be laid down over the Macadamized road in front of his shop, so that his customers might run less chance of dirtying their boots when they crossed over to give their orders.

Some bankers, however, keep a crossing-sweeper, not only to sweep a clean path for the “clients” visiting their house, but to open and shut the doors of the carriages calling at the house.

Concerning the _causes which lead or drive_ people to this occupation, they are various. People take to crossing-sweeping either on account of their bodily afflictions, depriving them of the power of performing ruder work, or because the occupation is the last resource left open to them of earning a living, and they considered even the scanty subsistence it yields preferable to that of the workhouse. The greater proportion of crossing-sweepers are those who, from some bodily infirmity or injury, are prevented from a more laborious mode of obtaining their living. Among the bodily infirmities the chief are old age, asthma, and rheumatism; and the injuries mostly consist of loss of limbs. Many of the rheumatic sweepers have been bricklayers’ labourers.

The classification of crossing-sweepers is not very complex. They may be divided into the _casual_ and the _regular_.

By the casual I mean such as pursue the occupation only on certain days in the week, as, for instance, those who make their appearance on the Sunday morning, as well as the boys who, broom in hand, travel about the streets, sweeping before the foot-passengers or stopping an hour at one place, and then, if not fortunate, moving on to another.

The regular crossing-sweepers are those who have taken up their posts at the corners of streets or squares; and I have met with some who have kept to the same spot for more than forty years.

The crossing-sweepers in the squares may be reckoned among the most fortunate of the class. With them the crossing is a kind of stand, where any one requiring their services knows they may be found. These sweepers are often employed by the butlers and servants in the neighbouring mansions for running errands, posting letters, and occasionally helping in the packing-up and removal of furniture or boxes when the family goes out of town. I have met with other sweepers who, from being known for years to the inhabitants, have at last got to be regularly employed at some of the houses to clean knives, boots, windows, &c.

It is not at all an unfrequent circumstance, however, for a sweeper to be in receipt of a weekly sum from some of the inhabitants in the district. The crossing itself is in these cases but of little value for chance customers, for were it not for the regular charity of the householders, it would be deserted. Broken victuals and old clothes also form part of a sweeper’s means of living; nor are the clothes always old ones, for one or two of this class have for years been in the habit of having new suits presented to them by the neighbours at Christmas.

The irregular sweepers mostly consist of boys and girls who have formed themselves into a kind of company, and come to an agreement to work together on the same crossings. The principal resort of these is about Trafalgar-square, where they have seized upon some three or four crossings, which they visit from time to time in the course of the day.

One of these gangs I found had appointed its king and captain, though the titles were more honorary than privileged. They had framed their own laws respecting each one’s right to the money he took, and the obedience to these laws was enforced by the strength of the little fraternity.

One or two girls whom I questioned, told me that they mixed up ballad-singing or lace-selling with crossing-sweeping, taking to the broom only when the streets were wet and muddy. These children are usually sent out by their parents, and have to carry home at night their earnings. A few of them are orphans with a lodging-house for a home.

Taken as a class, crossing-sweepers are among the most honest of the London poor. They all tell you that, without a good character and “the respect of the neighbourhood,” there is not a living to be got out of the broom. Indeed, those whom I found best-to-do in the world were those who had been longest at their posts.

Among them are many who have been servants until sickness or accident deprived them of their situations, and nearly all of them have had their minds so subdued by affliction, that they have been tamed so as to be incapable of mischief.

The _earnings_, or rather “_takings_,” of crossing-sweepers are difficult to estimate--generally speaking--that is, to strike the average for the entire class. An erroneous idea prevails that crossing-sweeping is a lucrative employment. All whom I have spoken with agree in saying, that some thirty years back it was a good living; but they bewail piteously the spirit of the present generation. I have met with some who, in former days, took their 3_l._ weekly; and there are but few I have spoken to who would not, at one period, have considered fifteen shillings a bad week’s work. But now “the takings” are very much reduced. The man who was known to this class as having been the most prosperous of all--for from one nobleman alone he received an allowance of seven shillings and sixpence weekly--assured me that twelve shillings a-week was the average of his present gains, taking the year round; whilst the majority of the sweepers agree that a shilling is a good day’s earnings.

A shilling a-day is the very limit of the average incomes of the London sweepers, and this is rather an over than an under calculation; for, although a few of the more fortunate, who are to be found in the squares or main thoroughfares or opposite the public buildings, may earn their twelve or fifteen shillings a-week, yet there are hundreds who are daily to be found in the by-streets of the metropolis who assert that eightpence a-day is their average taking; and, indeed, in proof of their poverty, they refer you to the workhouse authorities, who allow them certain quartern-loaves weekly. The old stories of delicate suppers and stockings full of money have in the present day no foundation of truth.

The black crossing-sweeper, who bequeathed 500_l._ to Miss Waithman, would almost seem to be the last of the class whose earnings were above his positive necessities.

Lastly, concerning the _numbers_ belonging to this large class, we may add that it is difficult to reckon up the number of crossing-sweepers in London. There are few squares without a couple of these pathway scavengers; and in the more respectable squares, such as Cavendish or Portman, every corner has been seized upon. Again, in the principal thoroughfares, nearly every street has its crossing and attendant.

I.--OF THE ADULT CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

_A. The Able-Bodied Sweepers._

The elder portion of the London crossing-sweepers admit, as we have before said, of being arranged, for the sake of perspicuity, into several classes. I shall begin with the _Able-bodied Males_; then proceed to the _Females_ of the same class; and afterwards deal with the _Able-bodied Irish_ (male and female), who take to the London causeways for a living. This done, I shall then, in due order, take up the _Afflicted_ or _Crippled_ class; and finally treat of the _Juveniles_ belonging to the same calling.

1. THE ABLE-BODIED MALE CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

THE “ARISTOCRATIC” CROSSING-SWEEPER.

“Billy” is the popular name of the man who for many years has swept the long crossing that cuts off one corner of Cavendish-square, making a “short cut” from Old Cavendish-street to the Duke of Portland’s mansion.

Billy is a merry, good-tempered kind of man, with a face as red as a love-apple, and cheeks streaked with little veins.

His hair is white, and his eyes are as black and bright as a terrier’s. He can hardly speak a sentence without finishing it off with a moist chuckle.

His clothes have that peculiar look which arises from being often wet through, but still they are decent, and far above what his class usually wear. The hat is limp in the brim, from being continually touched.

The day when I saw Billy was a wet one, and he had taken refuge from a shower under the Duke of Portland’s stone gateway. His tweed coat, torn and darned, was black about the shoulders with the rain-drops, and his boots grey with mud, but, he told me, “It was no good trying to keep clean shoes such a day as that, ’cause the blacking come off in the puddles.”

Billy is “well up” in the _Court Guide_. He continually stopped in his statement to tell whom my Lord B. married, or where my Lady C. had gone to spend the summer, or what was the title of the Marquis So-and-So’s eldest boy.

He was very grateful, moreover, to all who had assisted him, and _would_ stop looking up at the ceiling, and God-blessing them all with a species of religious fervour.

His regret that the good old times had passed, when he made “hats full of money,” was unmistakably sincere; and when he had occasion to allude to them, he always delivered his opinion upon the late war, calling it “a-cut-and run affair,” and saying that it was “nothing at all put alongside with the old war, when the halfpence and silver coin were twice as big and twenty times more plentiful” than during the late campaign.

Without the least hesitation he furnished me with the following particulars of his life and calling:--

“I was born in London, in Cavendish-square, and (he added, laughing) I ought to have a title, for I first came into the world at No. 3, which was Lord Bessborough’s then. My mother went there to do her work, for she chaired there, and she was took sudden and couldn’t go no further. She couldn’t have chosen a better place, could she? You see I was born in Cavendish-square, and I’ve _worked_ in Cavendish-square--sweeping a crossing--for now near upon fifty year.

“Until I was nineteen--I’m sixty-nine now--I used to sell water-creases, but they felled off and then I dropped it. Both mother and myself sold water-creases after my Lord Bessborough died; for whilst he lived she wouldn’t leave him not for nothing.

“We used to do uncommon well at one time; there wasn’t nobody about then as there is now. I’ve sold flowers, too; they was very good then; they was mostly show carnations and moss roses, and such-like, but no common flowers--it wouldn’t have done for me to sell common things at the houses I used to go to.

“The reason why I took to a crossing was, I had an old father and I didn’t want him to go to the workus. I didn’t wish too to do anything bad myself, and I never would--no, sir, for I’ve got as good a charackter as the first nobleman in the land, and that’s a fine thing, ain’t it? So as water-creases had fell off till they wasn’t a living to me, I had to do summat else to help me to live.

“I saw the crossing-sweepers in Westminster making a deal of money, so I thought to myself _I’ll_ do that, and I fixed upon Cavendish-square, because, I said to myself, I’m known there; it’s where I was born, and there I set to work.

“The very first day I was at work I took ten shillings. I never asked nobody; I only bowed my head and put my hand to my hat, and they knowed what it meant.

“By jingo, when I took that there I thought to myself, What a fool I’ve been to stop at water-creases!

“For the first ten year I did uncommon well. Give me the old-fashioned way; they were good times then; I like the old-fashioned way. Give me the old penny pieces, and then the eighteen-penny pieces, and the three-shilling pieces, and the seven-shilling pieces--give me them, I says. The day the old halfpence and silver was cried down, that is, the old coin was called in to change the currency, my hat wouldn’t hold the old silver and halfpence I was give that afternoon. I had _such_ a lot, upon my word, they broke my pocket. I didn’t know the money was altered, but a fishmonger says to me, ‘Have you got any old silver?’ I said ‘Yes, I’ve got a hat full;’ and then says he, ‘Take ’em down to Couttseses and change ’em.’ I went, and I was nearly squeeged to death.

“That was the first time I was like to be killed, but I was nigh killed again when Queen Caroline passed through Cavendish-square after her trial. They took the horses out of her carriage and pulled her along. She kept a chucking money out of the carriage, and I went and scrambled for it, and I got five-and-twenty shillin, but my hand was a nigh smashed through it; and, says a friend of mine, before I went, ‘Billy,’ says he, ‘don’t you go;’ and I was sorry after I did. She was a good woman, _she_ was. The Yallers, that is, the king’s party, was agin her, and pulled up the paving-stones when her funeral passed; but the Blues was for her.

“I can remember, too, the mob at the time of the Lord Castlereagh riots. They went to Portman-square and broke all the winders in the house. They pulled up all the rails to purtect theirselves with. I went to the Bishop of Durham’s, and hid myself in the coal-cellar then. My mother chaired there, too. The Bishop of Durham and Lord Harcourt opened their gates and hurrah’d the mob, so they had nothing of their’s touched; but whether they did it through fear or not I can’t say. The mob was carrying a quartern loaf dipped in bullock’s blood, and when I saw it I thought it was a man’s head; so that frightened me, and I run off.

“I remember, too, when Lady Pembroke’s house was burnt to the ground. That’s about eighteen year ago. It was very lucky the family wasn’t in town. The housekeeper was a nigh killed, and they had to get her out over the stables; and when her ladyship heard she was all right, she said she didn’t care for the fire since the old dame was saved, for she had lived along with the family for many years. No, bless you, sir! I didn’t help at the fire; I’m too much of a coward to do that.

“All the time the Duke of Portland was alive he used to allow me 7_s._ 6_d._ a-week, which was 1_s._ a-day and 1_s._ 6_d._ for Sundays. He was a little short man, and a very good man he was too, for it warn’t only me as he gave money to, but to plenty others. He was the best man in England for that.

“Lord George Bentinck, too, was a good friend to me. He was a great racer, he was, and then he turned to be member of parliament, and then he made a good man they tell me; but he never comed over my crossing without giving me something. He was at the corner of Holly Street, he was, and he never put foot on my crossing without giving me a sovereign. Perhaps he wouldn’t cross more than once or twice a month, but when he comed my way _that_ was his money. Ah! he was a nice feller, he was. When he give it he always put it in my hand and never let nobody see it, and that’s the way I like to have _my_ fee give me.

“There’s Mrs. D----, too, as lived at No. 6; she was a good friend of mine, and always allowed me a suit of clothes a-year; but she’s dead, good lady, now.

“Dr. C---- and his lady, they, likewise, was very kind friends of mine, and gave me every year clothes, and new shoes, and blankets, aye, and a bed, too, if I had wanted it; but now they are all dead, down to the coachman. The doctor’s old butler, Mr. K----, he gave me twenty-five shillings the day of the funeral, and, says he, ‘Bill, I’m afraid this will be the last.’ Poor good friends they was all of them, and I did feel cut up when I see the hearse going off.

“There was another gentleman, Mr. W. T----, who lives in Harley-street; he never come by me without giving me half-a-crown. He was a real good gentleman; but I haven’t seen him for a long time now, and perhaps he’s dead too.

“All my friends is dropping off. I’m fifty-five, and they was men when I was a boy. All the good gentlemen’s gone, only the bad ones stop.

“Another friend of mine is Lord B----. He always drops me a shilling when he come by; and, says he, ‘You don’t know me, but I knows you, Billy.’ But I _do_ know him, for my mother worked for the family many a year, and, considering I was born in the house, I think to myself, ‘If I don’t know you, why I ought.’ He’s a handsome, stout young chap, and as nice a gentleman as any in the land.

“One of the best friends I had was Prince E----, as lived there in Chandos-street, the bottom house yonder. I had five sovereigns give me the day as he was married to his beautiful wife. Don’t you remember what a talk there was about her diamonds, sir? They say she was kivered in ’em. He used to put his hand in his pocket and give me two or three shillings every time he crossed. He was a gentleman as was uncommon fond of the gals, sir. He’d go and talk to all the maid-servants round about, if they was only good-looking. I used to go and ring the hairy bells for him, and tell the gals to go and meet him in Chapel-street. God bless him! I says, he was a pleasant gentleman, and a regular good ’un for a bit of fun, and always looking lively and smiling. I see he’s got his old coachman yet, though the Prince don’t live in England at present, but his son does, and he always gives me a half-crown when he comes by too.

“I gets a pretty fine lot of Christmas boxes, but nothing like what I had in the old times. Prince E---- always gives me half a crown, and I goes to the butler for it. Pretty near all my friends gives me a box, them as knows me, and they say, ‘Here’s a Christmas box, Billy.’

“Last Christmas-day I took 36_s._, and that was pretty fair; but, bless you, in the old times I’ve had my hat full of money. I tells you again I’ve have had as much as 5_l._ in old times, all in old silver and halfpence; that was in the old war, and not this runaway shabby affair.

“Every Sunday I have sixpence regular from Lord H----, whether he’s in town or not. I goes and fetches it. Mrs. D----, of Harley-street, she gives me a shilling every Sunday when she’s in town; and the parents as knows me give halfpence to their little girls to give me. Some of the little ladies says, ‘Here, that will do you good.’ No, it’s only pennies (for sixpences is out of fashion); and thank God for the coppers, though they are little.

“I generally, when the people’s out of town, take about 2_s._ or 2_s._ 6_d._ on the Sunday. Last Sunday I only took 1_s._ 3_d._, but then, you see, it come on to rain and I didn’t stop. When the town’s full three people alone gives me more than that. In the season I take 5_s._ safe on a Sunday, or perhaps 6_s._--for you see it’s all like a lottery.

“I should like you to mention Lady Mildmay in Grosvenor-square, sir. Whenever I goes to see her--but you know I don’t go often--I’m safe for 5_s._, and at Christmas I have my regular salary, a guinea. She’s a very old lady, and I’ve knowed her for many and many years. When I goes to my lady she always comes out to speak to me at the door, and says she, ‘Oh, ’tis Willy! and how do you do, Willy?’ and she always shakes hands with me and laughs away. Ah! she’s a good kind creetur’; there’s no pride in her whatsumever--and she never sacks her servants.

“My crossing has been a good living to me and mine. It’s kept the whole of us. Ah! in the old time I dare say I’ve made as much as 3_l._ a week reg’lar by it. Besides, I used to have lots of broken vittals, and I can tell you I know’d where to take ’em to. Ah! I’ve had as much food as I could carry away, and reg’lar good stuff--chicken, and some things I couldn’t guess the name of, they was so Frenchified. When the fam’lies is in town I gets a good lot of food given me, but you know when the nobility and gentlemen are away the servants is on board wages, and cuss them board wages, I says.

“I buried my father and mother as a son ought to. Mother was seventy-three and father was sixty-five,--good round ages, ain’t they, sir? I shall never live to be that. They are lying in St. John’s Wood cemetery along with many of my brothers and sisters, which I have buried as well. I’ve only two brothers living now; and, poor fellows, they’re not very well to do. It cost me a good bit of money. I pay 2_s._ 6_d._ a-year for keeping up the graves of each of my parents, and 1_s._ 2_d._ for my brothers.

“There was the Earl of Gainsborough as I should like you to mention as well, please sir. He lived in Chandos-street, and was a particular nice man and very religious. He always gave me a shilling and a tract. Well, you see, I _did_ often read the tract; they was all religious, and about where your souls was to go to--very good, you know, what there was, very good; and he used to buy ’em wholesale at a little shop, corner of High-street, Marrabun. He was a very good, kind gentleman, and gave away such a deal of money that he got reg’lar known, and the little beggar girls follered him at such a rate that he was at last forced to ride about in a cab to get away from ’em. He’s many a time said to me, when he’s stopped to give me my shilling, ‘Billy, is any of ’em a follering me?’ He was safe to give to every body as asked him, but you see it worried his soul out--and it was a kind soul, too--to be follered about by a mob.

“When all the fam’lies is in town I has 14_s._ a-week reg’lar as clock-work from my friends as lives round the square, and when they’re away I don’t get 6_d._ a-day, and sometimes I don’t get 1_d._ a-day, and that’s less. You see some of ’em, like my Lord B----, is out eight months in the year; and some of ’em, such as my Lord H----, is only three. Then Mrs. D----, she’s away three months, and she always gives 1_s._ a-week reg’lar when she’s up in London.

“I don’t take 4_s._ a-week on the crossing. Ah! I wish you’d give me 4_s._ for what I take. No, I make up by going of errands. I runs for the fam’lies, and the servants, and any of ’em. Sometimes they sends me to a banker’s with a cheque. Bless you! they’d trust me with anythink, if it was a hat full. I’ve had a lot of money trusted to me at times. At one time I had as much as 83_l._ to carry for the Duke of Portland.

“Aye, that was a go--_that_ was! You see the hall-porter had had it give to him to carry to the bank, and he gets me to do it for him; but the vallet heerd of it, so he wanted to have a bit of fun, and he wanted to put the hall-porter in a funk. I met the vallet in Holborn, and says he, ‘Bill, I want to have a lark,’ so he kept me back, and I did not get back till one o’clock. The hall-porter offered 5_l._ reward for me, and sends the police; but Mr. Freebrother, Lord George’s wallet, he says, ‘I’ll make it all right, Billy.’ They sent up to my poor old people, and says father, ‘Billy wouldn’t rob anybody of a nightcap, much more 80_l._’ I met the policeman in Holborn, and says he, ‘I want you, Billy,’ and says I, ‘All right, here I am.’ When I got home the hall-porter, says he, ‘Oh, I am a dead man; where’s the money?’ and says I, ‘It’s lost.’ ‘Oh! it’s the Duke’s, not mine,’ says he. Then I pulls it out; and says the porter, ‘It’s a lark of Freebrother’s.’ So he gave me 2_l._ to make it all right. That _was_ a game, and the hall-porter, says he, ‘I really thought you was gone, Billy;’ but, says I, ‘If everybody carried as good a face as I do, everybody would be as honest as any in Cavendish-square.’

“I had another lark at the Bishop of Durham’s. I was a cleaning the knives, and a swellmobsman, with a green-baize bag, come down the steps, and says he to me, ‘Is Mr. Lewis, the butler, in?’--he’d got the name off quite pat. ‘No,’ says I, ‘he’s up-stairs;’ then says he, ‘Can I step into the pantry?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ says I, and shows him in. Bless you! he was so well-dressed, I thought he was a master-shoemaker or something; but as all the plate was there, thinks I, I’ll just lock the door to make safe. So I fastens him in tight, and keeps him there till Mr. Lewis comes. No, he didn’t take none of the plate, for Mr. Lewis come down, and then, as he didn’t know nothink about him, we had in a policeman, when we finds his bag was stuffed with silver tea-pots and all sorts of things from my Lord Musgrave’s. Says Mr. Lewis, ‘You did quite right, Billy.’ It wasn’t a likely thing I was going to let anybody into a pantry crammed with silver.

“There was another chap who had prigged a lot of plate. He was an old man, and had a bag crammed with silver, and was a cutting away, with lots of people after him. So I puts my broom across his legs and tumbles him, and when he got up he cut away and left the bag. Ah! I’ve seen a good many games in my time--that I have. The butler of the house the plate had been stole from give me 2_l._ for doing him that turn.

“Once a gentleman called me, and says he, ‘My man, how long have you been in this square?’ Says I, ‘I’m Billy, and been here a’most all my life.’ Then he says, ‘Can I trust you to take a cheque to Scott, the banker?’ and I answers, ‘That’s as you like,’ for I wasn’t going to press him. It was a heavy cheque, for Mr. Scott, as knows me well--aye, well, he do--says ‘Billy, I can’t give you all in notes, you must stop a bit.’ It nearly filled the bag I had with me. I took it all safe back, and says he, ‘Ah! I knowed it would be all right,’ and he give me a half-sovereign. I should like you to put these things down, ’cos it’s a fine thing for my charackter, and I can show my face with any man for being honest, that’s one good thing.

“I pays 4_s._ a-week for two rooms, one up and one down, for I couldn’t live in one room. I come to work always near eight o’clock, for you see it takes me some time to clean the knives and boots at Lord B----’s. I get sometimes 1_s._ and sometimes 1_s._ 6_d._ a-week for doing that, and glad I am to have it. It’s only for the servants I does it, not for the quality.

“When I does anythink for the servants, it’s either cleaning boots and knives, or putting letters in the post--that’s it--anythink of that kind. They gives me just what they can, 1_d._ or 2_d._ or half a pint of beer when they ha’n’t got any coppers.

“Sometimes I gets a few left-off clothes, but very seldom. I have two suits a-year give me reg’lar, and I goes to a first-rate tailor for ’em, though they don’t make the prime--of course not, yet they’re very good. Now this coat I liked very well when it was new, it was so clean and tidy. No, the tailor don’t show me the pattern-books and that sort of thing: he knows what’s wanted. I won’t never have none of them washing duck breeches; that’s the only thing as I refuses, and the tailor knows that. I looks very nice after Christmas, I can tell you, and I’ve always got a good tidy suit for Sundays, and God bless them as gives ’em to me.

“Every Sunday I gets a hot dinner at Lord B----’s, whether he’s out of town or in town--that’s summat. I gets bits, too, give me, so that I don’t buy a dinner, no, not once a-week. I pays 4_s._ a-week rent, and I dare say my food, morning and night, costs me a 1_s._ a-day--aye, I’m sure it does, morning and night. At present I don’t make 12_s._ a-week; but take the year round, one week with another, it might come to 13_s._ or 14_s._ a-week I gets. Yes, I’ll own to that.

“Christmas is my best time; then I gets more than 1_l._ a-week: now I don’t take 4_s._ a-week on my crossing. Many’s the time I’ve made my breakfast on a pen’orth of coffee and a halfpenny slice of bread and butter. What do you think of that?

“Wet weather does all the harm to me. People, you see, don’t like to come out. I think I’ve got the best side of the square, and you see my crossing is a long one, and saves people a deal of ground, for it cuts off the corner. It used to be a famous crossing in its time--hah! but that’s gone.

“I always uses what they calls the brush-brooms; that’s them with a flat head like a house-broom. I can’t abide them others; they don’t look well, and they wears out ten times as quick as mine. I general buys the eights, that’s 10_d._ a-piece, and finds my own handles. A broom won’t last me more than a fortnight, it’s such a long crossing; but when it was paved, afore this muckydam (macadamising) was turned up, a broom would last me a full three months. I can’t abide this muckydam--can you, sir? it’s sloppy stuff, and goes so bad in holes. Give me the good solid stones as used to be.

“I does a good business round the square when the snow’s on the ground. I general does each house at so much a-week whilst it snows. Hardwicks give me a shilling. I does only my side, and that next Oxford-street. I don’t go to the others, unless somebody comes and orders me--for fair play _is_ fair play--and they belongs to the other sweepers. I does my part and they does theirs.

“It’s seldom as I has a shop to sweep out, and I don’t do nothink with shutters. I’m getting too old now for to be called in to carry boxes up gentlemen’s houses, but when I was young I found plenty to do that way. There’s a man at the corner of Chandos-street, and he does the most of that kind of work.”

THE BEARDED CROSSING-SWEEPER AT THE EXCHANGE.

Since the destruction by fire of the Royal Exchange in 1838, there has been added to the curiosities of Cornhill a thickset, sturdy, and hirsute crossing-sweeper--a man who is as civil by habit as he is independent by nature. He has a long flowing beard, grey as wood smoke, and a pair of fierce moustaches, giving a patriarchal air of importance to a marked and observant face, which often serves as a painter’s model. After half-an-hour’s conversation, you are forced to admit that his looks do not all belie him, and that the old mariner (for such was his profession formerly) is worthy in some measure of his beard.

He wears an old felt hat--very battered and discoloured; around his neck, which is bared in accordance with sailor custom, he has a thick blue cotton neckerchief tied in a sailor’s knot; his long iron-grey beard is accompanied by a healthy and almost ruddy face. He stands against the post all day, saying nothing, and taking what he can get without solicitation.

When I first spoke to him, he wanted to know to what purpose I intended applying the information that he was prepared to afford, and it was not until I agreed to walk with him as far as St. Mary-Axe that I was enabled to obtain his statement, as follows:--

“I’ve had this crossing ever since ’38. The Exchange was burnt down in that year. Why, sir, I was wandering about trying to get a crust, and it was very sloppy, so I took and got a broom; and while I kept a clean crossing, I used to get ha’pence and pence. I got a dockman’s wages--that’s half-a-crown a-day; sometimes only a shilling, and sometimes more. I have taken a crown--but that’s very rare. The best customers I had is dead. I used to make a good Christmas, but I don’t now. I have taken a pound or thirty shillings then in the old times.

“I smoke, sir; I _will_ have tobacco, if I can’t get grub. My old woman takes cares that I have tobacco.

“I have been a sailor, and the first ship as ever I was in was the Old Colossus, 74, but we was only cruising about the Channel then, and took two prizes. I went aboard the Old Remewa guardship--we were turned over to her--and from her I was drafted over to the Escramander frigate. We went out chasing Boney, but he gived himself up to the Old Impregnable. I was at the taking of Algiers, in 1816, in the Superb. I was in the Rochfort, 74, up the Mediterranean (they call it up the Mediterranean, but it was the Malta station) three years, ten months, and twenty days, until the ship was paid off.

“Then I went to work at the Dockyard. I had a misfortune soon after that. I fell out of a garret window, three stories high, and that kept me from going to the Docks again. I lost all my top teeth by that fall. I’ve got a scar here, one on my chin; but I warn’t in the hospital more than two weeks.

“I was afeard of being taken up solicitin’ charity, and I knew that sweeping was a safe game; they couldn’t take me up for sweeping a crossing.

“Sometimes I get insulted, only in words; sometimes I get chaffed by sober people. Drunken men I don’t care for; I never listen to ’em, unless they handle me, and then, although I am sixty-three this very day, sir, I think I could show them something. I _do_ carry my age well; and if you could ha’ seen how I have lived this last winter through, sometimes one pound of bread between two of us, you’d say I was a strong man to be as I am.

“Those who think that sweepin’ a crossing is idle work, make a great mistake. In wet weather, the traffic that makes it gets sloppy as soon as it’s cleaned. Cabs, and ’busses, and carriages continually going over the crossing must scatter the mud on it, and you must look precious sharp to keep it clean; but when I once get in the road, I never jump out of it. I keeps my eye both ways, and if I gets in too close quarters, I slips round the wheels. I’ve had them almost touch me.

“No, sir, I never got knocked down. In foggy weather, of course, it’s no use sweeping at all.

“Parcels! it’s very few parcels I get to carry now; I don’t think I get a parcel to carry once in a month: there’s ’busses and railways so cheap. A man would charge as much for a distance as a cab would take them.

“I don’t come to the same crossing on Sundays; I go to the corner of Finch-lane. As to regular customers, I’ve none--to say regular; some give me sixpence now and then. All those who used to give me regular are dead.

“I was a-bed when the Exchange was burnt down.

“I have had this beard five years. I grew it to sit to artists when I got the chance; but it don’t pay expenses--for I have to walk four or five miles, and only get a shilling an hour: besides, I’m often kept nearly two hours, and I get nothing for going and nothing for coming, but just for the time I am there.

“Afore I wore it, I had a pair of large whiskers. I went to a gentleman then, an artist, and he _did_ pay me well. He advised me to grow mustarshers and the beard, but he hasn’t employed me since.

“They call me ‘Old Jack’ on the crossing, that’s all they call me. I get more chaff from the boys than any one else. They only say, ‘Why don’t you get shaved?’ but I take no notice on ’em.

“Old Bill, in Lombard Street! I knows him; he used to make a good thing of it, but I don’t think he makes much now.

“My wife--I am married, sir--doesn’t do anything. I live in a lodging-house, and I pay three shillings a-week.

“I tell you what we has, now, when I go home. We has a pound of bread, a quarter of an ounce of tea, and perhaps a red herring.

“I’ve had a weakness in my legs for two year; the veins comes down, but I keep a bandage in my pocket, and when I feels ’em coming down, I puts the bandage on ’till the veins goes up again--it’s through being on my legs so long (because I had very strong legs when young) and want of good food. When you only have a bit of bread and a cup of tea--no meat, no vegetables--you find it out; but I’m as upright as a dart, and as lissom as ever I was.

“I gives threepence for my brooms. I wears out three in a week in the wet weather. I always lean very hard on my broom, ’specially when the mud is sticky--as it is after the roads is watered. I am very particular about my brooms; I gives ’em away to be burned when many another would use them.”

THE SWEEPER IN PORTMAN SQUARE, WHO GOT PERMISSION FROM THE POLICE.

A wild-looking man, with long straggling grey hair, which stood out from his head as if he brushed it the wrong way; and whiskers so thick and curling that they reminded one of the wool round a sheep’s face, gave me the accompanying history.

He was very fond of making use of the term “honest crust,” and each time he did so, he, Irish-like, pronounced it “currust.” He seemed a kind-hearted, innocent creature, half scared by want and old age.

“I’m blest if I can tell which is the best crossing in London; but mine ain’t no great shakes, for I don’t take three shilling a-week not with persons going across, take one week with another, but I thought I could get a honest currust (crust) at it, for I’ve got a crippled hand, which comed of its own accord, and I was in St. George’s Hospital seven weeks. When I comed out it was a cripple with me, and I thought the crossing was better than going into the workhouse--for I likes my liberty.

“I’ve been on this crossing since last Christmas was a twelvemonth. Before that I was a bricklayer and plasterer. I’ve been thirty-two years in London. I can get as good a character as any one anywhere, please God; for as to drunkards, and all that, I was none of them. I was earning eighteen shilling a-week, and sometimes with my overtime I’ve had twenty shilling, or even twenty-three shilling. Bricklayers is paid according to all the hours they works beyond ten, for that’s the bricklayer’s day.

“I was among the lime, and the sand, and the bricks, and then my hand come like this (he held out a hand with all the fingers drawn up towards the middle, like the claw of a dead bird). All the sinews have gone, as you see yourself, sir, so that I can’t bend it or straighten it, for the fingers are like bits of stick, and you can’t bend ’em without breaking them.

“When I couldn’t lay hold of anything, nor lift it up, I showed it to master, and he sent me to his doctor, who gived me something to rub over it, for it was swelled up like, and then I went to St. George’s Hospital, and they cut it over, and asked me if I could come in doors as in-door patient? and I said Yes, for I wanted to get it over sooner, and go back to my work, and earn an honest currust. Then they scarred it again, cut it seven times, and I was there many long weeks; and when I comed out I could not hold any tool, so I was forced to keep on pawning and pledging to keep an honest currust in my mouth, and sometimes I’d only just be with a morsel to eat, and sometimes I’d be hungry, and that’s the truth.

“What put me up to crossing-sweeping was this--I had no other thing open to me but the workhouse; but of course I’d sooner be out on my liberty, though I was entitled to go into the house, of course, but I’d sooner keep out of it if I could earn an honest currust.

“One of my neighbours persuaded me that I should pick up a good currust at a crossing. The man who had been on my crossing was gone dead, and as it was empty, I went down to the police-office, in Marylebone Lane, and they told me I might take it, and give me liberty to stop. I was told the man who had been there before me had been on it fourteen years, and them was good times for gentle and simple and all--and it was reported that this man had made a good bit of money, at least so it was said.

“I thought I could make a living out of it, or an honest currust, but it’s a very poor living, I can assure you. When I went to it first, I done pretty fair for a currust; but it’s only three shillings to me now. My missus has such bad health, or she used to help me with her needle. I can assure you, sir, it’s only one day a week as I have a bit of dinner, and I often go without breakfast and supper, too.

“I haven’t got any regular customers that allow me anything. When the families is in town sometimes they give me half-a-crown, or sixpence, now and then, perhaps once a fortnight, or a month. They’ve got footmen and servant-maids, so they never wants no parcels taken--they make _them_ do it; but sometimes I get a penny for posting a letter from one of the maids, or something like that.

“The best day for us is Sunday. Sometimes I get a shilling, and when the families is in town eighteen pence. But when the families is away, and the weather so fine there’s no mud, and only working-people going to the chapels, they never looks at me, and then I’ll only get a shilling.”

ANOTHER WHO GOT PERMISSION TO SWEEP.

An old Irishman, who comes from Cork, was spoken of to us as a crossing-sweeper who had formally obtained permission before exercising his calling; but I found, upon questioning him, that it was but little more than a true Hibernian piece of conciliation on his part; and, indeed, that out of fear of competition, he had asked leave of the servants and policeman in the neighbourhood.

It seems somewhat curious, as illustrative of the rights of property among crossing-sweepers, that three or four “intending” sweepers, when they found themselves forestalled by the old man in question, had no idea of supplanting the Irishman, and merely remarked,--

“Well, you’re lucky to get it so soon, for we meant to take it.”

In reply to our questions, the man said,--

“I came here in January last: I knew the old man was did who used to keep the crossin’, and I thought I would like the kind of worruk, for I am getting blind, and hard of hearing likewise. I’ve got no parish; since the passing of the last Act, I’ve niver lived long enough in any one parish for that. I applied to Marabone, and they offered to sind me back to Ireland, but I’d got no one to go to, no friends or relations, or if I have, they’re as poor there as I am mysilf, sir.

“There was an ould man here before me. He used to have a stool to rest himsilf on, and whin he died, last Christmas, a man as knew him and me asked me whither I would take it or no, and I said I would. His broom and stool were in the coal-cellar at this corner house, Mr. ----’s, where he used to leave them at night times, and they gave them up to me; but I didn’t use the stool, sir, it might be an obsthruction to the passers-by; and, sir, it looks as if it was infirrumity. But, plaise the Lord, I’ll git and make a stool for myself against the hard winter, I will, bein’ a carpenter by thrade.

“I didn’t ask the gintlefolks’ permission to come here, but I asked the police and the servants, and such as that. I asked the servants at the corner-house. I don’t know whither they could have kept me away if I had not asked. Soon after I came here the gintlefolks--some of them--stopped and spoke to me. ‘So,’ says they, ‘you’ve taken the place of the old man that’s did?’ ‘Yes, I have,’ says I. ‘Very will,’ says they, and they give me a ha’penny. That was all that occurred upon my takin’ to the crossin’.

“But there were some others who would have taken it if I had not; they tould me I was lucky in gettin’ it so soon, or they would have had it, but I don’t know who they are.

“I am seventy-three years ould the 2d of June last. My wife is about the same age, and very much afflicted with the rheumatis, and she injured hersilf, too, years ago, by fallin’ off a chair while she was takin’ some clothes off the line.

“Not to desave you, sir, I get a shillin’ a-week from one of my childer and ninepence from another, and a little hilp from some of the others. I have siven childer livin’, and have had tin. They are very much scattered: two are abroad; one is in the tinth Hussars--he is kind to me. The one who allows me ninepence is a basket-maker at Reading; and the shillin’ I get from my daughter, a servant, sir. One of my sons died in the Crimmy; he was in the 13th Light Dragoons, and died at Scutari, on the 25th of May. They could not hilp me more than they thry to do, sir.

“I only make about two shilling a-week here, sir; and sometimes I don’t take three ha’pence a day. On Sundays I take about sivenpence, ninepence, or tinpence, ’cordin’ as I see the people who give rigular.

“Weather makes no difference to me--for, though the sum is small, I am a rigular pinsioner like of theirs. I go to Somer’s-town Chapel, being a Catholic, for I’m not ashamed to own my religion before any man. When I go, it is at siven in the evening. Sometimes I go to St. Pathrick’s Chapel, Soho-square. I have not been to confission for two or three years--the last time was to Mr. Stanton, at St. Pathrick’s.

“There’s a poor woman, sir, who goes past here every Friday to get her pay from the parish, and, as sure as she comes back again, she gives me a ha’penny--she does, indeed. Sometimes the baker or the greengrocer gives me a ha’penny for minding their baskets.

“I’m perfectly satisfied; it’s no use to grumble, and I might be worrus off, sir. Yes, I go of arrinds some times; fitch water now and then, and post letters; but I do no odd jobs, such as hilping the servants to clean the knives, or such-like. No: they wouldn’t let me behint the shadow of their doors.”

A THIRD WHO ASKED LEAVE.

This one was a mild and rather intelligent man, in a well worn black dress-coat and waistcoat, a pair of “moleskin” trousers, and a blue-and-white cotton neckerchief. I found him sweeping the crossing at the end of ---- place, opposite the church.

He every now and then regaled himself with a pinch of snuff, which seemed to light up his careworn face. He seemed very willing to afford me information. He said:--

“I have been on this crossing four years. I am a bricklayer by trade; but you see how my fingers have gone: it’s all rheumatics, sir. I took a great many colds. I had a great deal of underground work, and that tries a man very much.

“How did I get the crossing? Well, I took it--I came as a cas’alty. No one ever interfered with me. If one man leaves a crossing, well, another takes it.

“Yes, some crossings is worth a good deal of money. There was a black in Regent-street, at the corner of Conduit-street, I think, who had two or three houses--at least, I’ve heard so; and I know for a certainty that the man in Cavendish-square used to get so much a week from the Duke of Portland--he got a shilling a-day, and eighteenpence on Sundays. I don’t know why he got more on Sundays. I don’t know whether he gets it since the old Duke’s death.

“The boys worry me. I mean the little boys with brooms; they are an abusive set, and give me a good deal of annoyance; they are so very cheeky; they watch the police away; but if they see the police coming, they bolt like a shot. There are a great many Irish lads among them. There were not nearly so many boys about a few years ago.

“I once made eighteenpence in one day, that was the best day I ever made: it was very bad weather: but, take the year through, I don’t make more than sixpence a-day.

“I haven’t worked at bricklaying for a matter of six year. What did I do for the two years before I took to crossing-sweeping? Why, sir, I had saved a little money, and managed to get on somehow. Yes, I have had my troubles, but I never had what I call great ones, excepting my wife’s blindness. She was blind, sir, for eleven year, and so I had to fight for everything: she has been dead two year, come September.

“I have seven children, five boys and two girls; they are all grown up and got families. Yes, they ought, amongst them, to do something for me; but if you have to trust to children, you will soon find out what _that_ is. If they want anything of you, they know where to find you; but if you want anything of them, it’s no go.

“I think I made more money when first I swept this crossing than I do now; it’s not a _good_ crossing, sir. Oh, no; but it’s handy home, you see. When a shower of rain comes on, I can run home, and needn’t go into a public-house; but it’s a poor neighbourhood.

“Oh yes, indeed sir, I am always here. Certainly; I am laid up sometimes for a day with my feet. I am subject to the rheumatic gout, you see. Well, I don’t know whether so much standing has anything to do with it.

“Yes, sir, I _have_ heard of what you call ‘shutting-up shop.’ I never heard it called by that name before, though; but there’s lots of sweepers as sweep back the dirt before leaving at night. I know they do, some of them. I never did it myself--I don’t care about it; I always think there’s the trouble of sweeping it back in the morning.

“People liberal? No, sir, I don’t think there are many liberal people about; if people were liberal I should make a good deal of money.

“Sometimes, after I get home, I read a book, if I can borrow one. What do I read? Well, novels, when I can get them. What did I read last night? Well, _Reynolds’s Miscellany_; before that I read the _Pilgrim’s Progress_. I have read it three times over; but there’s always something new in it.

“Well, weather makes very little difference in this neighbourhood. My rent is two-and-sixpence a-week. I have a little relief from the parish. How much? Two-and-sixpence. How much does my living cost? Well, I am forced to live on what I can get. I manage as well as I can; if I have a good week, I spend it--I get more nourishment then, that’s all.

“I used to smoke, sir, a great deal, but I haven’t touched a pipe for a matter of forty year. Yes, sir, I take snuff, Scotch and Rappee, mixed. If I go without a meal of victuals, I must have my snuff. I take an ounce a-week, sir; it costs fourpence--that there is the only luxury I get, unless somebody gives me a half pint of beer.

“I very rarely get an odd job, this is not the neighbourhood for them things.

“Yes, sir, I go to church on Sunday; I go to All Souls’, in Langham-place, the church with the sharp spire. I go in the morning; once a day is quite enough for me. In the afternoon, I generally take a walk in the Park, or I go to see one of my young ones; they won’t come to the old crossing-sweeper, so I go to them.”

A REGENT-STREET CROSSING-SWEEPER.

A man who had stationed himself at the end of Regent-street, near the County Fire Office, gave me the following particulars.

He was a man far superior to the ordinary run of sweepers, and, as will be seen, had formerly been a gentleman’s servant. His costume was of that peculiar miscellaneous description which showed that it had from time to time been given to him in charity. A dress-coat so marvellously tight that the stitches were stretching open, a waistcoat with a remnant of embroidery, and a pair of trousers which wrinkled like a groom’s top-boot, had all evidently been part of the wardrobe of the gentlemen whose errands he had run. His boots were the most curious portion of his toilette, for they were large enough for a fisherman, and the portion unoccupied by the foot had gone flat and turned up like a Turkish slipper.

He spoke with a tone and manner which showed some education. Once or twice whilst I was listening to his statement he insisted upon removing some dirt from my shoulder, and, on leaving, he by force seized my hat and brushed it--all which habits of attention he had contracted whilst in service.

I was surprised to see stuck in the wristband of his coat-sleeve a row of pins, arranged as neatly as in the papers sold at the mercers’.

“Since the Irish have come so much--the boys, I mean--my crossing has been completely cut up,” he said; “and yet it is in as good a spot as could well be, from the County Fire Office (Mr. Beaumont as owns it) to Swan and Edgar’s. It ought to be one of the fust crossings in the kingdom, but these Irish have spiled it.

“I should think, as far as I can guess, I’ve been on it eight year, if not better; but it was some time before I got known. You see, it does a feller good to be some time on a crossing; but it all depends, of course, whether you are honest or not, for it’s according to your honesty as you gets rewarded. By rewarded, I means, you gets a character given to you by word of mouth. For instance, a party wants me to do a job for ’em, and they says, ‘Can you get any lady or gentleman to speak for you?’ And I says, ‘Yes;’ and I gets my character by word of mouth--that’s what I calls being rewarded.

“Before ever I took a broom in hand, the good times had gone for crossings and sweepers. The good times was thirty year back. In the regular season, when _they_ (the gentry) are in town, I _have_ taken from one and sixpence to two shillings a-day; but every day’s not alike, for people stop at home in wet days. But, you see, in winter-time the crossings ain’t no good, and then we turn off to shovelling snow; so that, you see, a shilling a-day is even too high for us to take regular all the year round. Now, I ain’t taken a shilling, no, nor a blessed bit of silver, for these three days. All the quality’s out of town.

“It ain’t what a man gets on a crossing as keeps him; _that_ ain’t worth mentioning. I don’t think I takes sixpence a-day regular--all the year round, mind--on the crossing. No, I’d take my solemn oath I don’t! If you was to put down fourpence it would be nearer the mark. I’ll tell you the use of a crossing to such as me and my likes. It’s our shop, and it ain’t what we gets a-sweeping, but it’s a place like for us to stand, and then people as wants us, comes and fetches us.

“In the summer I do a good deal in jobs. I do anything in the portering line, or if I’m called to do boots and shoes, or clean knives and forks, then I does that. But that’s only when people’s busy; for I’ve only got one regular place I goes to, and that’s in A---- street, Piccadilly. I goes messages, parcels, letters, and anything that’s required, either for the master of the hotel or the gents that uses there. Now, there’s one party at Swan and Edgar’s, and I goes to take parcels for him sometimes; and he won’t trust anybody but me, for you see I’m know’d to be trustworthy, and then they reckons me as safe as the Bank,--there, that’s just it.

“I got to the hotel only lately. You see, when the peace was on and the soldiers was coming home from the Crimmy, then the governor he was exceeding busy, so he give me two shillings a-day and my board; but that wasn’t reg’lar, for as he wants me he comes and fetches me. It’s a-nigh impossible to say what I makes, it don’t turn out reg’lar; Sunday’s a shilling or one-and-sixpence, other days nothing at all--not salt to my porridge. You see, when I helps the party at the hotel, I gets my food, and that’s a lift. I’ve never put down what I made in the course of the year, but I’ve got enough to find food and raiment for myself and family. Sir, I think I may say I gets about six shillings a-week, but it ain’t more.

“I’ve been abroad a good deal. I was in Cape Town, Table Bay, one-and-twenty miles from Simons’ Town--for you see the French mans-of-war comes in at Cape Town, and the English mans-of-war comes in at Simons’ Town. I was a gentleman’s servant over there, and a very good place it was; and if anybody was to have told me years back that I was to have come to what I am now, I could never have credited it; but misfortunes has brought me to what I am.

“I come to England thinking to better myself, if so be it was the opportunity; besides, I was tired of Africy, and anxious to see my native land.

“I was very hard up--ay, very hard up indeed--before I took to the cross, and, in preference to turning out dishonest, I says, I’ll buy a broom and go and sweep and get a honest livelihood.

“There was a Jewish lady and her husband used to live in the Suckus, and I knowed them and the family--very fine sons they was--and I went into the shop to ask them to let me work before the shop, and they give me their permission so to do, and, says she, ‘I’ll allow you threepence a-week.’ They’ve been good friends to me, and send me a messages; and wherever they be, may they do well, I says.

“I sometimes gets clothes give to me, but it’s only at Christmas times, or after its over; and that helps me along--it does so, indeed.

“Whenever I sees a pin or a needle, I picks it up; sometimes I finds as many as a dozen a-day, and I always sticks them either in my cuff or in my waistcoat. Very often a lady sees ’em, and then they comes to me and says, ‘Can you oblige me with a pin?’ and I says, ‘Oh yes, marm; a couple, or three, if you requires them;’ but it turns out very rare that I gets a trifle for anything like that. I only does it to be obliging--besides, it makes you friends, like.

“I can’t tell who’s got the best crossing in London. I’m no judge of that; it isn’t a broom as can keep a man now. They’re going out of town so fast, all the harristocracy; though it’s middling classes--such as is in a middling way like--as is the best friends to me.”

A TRADESMAN’S CROSSING-SWEEPER.

A man who had worked at crossing-sweeping as a boy when he first came to London, and again when he grew too old to do his work as a labourer in a coal-yard, gave me a statement of the kind of life he led, and the earnings he made. He was an old man, with a forehead so wrinkled that the dark, waved lines reminded me of the grain of oak. His thick hair was, despite his great age--which was nearly seventy--still dark; and as he conversed with me, he was continually taking off his hat, and wiping his face with what appeared to be a piece of flannel, about a foot square.

His costume was of what might be called “the all-sorts” kind, and, from constant wear, it had lost its original colour, and had turned into a sort of dirty green-grey hue. It consisted of a waistcoat of tweed, fastened together with buttons of glass, metal, and bone; a tail-coat, turned brown with weather, a pair of trousers repaired here and there with big stitches, like the teeth of a comb, and these formed the extent of his wardrobe. Around the collar of the coat and waistcoat, and on the thighs of the pantaloons, the layers of grease were so thick that the fibre of the cloth was choked up, and it looked as if it had been pieced with bits of leather.

Rubbing his unshorn chin, whereon the bristles stood up like the pegs in the barrel of a musical-box--until it made a noise like a hair-brush, he began his story:--

“I’m known all about in Parliament-street--ay, every bit about them parts,--for more than thirty year. Ay, I’m as well known as the statty itself, all about them parts at Charing-cross. Afore I took to crossing-sweeping I was at coal-work. The coal-work I did was backing and filling, and anythink in that way. I worked at Wood’s, and Penny’s, and Douglas’s. They were good masters, Mr. Wood ’specially; but the work was too much for me as I got old. There was plenty of coal work in them times; indeed, I’ve yearned as much as nine shillings of a day. That was the time as the meters was on. Now men can hardly earn a living at coal-work. I left the coal-work because I was took ill with a fever, as was brought on by sweating--over-_exaction_ they called it. It left me so weak I wasn’t able to do nothink in the yards.

“I know Mr. G----, the fishmonger, and Mr. J----, the publican. I should think Mr. J---- has knowed me this eight-and-thirty-year, and they put me on to the crossing. You see, when I was odd man at a coal job, I’d go and do whatever there was to be done in the neighbourhood. If there was anythink as Mr. G----’s men couldn’t do--such as carrying fish home to a customer, when the other men were busy--I was sent for. Or Mr. J---- would send me with sperrits--a gallon, or half a gallon, or anythink of that sort--a long journey. In fact, I’d get anythink as come handy.

“I had done crossing-sweeping as a boy, before I took to coal-work, when I first come out of the country. My own head first put me up to the notion, and that’s more than fifty year ago--ay, more than that; but I can’t call to mind exactly, for I’ve had no parents ever since I was eight year old, and now I’m nigh seventy; but it’s as close as I can remember. I was about thirteen at that time. There was no police on then, and I saw a good bit of road as was dirty, and says I, ‘That’s a good spot to keep clean,’ and I took it. I used to go up to the tops of the houses to throw over the snow, and I’ve often been obliged to get men to help me. I suppose I was about the first person as ever swept a crossing in Charing-cross; (here, as if proud of the fact, he gave a kind of moist chuckle, which ended in a fit of coughing). I used to make a good bit of money then; but it ain’t worth nothink, now.

“After I left coal-backing, I went back to the old crossing opposite the Adm’ralty gates, and I stopped there until Mr. G---- give me the one I’m on now, and thank him for it, I says. Mr. G---- had the crossing paved, as leads to his shop, to accommodate the customers. He had a German there to sweep it afore me. He used to sweep in the day--come about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning, and then at night he turned watchman; for when there was any wenson, as Mr. G---- deals in, hanging out, he was put to watch it. This German worked there, I reckon, about seven year, and when he died I took the crossing.

“The crossing ain’t much of a living for any body--that is, what I takes on it. But then I’ve got regular customers as gives me money. There’s Mr. G----, he gives a shilling a-week; and there’s Captain R----, of the Adm’ralty, he gives me sixpence a fortnight; and another captain, of the name of R----, he gives me fourpence every Sunday. Ah! I’d forgot Mr. O----, the Secretary at the Adm’ralty; he gives me sixpence now and then. Besides, I do a lot of odd jobs for different people; they knows where to come and find me when they wants me. They gets me to carry letters, or a parcel, or a box, or anythink of that there. I has a bit of vittals, too, give me every now and then; but as for money, it’s very little as I get on the crossings--perhaps seven or eight shilling a-week, reg’lar customers and all.

“I never heard of anybody as was leaving a crossing selling it; no, never. My crossing ain’t a reg’lar one as anybody could have. If I was to leave, it depends upon whether Mr. G---- would like to have the party, as to who gets it. There’s no such thing as turning a reg’lar sweeper out, the police stops that. I’ve been known to them for years, and they are very kind to me. As they come’s by they says, ‘Jimmy, how are you?’ You see, my crossing comes handy for them, for it’s agin Scotland-yard; and when they turns out in their clean boots it saves their blacking.

“Lord G---- used to be at the Adm’ralty, but he ain’t there now; I don’t know why he left, but he’s gone. He used to give me sixpence every now and then when he come over. I was near to my crossing when Mr. Drummond was shot, but I wasn’t near enough to hear the pistol; but I didn’t see nothink. I know’d the late Sir Robert Peel, oh, certantly, but he seldom crossed over my crossing, though whenever he did, he’d give me somethink. The present Sir Robert goes over to the chapel in Spring-gardens when he’s in town, but he keeps on the other side of the way; so I never had anythink from him. He’s the very picture of his father, and I knows him from that, only his father were rather stouter than he is. I don’t know none of the members of parliament, they most on ’em keeps on shifting so, that I hasn’t no time to recognise ’em.

“The watering-carts ain’t no friends of our’n. They makes dirt and no pay for cleaning it. There’s so much traffic with coaches and carts going right over my crossing that a fine or wet day don’t make much difference to me, for people are afraid to cross for fear of being run over. I’m forced to have my eyes about me and dodge the wehicles. I never heerd, as I can tell on, of a crossing-sweeper being run over.”

2. THE ABLE-BODIED FEMALE CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

THE OLD WOMAN “OVER THE WATER.”

She is the widow of a sweep--“as respectable and ’dustrious a man,” I was told, “as any in the neighbourhood of the ‘Borough;’ he was a short man, sir,--very short,” said my informant, “and had a weakness for top-boots, white hats, and leather breeches,” and in that unsweeplike costume he would parade himself up and down the Dover and New Kent-roads. He had a capital connexion (or, as his widow terms it, “seat of business”), and left behind him a good name and reputation that would have kept the “seat of business” together, if it had not been for the misconduct of the children, two of whom (sons) have been transported, while a daughter “went wrong,” though she, wretched creature, paid a fearful penalty, I learnt, for her frailties, having been burnt to death in the middle of the night, through a careless habit of smoking in bed.

The old sweeper herself, eighty years of age, and almost beyond labour, very deaf, and rather feeble to all appearance, yet manages to get out every morning between four and five, so as to catch the workmen and “time-keepers” on their way to the factories. She has the true obsequious curtsey, but is said to be very strong in her “likes and dislikes.”

She bears a good character, though sometimes inclining, I was informed, towards “the other half-pint,” but never guilty of any excess. She is somewhat profuse in her scriptural ejaculations and professions of gratitude. Her statement was as follows:--

“Fifteen years I’ve been on the crossing, come next Christmas. My husband died in Guy’s Hospital, of the cholera, three days after he got in, and I took to the crossing some time after. I had nothing to do. I am eighty years of age, and I couldn’t do hard work. I have nothing but what the great God above pleases to give me. The poor woman who had the crossing before me was killed, and so I took it. The gentleman who was the foreman of the road, gave me the grant to take it. I didn’t ask him, for poor people as wants a bit of bread they goes on the crossings as they likes, but he never interfered with me. The first day I took sixpence; but them good times is all gone, they’ll never come back again. The best times I used to take a shilling a-day, and now I don’t take but a few pence. The winter is as bad as the summer, for poor people haven’t got it to give, and gentlefolks get very near now. People are not so liberal as they used to be, and they never will be again.

“To do a hard day’s washing, I couldn’t. I used to go to a lady’s house to do a bit of washing when I had my strength, but I can’t do it now.

“People going to their offices at six or seven in the morning gives me a ha’penny or a penny; if they don’t, I must go without it. I go at five, and stand there till eleven or twelve, till I find it is no use being there any longer. Oh, the gentlemen give me the most, I’m sure; the ladies don’t give me nothing.

“At Christmas I get a few things--a gentleman gave me these boots I’ve got on, and a ticket for a half-quartern loaf and a hundred of coals. I have got as much as five shillings at Christmas--but those times will never come back again. I get no more than two shillings and sixpence at Christmas now.

“My husband, Thomas ---- was his name, was a chimley-sweep. He did a very good business--it was all done by his sons. We had a boy with us, too, just as a friendly boy. I was a mother and a mistress to him. I’ve had eleven children. I’m grandmother to fifteen, and a great-grandmother, too. They won’t give me a bite of bread, though, any of ’em, I’ve got four children living, as far as I know, two abroad and two home here with families. I never go among ’em. It is not in my power to assist ’em, so I never go to distress ’em.

“I get two shilling a-week from the parish, and I have to pay out of that for a quartern loaf, a quartern of sugar, and an ounce of tea. The parish forces it on me, so I must take it, and that only leaves me one shilling and fourpence. A shilling of it goes for my lodging. I lodge with people who knew my family and me, and took a liking to me; they let me come there instead of wandering about the streets.

“I stand on my crossing till I’m like to drop over my broom with tiredness. Yes, sir, I go to church at St. George’s in the Borough. I go there every Sunday morning, after I leave my roads. They’ve taken the organ and charity children away that used to be there when I was a girl, so it’s not a church now, it’s a chapel. There’s nothing but the preacher and the gentlefolks, and they sings their own psalms. There are gatherings at that church, but whether it’s for the poor or not I don’t know. _I_ don’t get any of it.

“It was a great loss to me when my husband died; I went all to ruin then. My father belonged to Scotland, at Edinboro’. My mother came from Yorkshire. I don’t know where Scotland is no more than the dead. My father was a gentleman’s gardener and watchman. My mother used to go out a-chairing, and she was drowned just by Horsemonger Lane. She was coming through the Halfpenny Hatch, that used to be just facing the Crown and Anchor, in the New Kent-road; there was an open ditch there, sir. She took the left-hand turning instead of the right, and was drownded. My father died in St. Martin’s Workhouse. He died of apoplexy fit.

“I used to mind my father’s place till mother died. His housekeeper I was--God help me! a fine one too. Thank the Lord, my husband was a clever man; he had a good seat of business. I lost my right hand when he died. I couldn’t carry it on. There was my two sons went for sogers, and the others were above their business. He left a seat of business worth a hundred pound; he served all up the New Kent-road. He was beloved by all his people. He used to climb himself when I first had him, but he left it off when he got children. I had my husband when I was fifteen, and kept him forty years. Ah! he was well-beloved by all around, except his children, and they behaved shameful. I said to his eldest son, when he lay in the hospital, (asking your pardon, sir, for mentioning it)--I says to his eldest son, ‘Billy,’ says I, ‘your father’s very bad--why don’t you go to see him?’ ‘Oh,’ says he, ‘he’s all right, he’s gettin’ better;’ and he was never the one to go and see him once; and he never come to the funeral.

“Billy thought I should come upon him after his death, but I never troubled him for as much as a crumb of bread.

“I never get spoken to on my roads, only some people say, ‘Good morning,’ ‘There you are, old lady.’ They never asks me no questions whatsomever. I never get run over, though I am very hard of hearing; but I am forced to have my eyes here, there, and everywhere, to keep out of the way of the carts and coaches.

“Some days I goes to my crossing, and earns nothink at all: other days it’s sometimes fourpence, sometimes sixpence. I earned fourpence to-day, and I had a bit of snuff out of it. Why, I believe I did yearn fivepence yesterday--I won’t tell no story. I got ninepence on Sunday--that was a good day; but, God knows, that didn’t go far. I yearned so much I couldn’t bring it home on Saturday--it almost makes me laugh,--I yearned sixpence.

“I goes every morning, winter or summer, frost or snow; and at the same hour (five o’clock); people certainly don’t think of giving so much in fine weather. Nobody ever mislested me, and I never mislested nobody. If they gives me a penny, I thanks ’em; and if they gives me nothing, I thanks ’em all the same.

“If I was to go into the House, I shouldn’t live three days. It’s not that I eat much--a very little is enough for me; but it’s the air I should miss: to be shut up like a thief, I couldn’t live long, I know.”

THE OLD WOMAN CROSSING-SWEEPER WHO HAD A PENSIONER.

This old dame is remarkable from the fact of being the chief support of a poor deaf cripple, who is as much poorer than the crossing-sweeper as she is poorer than Mrs. ----, in ---- street, who allows the sweeper sixpence a-week. The crossing-sweeper is a rather stout old woman, with a carneying tone, and constant curtsey. She complains, in common with most of her class, of the present hard times, and reverts longingly to the good old days when people were more liberal than they are now, and had more to give. She says:--

“I was on my crossing before the police was made, for I am not able to work, and only get helped by the people who knows me. Mr. ----, in the square, gives me a shilling a-week; Mrs. ----, in ---- street, gives me sixpence; (she has gone in the country now, but she has left it at the oil-shop for me); that’s what I depinds upon, darlin’, to help pay my rent, which is half-a-crown. My rent was three shillings, till the landlord didn’t wish me to go, ’cause I was so punctual with my money. I give a corner of my room to a poor cretur, who’s deaf as a beadle; she works at the soldiers’ coats, and is a very good hand at it, and would earn a good deal of money if she had constant work. She owed as good as twelve shillings and sixpence for rent, poor thing, where she was last, and the landlord took all her goods except her bed; she’s got that, so I give her a corner of my room for charity’s sake. We must look to one another: she’s as poor as a church mouse. I thought she would be company for me, still a deaf person is but poor company to one. She had that heavy sickness they call the cholera about five years ago, and it fell in her side and in the side of her head too--that made her deaf. Oh! she’s a poor object. She has been with me since the month of February. I’ve lent her money out of my own pocket. I give her a cup of tea or a slice of bread when I see she hasn’t got any. Then the people up-stairs are kind to her, and give her a bite and a sup.

“My husband was a soldier; he fought at the battle of Waterloo. His pension was ninepence a-day. All my family are dead, except my grandson, what’s in New Orleans. I expect him back this very month that now we have: he gave me four pounds before he went, to carry me over the last winter.

“If the Almighty God pleases to send him back, he’ll be a great help to me. He’s all I’ve got left. I never had but two children in all my life.

“I worked in noblemen’s houses before I was married to my husband, who is dead; but he came to be poor, and I had to leave my houses where I used to work.

“I took twopence-halfpenny yesterday, and threepence to-day; the day before yesterday I didn’t take a penny. I never come out on Sunday; I goes to Rosomon-street Chapel. Last Saturday I made one shilling and sixpence; on Friday, sixpence. I dare say I make three shillings and sixpence a-week, besides the one shilling and sixpence I gets allowed me. I am forced to make a do of it somehow, but I’ve no more strength left in me than this ould broom.”

THE CROSSING-SWEEPER WHO HAD BEEN A SERVANT-MAID.

She is to be found any day between eight in the morning and seven in the evening, sweeping away in a convulsive, jerky sort of manner, close to ---- square, near the Foundling. She may be known by her pinched-up straw bonnet, with a broad, faded, almost colourless ribbon. She has weak eyes, and wears over them a brownish shade. Her face is tied up, because of a gathering which she has on her head. She wears a small, old plaid cloak, a clean checked apron, and a tidy printed gown.

She is rather shy at first, but willing and obliging enough withal; and she lives down Little ---- Yard, in Great ---- street. The “yard” that is made like a mousetrap--small at the entrance, but amazingly large inside, and dilapidated though extensive.

Here are stables and a couple of blind alleys, nameless, or bearing the same name as the yard itself, and wherein are huddled more people than one could count in a quarter of an hour, and more children than one likes to remember,--dirty children, listlessly trailing an old tin baking-dish, or a worn-out shoe, tied to a piece of string; sullen children, who turn away in a fit of sleepy anger if spoken to; screaming children, setting all the parents in the “yard” at defiance; and quiet children, who are arranging banquets of dirt in the reeking gutters.

The “yard” is devoted principally to costermongers.

The crossing-sweeper lives in the top-room of a two-storied house, in the very depth of the blind alley at the end of the yard. She has not even a room to herself, but pays one shilling a-week for the privilege of sleeping with a woman who gets her living by selling tapes in the streets.

“Ah!” says the sweeper, “poor woman, she _has_ a hard time of it; her husband is in the hospital with a bad leg--in fact, he’s scarcely ever out. If you could hear that woman cough, you’d never forget it. She would have had to starve to-day if it hadn’t been for a person who actually lent her a gown to pledge to raise her stock-money, poor thing.”

The room in which these people live has a sloping roof, and a small-paned window on each side. For furniture, there were two chairs and a shaky, three-legged stool, a deal table, and a bed rolled up against the wall--nothing else. In one corner of the room lay the last lump remaining of the seven pounds of coals. In another corner there were herbs in pans, and two water-bottles without their noses. The most striking thing in that little room was some crockery, the woman had managed to save from the wreck of her things; among this, curiously enough, was a soup-tureen, with its lid not even cracked.

There _was_ a piece of looking-glass--a small three-cornered piece--forming an almost equilateral triangle,--and the oldest, and most rubbed and worn-out piece of a mirror that ever escaped the dust-bin.

The fireplace was a very small one, and on the table were two or three potatoes and about one-fifth of a red herring, which the poor street-seller had saved out of her breakfast to serve for her supper. “Take my solemn word for it, sir,” said the sweeper, “and I wouldn’t deceive you, that is all she will get besides a cup of weak tea when she comes home tired at night.”

The statement of this old sweeper is as follows:--

“My name is Mary ----. I live in ---- yard. I live with a person of the name of ----, in the back attic; she gets her living by selling flowers in pots in the street, but she is now doing badly. I pay her a shilling a-week.

“My parents were Welsh. I was in service, or maid-of-all-work, till I got married. My husband was a seafaring man when I married him. After we were married, he got his living by selling memorandum-almanack books, and the like, about the streets. He was driven to that because he had no trade in his hand, and he was obliged to do something for a living. He did not make much, and over-exertion, with want of nourishment, brought on a paralytic stroke. He had the first fit about two years before he had the second; the third fit, which was the last, he had on the Monday, and died on the Wednesday week. I have two children still living. One of them is married to a poor man, who gets his living in the streets; but as far as lays in his power he makes a good husband and father. My other daughter is living with a niece of mine, for I can’t keep her, sir; she minds the children.

“My father was a journeyman shoemaker. He was killed; but I cannot remember how--I was too young. I can’t recollect my mother. I was brought up by an uncle and aunt till I was able to go to service. I went out to service at five, to mind children under a nurse, and I was in service till I got married. I had a great many situations; you see, sir, I was forced to keep in place, because I had nowhere to go to, my uncle and aunt not being able to keep me. I was never in noblemen’s families, only trades-people’s. Service was very hard, sir, and so I believe it continues.

“I am fifty-five years of age, and I have been on the crossing fourteen years; but just now it is very poor work indeed. Well, if I wishes for bad weather, I’m only like other people, I suppose. I have no regular customers at all; the only one I had left has lost his senses, sir. Mr. H----, he used to allow us sixpence a-week; but he went mad, and we don’t get it now. By us, I mean the three crossing-sweepers in the square where I work.

“Indeed, I like the winter-time, for the families is in. Though the weather is more severe, yet you _do_ get a few more ha’pence. I take more from the staid elderly people than from the young. At Christmas, I think I took about eleven shillings, but certainly not more. The most I ever made at that season was fourteen shillings. The worst about Christmas is, that those who give much then generally hold their hand for a week or two.

“A shilling a-day would be as much as I want, sir. I have stood in the square all day for a ha’penny, and I have stood here for nothing. One week with another, I make two shillings in the seven days, after paying for my broom. I have taken threppence ha’penny to-day. Yesterday--let me see--well, it was threppence ha’penny, too; Monday I don’t remember; but Sunday I recollect--it was fippence ha’penny. Years ago I made a great deal more--nearly three times as much.

“I come about eight o’clock in the morning, and go away about six or seven; I am here every day. The boys used to come at one time with their brooms, but they’re not allowed here now by the police.

“I should not think crossings worth purchasing, unless people made a better living on them than I do.”

I gave the poor creature a small piece of silver for her trouble, and asked her if that, with the threepence halfpenny, made a good day. She answered heartily--

“I should like to see such another day to-morrow, sir.

“Yes, winter is very much better than summer, only for the trial of standing in the frost and snow, but we certainly _do_ get more then. The families won’t be in town for three months to come yet. Ah! this neighbourhood is nothing to what it was. By God’s removal, and by their own removal, the good families are all gone. The present families are not so liberal nor so wealthy. It is not the richest people that give the most. Tradespeople, and ’specially gentlefolks who have situations, are better to me than the nobleman who rides in his carriage.

“I always go to Trinity Church, Gray’s-inn-road, about two doors from the Welsh School--the Rev. Dr. Witherington preaches there. I always go on Sunday afternoon and evening, for I can’t go in the morning; I can’t get away from my crossing in time. I never omit a day in coming here, unless I’m ill, or the snow is too heavy, or the weather too bad, and then I’m obligated to resign.

“I have no friends, sir, only my children; my uncle and aunt have been dead a long time. I go to see my children on Sunday, or in the evening, when I leave here.

“After I leave I have a cup of tea, and after that I go to bed; very frequently I’m in bed at nine o’clock. I have my cup of tea if I can anyway get it; but I’m forced to go without _that_ sometimes.

“When my sight was better, I used to be very partial to reading; but I can’t see the print, sir, now. I used to read the Bible, and the newspaper. Story-books I have read, too, but not many novels. Yes, _Robinson Crusoe_ I know, but not the _Pilgrim’s Progress_. I’ve heard of it; they tell me it is a very interesting book to read, but I never had it. We never have any ladies or Scripture-readers come to our lodgings; you see, we’re so out, they might come a dozen times and not find us at home.

“I wear out three brooms in a-week; but in the summer one will last a fortnight. I give threepence ha’penny for them; there are twopenny-ha’penny brooms, but they are not so good, they are liable to have their handles come out. It is very fatiguing standing so many hours; my legs aches with pain, and swells. I was once in Middlesex Hospital for sixteen weeks with my legs. My eyes have been weak from a child. I have got a gathering in my head from catching cold standing on the crossing. I had the fever this time twelvemonth. I laid a fortnight and four days at home, and seven weeks in the hospital. I took the diarrhœa after that, and was six weeks under the doctor’s hands. I used to do odd jobs, but my health won’t permit me now. I used to make two or three shillings a-week by ’em, and get scraps and things. But I get no broken victuals now.

“I never get anything from servants; they don’t get more than they know what to do with.

“I don’t get a drop of beer once in a month.

“I don’t know but what this being out may be the best thing, after all; for if I was at home all my time, it would not agree with me.”

STATEMENT OF “OLD JOHN,” THE WATERMAN AT THE FARRINGDON-STREET CAB-STAND, CONCERNING THE OLD BLACK CROSSING-SWEEPER WHO LEFT £800 TO MISS WAITHMAN.

“Yes, sir, I knew him for many year, though I never spoke to him in all my life. He was a stoutish, thickset man, about my build, and used to walk with his broom up and down--so.”

Here “Old John” imitated the halt and stoop of an old man.

“He used to touch his hat continually,” he went on. “‘Please remember the poor black man,’ was his cry, never anything else. Oh yes, he made a great deal of money. People gave more then than they do now. Where they give one sixpence now, they _used_ to give ten. It’s just the same by our calling. Lived humbly? Yes, I think he did; at all events, he seemed to do so when he was on his crossing. He got plenty of odds-and-ends from the corner _there_--Alderman Waithman’s, I mean; he was a very sober, quiet sort of man. No, sir, nothing peculiar in his dress. Some blacks are peculiar in their dress; but he would wear anything he could get give him. They used to call him Romeo, I think. Cur’ous name, sir; but the best man I ever knew was called Romeo, and he was a black.

“The crossing-sweeper had his regular customers; he knew their times, and was there to the moment. Oh yes, he was always. Hail, rain, or snow, he never missed. I don’t know how long he had the crossing. I remember him ever since I was a postboy in Doctors’ Commons; I knew him when I lived in Holborn, and I haven’t been away from this neighbourhood since 1809.

“No, sir, there’s no doubt about his leaving the money to Miss Waithman. Everybody round about here knows it; just ask them, sir. Miss Waithman (an old maid she were, sir) used to be very kind to him. He used to sweep from Alderman Waithman’s (it’s the _Sunday Times_ now) across to the opposite side of the way.

“When he died, an old man, as had been a soldier, took possession of the crossing. How did he get it? Why, I say, he _took it_. First come, first sarved, sir; that’s their way. They never sell crossings. Sometimes (for a lark) they shift, and then one stands treat--a gallon of beer, or something of that sort. The perlice interfered with the soldier--you know the sweepers is all forced to go if the perlice interfere; now with us, sir, we are licensed, and they can’t make us move on. They interfered, I say, with the old soldier, because he used to get so drunk. Why, at a public-house close at hand, he would spent seven, eight, and ten shillings on a night, three or four days together. He used to gather so many blackguards round the crossing, they were forced to move him at last. A young man has got it now; he has had it three year. He is not always here, sometimes away for a week at a stretch; but, you see, he knows the best times to come, and then he is _sure_ to be here. The little boys come with their brooms now and then, but the perlice always drive them away.”

3. THE ABLE-BODIED IRISH CROSSING-SWEEPER.

THE OLD IRISH CROSSING-SWEEPER.

This man, a native of “County Corruk,” has been in England only two years and a half. He wears a close-fitting black cloth cap over a shock of reddish hair; round his neck he has a coloured cotton kerchief, of the sort advertised as “Imitation Silk.” His black coat is much torn, and his broom is at present remarkably stumpy. He waits quietly at the post opposite St. ----’s Church, to receive whatever is offered him. He is unassuming enough in his manner, and, as will be seen, not even bearing any malice against his two enemies, “The Swatestuff Man” and “The Switzer.” He says:--

“I’ve been at this crossin’ near upon two year. Whin I first come over to England (about two years and a half ago), I wint a haymakin’, but, you see, I couldn’t get any work; and afther thrampin’ about a good bit, why my eyesight gettin’ very wake, and I not knowin’ what to do, I took this crossin’.

“How did I get it?--Will, sir, I wint walkin’ about and saw it, and nobody on it. So one mornin’ I brought a broom wid me and stood here. Yes, sir, I _was_ intherfered wid. The man with one arm--a Switzer they calls him--he had had the crossin’ on Sundays for a long while gone, and he didn’t like my bein’ here at all, at all. ‘B----y Irish’ he used to call me, and other scandalizin’ names; and he and the swatestuff man opposite, who was a friend of his, tried everythin’ they could to git me off the crossin’. But sure I niver harrumed them at all, at all.

“Yis, sir, I have my rigular custhomers: there’s Mr. ----, he’s gone to Sydenham; he’s very kind, sir. He gives me a shilling a-month. He left worrud with the sarvint while he’s away to give me a shilling on the first day in every month. He gave me a letter to the Eye Hospital, in Goulden Square, because of the wakeness of my eyesight; but they’ll niver cure it at all, at all, sir, for wake eyes runs in my family. My sister, sir, has wake eyes; she is working at Croydon.

“Oh no, indeed, and it isn’t the gintlefolks that thry to get me off the crossin’; they’d rather shupport me, sir. But the poor payple it is that don’t like me.

“Eighteenpince I’ve made in a day, and more: niver more than two shillings, and sometimes not sixpence. Will, sir, I am not like the others; I don’t run afther the ladies and gintlemen--I don’t persevere. Yestherday I took sixpence, by chance, for takin’ some luggage for a lady. The day before yestherday I took three ha’pence; but I think I got somethin’ else for a bit of worruk thin.

“Yes, winther is better than summer. I don’t know which people is the most liberal. Sure, sir, I don’t think there’s much difference. Oh yes, sir, young men are very liberal sometimes, and so are young ladies. Perhaps old ladies or old gintlemen give the most at a time,--sometimes sixpence,--perhaps more; but thin, sir, you don’t git anything else for a long time.

“The boy-sweepers annoy me very much, indeed; they use such scandalizin’ worruds to me, and throw dirrut, they do. They know whin the police is out of the way, so I git no purtiction.

“Sure, sir, and I think it right that ivery person should attind the worruship to which he belongs. I am a Catholic, sir, and attind mass at St. Pathrick’s, near St. Giles’s, ivery Sunday, and I thry to be at confission wonst a month.

“Whin first I took to the crossin’, I was rather irrigular; but that was because of the Switzer man--that’s the man with the one arm; he used to say he would lock me up, and iverything. But I have been rigular since.

“I come in the morruning just before eight, in time to catch the gintlefolks going into prayers; and I leave at half-past seven to eight at night. I wait so late because I have to bring a gintleman wather for his flowers, and that I do the last thing.

“I live, sir, in ---- lane, behind St. Giles’s Church, in the first-flure front, sir; and I pay one-and-threepence a-week. There are three bids in the room. In one bid, a man, his wife, his mother, and their little girl--Julia, they call her--sleep; in the other bid, there’s a man and his wife and child. Yes, I am single, and have the third bid to myself. I come from County Corruk; the others in the room are all Irish, and come from County Corruk too. They sill fruit in the sthreet; in the winther they sill onions, and sometimes oranges.

“There a Scotch gintleman as brings me my breakfast every morning; indeed, yes, and he brings it himself, he does. He has gone to Scotland now, but he will be back in a week. He brings me some bread and mate, and a pinny for a half pint of beer, sir. He has done it almost all the time I have been here.

“The Switzer man, sir, took out boards for the _Polytickner_, or some place like that. He got fifteen shillings a-week, and used to come here on Sundays. Yes, sir, _I_ come here on Sundays; but it is not better than other days. Some people says to me, they would rather I went to church; but I tells ’em I do; and sure, sir, afther mass, there’s no harrum in a little sweepin’ between whiles.

“No, sir, there’s not a crossin’-sweeper in Ould Ireland. Well, sir, I niver was in Dublin; but I’ve been in Corruk, sir, and they don’t have any crossin’ sweepers there.

“Whin I git home of a night, sir, I am very tired; but I always offer up my devotions before sleepin’. Ah, sir, I should niver have swipt crossin’s if a friend of mine hadn’t died; he was collector of tolls in Clarnykilts, and I used to be with him. He lost his situation, and so I came to England.

“The Switzer man, I think he used to sweep at eight o’clock, just as the people were goin’ to prayers. Oh, sir, he was always black-geyardin’ me. ‘Go back to your own counthry,’ says he--a furriner himsilf, too.

“Will, yes sir, I do wish for bad weather; a good wit day, and a dry day afther, is the best.

“Sure and they can’t turn me off my crossin’ only for my bad conduct, and I thry to be quiet and take no notice.

“Yis, sir, I have always been a church-goer, and I am seventy-five. I used to have some good rigular customers, but somehow I haven’t seen anythin’ of them for this last twelvemonth. Ah! it’s in the betther neighbourhoods that people give rigularly. I niver get any broken victuals. Three-and-sixpence is the outside of my earnings, taking one week with the other.

“What is the laste I ever took? Will, sir, for three days I haven’t taken a farthin’. The worust week I iver had was thirteen or fourteen pence altogether; the best week I iver had was the winter before last--that harrud winter, sir, I remember takin’ seven shillings thin; but the man at Portman-square makes the most.

“Well, sir, I belave there’s some of every nation in the world as sweeps crossin’s in London.”

THE FEMALE IRISH CROSSING-SWEEPER.

In a street not far from Gordon-square and the New-road, I found this poor old woman resting from her daily labour. She was sitting on the stone ledge of the iron railings at the corner of the street, huddled up in the way seemingly natural to old Irishwomen, her broom hidden as much as possible under her petticoats. Her shawl was as tidy as possible for its age. She was sixty-seven years, and had buried two husbands and five children, fractured her ribs, and injured her groin, and had nothing left to comfort her but her crossing, her ha’porth of snuff, and her “drop of biled wather,” by which name she indicated her “tay.”

She was very civil and intelligent, and answered my inquiries very readily, and with rather less circumlocution than the Irish generally display. She seemed much hurt at the closing of the Old St. Pancras churchyard. “They buried my child where they’ll never bury me, sir,” she cried.

She told the story of her accident with many involuntary movements of her hand towards the injured part, and took a sparing pinch of snuff from a little black snuff-box, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, for which she said she had given a penny. She proceeded thus:--“I’m an Irishwoman, sir, and it’s from Kinsale I come, twelve miles beyond Corruk, to the left-hand side, a seaport town, and a great place for fish. It’s fifty years the sixteenth of last June since I came in St. Giles’s parish, and there my ildest child wint did. Buried she is in Ould St. Pancras churchyarrud, where they’ll never bury me, sir, for they’ve done away with burying in churchyarruds. That girl was forty-one year of age the seventeenth of last February, born in Stratford, below Bow, in Essex. Ah! I was comfortable there; I lived there three year and abouts. I was in sarvice at Mr. ----’s, a Frinch gintleman he was, and kept a school, where they taught Frinch and English both; but I dare say they are all gone did years ago. He was a very ould gintleman, and so was his lady; she was a North-of-England lady, but very stout, and had no children but a son and daughter. I was quite young when my aunt brought me over. My uncle was three year here before my aunt, and he died at Whitechapel. I was bechuxt sixteen and seventeen when I come over, and I reckon meself at sixty-seven come next Christmas, as well as I can guess. I never had a mother, sir; she died when I was only six months old. My father, sir, was maltster to Mr. Walker the distiller, in Corruk. Ah! indeed, and my father was well to do wonst. Early or late, wit or dry, he had a guinea a-week, but he worruked day and night; he was to attind to the corun, and he would have four min, or five or six, undther him, according as busy they might be. My father has been did four-and-twinty year, and I wouldn’t know a crature if I wint home. Father come over, sir, and wanted me to go back very bad, but I wouldn’t. I was married thin, and had buried some of my childer in St. Pancras; and for what should I lave England?

“Oh! sir, I buried three in eight months,--two sons and their father. My husband was two year and tin months keeping his bed; he has been did fifteen years to the eighth of last March; but I’ve been married again.

“Siven childer I’ve had, and ounly two alive, and they’ve got enough to do to manage for thimsilves. The boy, he follers the market, and my daughter, she is along with her husband; sure he sills in the streets, sir. I see very little of her,--she lives over in the Borough.

“I think I’ll be afther going down to Kent, beyant Maidstone, a hop-picking, if I can git as much as to take me down the road.

“My daughter’s husband and me don’t agree, so I’m bitter not to see them.

“Ivery day, sir--ivery day in the week I am here. This morunning I was here at eight--that was earlier than usual, but I came out because I had not broke my fast with anything but a drop of wather, and that I had two tumblers of it from the house at the corrunner. I intind to go home and take two hirrings, and have a drop of biled wather--tay, I mane, sir.

“I come here at about half-past nine to half-past ten, but I’m gitting a very bad leg. I goes home about five or six.

“I have taken two ha’pennies this morning; thruppence I took yisterday; the day before I took, I think, fourpence ha’penny; that was my taking on Monday; on Sunday I mustered a shilling; on Saturday--I declare, sir, I forgit--fourpence or thruppence, I suppose, but my frinds is out of town very much. They gives me a penny rigular every Sunday, or a ha’penny, and some tuppence. Of a Sunday in the good time I may take eighteenpence or sixteenpence.

“Oh, yes, of Christmas it’s better, it is--four or five shillings on a Christmas-day.

“On the Monday fortnight, before last Christmas twelvemonth, I had two ribs broke, and one fractured, and my grine (groin) bone injured. Oh! the pains that I feel even now, sir. I lived then in Phillip’s-gardens, up there in the New-road. The policeman took me to the hospital. It was eighteen days I niver got off my bid. I came out in the morunning of the Christmas-eve. I hild on by the railings as I wint along, and I thought I niver should git home. How I was knocked down was by a cart; I had my eye bad thin, the lift one, and had a cloth over it. I was just comin’ out of the archway of the courrut (close by the beer-shop) away from Mr. ----’s house, when crossing to the green-grocer’s to git two pound of praties for my supper, I didn’t see the cart comin’. I was knocked down by the shaft. They called, and they called, and he wouldn’t stop, and it wint over me, it did. It was loaded with cloth; I don’t know if it wasn’t a Shoolbred’s cart, but the boy said to the hospital-doctor and to the policeman it was heavily loaded. The boy gave me a shilling, and that was all the money I received. For a twelvemonth I couldn’t hardly walk.

“On that Christmas-day I took four-and-tinpence, but I owed it all for rint and things; and I’m sure it’s a good man that let me run it the score.

“Is it a shillin’ I iver git? Well, thin, sir, there’s one gintleman, but he’s out of town--Sir George Hewitt--niver passes without givin’ me a shillin’.

“I have taken one-and-ninepence on a Sunday, and I’ve taken two shillin’s. Upon my sowl, I’ve often gone home with three ha’pence and tuppence. For this month past, put ivery day together, I haven’t taken three shilling a-week.

“I wear two brooms out in a week in bad wither, and thin p’rhaps I take four to five shillin’, Sunday included; but for the three year since here I’ve been on this crossin’, I niver took tin shillin’, sir, niver.

“Yes, there was a man here before me: he had bad eyes, and he was obligated to lave and go into the worrukhouse; he lost the sight of one of his eyes when he came back again. I knew him sweepin’ here a long time. When he come back, I said, ‘Father,’ says I, ‘I wint on your crossin’.’ ‘Ah,’ says he, ‘you’ve got a bad crossin’, poor woman; I wouldn’t go on it again, I wouldn’t;’ and I niver seen him since. I don’t know whether he is living or not.

“A wit day makes fourpence or fippence difference sometimes.

“Indeed, I have heard of crossin’-sweepers makin’ so much and so much. I hear people talkin’ about it, but, for my parrut, I wouldn’t give heed to what they say. In Oxford-street, towards the Parruks, there was a man, years ago, they say, by all accounts left a dale of money.

“I am niver annoyed by boys. I don’t spake to none of them. I was in sarvice till I got married, thin I used to sill fruit through Kentish Town, Highgate, and Hampstead; but I niver sould in the streets, sir, and had my rigular customers like any greengrocer. I had a good connixion, I had; but, by gitting old and feeble, and sick, and not being able to go about, I was forrussed to give it up, I was. I couldn’t carry twelve pound upon my hid--no, not if I was to get a sov’rin a-day for it, now.

“I niver lave the crossin’. I haven’t got a frind; nor a day’s pleasure I niver take.

“Oh, yes, sir, I must have a pinch--this is my snuff-box. I take a ha’porth a-day, and that’s the only comforrut I’ve got--that and a cup of tay; for I can’t dthrink cocoa or coffee-tay.

“My feeding is a bit of brid and butther. I haven’t bought a bit of mate these three months. I used to git two penn’orth of bones and mate at Mrs. Baker’s, down there; but mate is so dear, that they don’t have ’em now, and it’s ashamed I am of botherin’ thim so often. I frequintly have a hirrin’. Oh dear! no sir. Wather is my dthrink. I can’t afforrud no beer. Sometimes I have a penn’orth of gin and could water, and I find it do me a worruld of good. Sometimes I git enough to eat, but lately, indeed, I can’t git that. I declare I don’t know which people give the most; the gintlemen give me more in wit wither, for then the ladies, you see, can’t let their dresses out of their hands.

“I am a Catholic, sir. I go to St. Pathrick’s sometimes, or I go to Gordon-street Churruch. I don’t care which I go to--it’s all the same to me; but I haven’t been to churruch for months. I’ve nothing to charge mysilf wid; and, indeed, I haven’t been to confission for some year.

“Tradespeople are very kind, indeed they are.

“Yes, I think I’ll go to Kint a hop-pickin’; and as for my crossin’, I lave it, sir, just as it is. I go five miles beyant Maidstone. I worruked fifteen years at Mr. ----; he was a pole-puller and binsman in the hop-ground.

“I’ve not been down there since the year before last. I was too poorly after that accident. We make about eighteenpence, two shillin’s, or one shillin’, ’cording as the hops is good. No lodging nor fire to pay; and we git plinty of good milk chape there. I manage thin to save a little money to hilp us in the winther.

“I live in ---- street, Siven Dials; but I’m going to lave my son--we can’t agree. We live in the two-pair back. I pay nothing a-week, only bring home ivery ha’penny to hilp thim. Sometimes I spind a pinny or tuppence out on mysilf.

“My son is doin’ very badly. He sills fruit in the sthreets; but he’s niver been used to it before; and he has pains in his limbs with so much walking. He has no connixion, and with the sthrawbirries now he’s forrused to walk about of a night as will as a day, for they won’t keep till the morrunning; they all go mouldy and bad. My son has been used to the bricklaying, sir: he can lit in a stove or a copper, or do a bit of plasther or lath, or the like. His wife is a very just, clane, sober woman, and he has got three good childer; there is Catherine, who is named afther me, she is nearly five; Illen, two years and six months, named after her mother; and Margaret, the baby, six months ould--and she is called afther my daughter, who is did.”

4. THE OCCASIONAL CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

THE SUNDAY CROSSING-SWEEPER.

“I’m a Sunday crossing-sweeper,” said an oyster-stall keeper, in answer to my inquiries. “I mean by that, I only sweep a crossing on a Sunday. I pitch in the Lorrimore-road, Newington, with a few oysters on week-days, and I does jobs for the people about there, sich as cleaning a few knives and forks, or shoes and boots, and windows. I’ve been in the habit of sweeping a crossing about four or five years.

“I never knowed my father, he died when I was a baby. He was a ’terpreter, and spoke seven different languages. My father used to go with Bonaparte’s army, and used to ’terpret for him. He died in the South of France. I had a brother, but he died quite a child, and my mother supported me and a sister by being cook in a gentleman’s family: we was put out to nurse. My mother couldn’t afford to put me to school, and so I can’t read nor write. I’m forty-one years old.

“The fust work I ever did was being boy at a pork-butcher’s. I used to take out the meat wot was ordered. At last my master got broke up, and I was discharged from my place, and I took to sellin’ a few sprats. I had no thoughts of taking to a crossing then. I was ten year old. I remember I give two shillings for a ‘shallow;’ that’s a flat basket with two handles; they put ’em a top of ‘well-baskets,’ them as can carry a good load. A well-basket’s almost like a coffin; it’s a long un like a shallow, on’y it’s a good deal deeper--about as deep as a washin’ tub. I done very fair with my sprats till they got dear and come up very small, so then I was obliged to get a few plaice, and then I got a few baked ’taters and sold them. I hadn’t money enough to buy a tin--I could a got one for eight shillings--so I put ’em in a cross-handle basket, and carried ’em round the streets, and into public-houses, and cried ‘Baked taters, all hot!’ I used only to do this of a night, and it brought me about four or five shillings a-week. I used to fill up the day by going round to gentlemen’s houses where I was known, to run for errands and clean knives and boots, and that brought me sich a thing as four shillings a-week more altogether.

“I never had no idea then of sweeping a crossing of a Sunday; but at last I was obliged to push to it. I kept on like this for many years, and at last a gentleman named Mr. Jackson promised to buy me a tin, but he died. My mother went blind through a blight; that was the cause of my fust going out to work, and so I had to keep her; but I didn’t mind that: I thought it was my duty so to do.

“About ten years ago I got married; my wife used to go out washing and ironing. I thought two of us would get on better than one, and she didn’t mind helpin’ me to keep my mother, for I was determined my mother shouldn’t go into the workhouse so long as I could help it.

“A year or two after I got married, I found I must do something more to help to keep home, and then I fust thought of sweepin’ a crossing on Sundays; so I bought a heath broom for twopence-ha’penny, and I pitched agin’ the Canterbury Arms, Kennington; it was between a baker’s shop and a public-house and butcher’s; they told me they’d all give me something if I’d sweep the crossing reg’lar.

“The best places is in front of chapels and churches, ’cause you can take more money in front of a church or a chapel than wot you can in a private road, ’cos they look at it more, and a good many thinks when you sweeps in front of a public-house that you go and spend your money inside in waste.

“The first Sunday I went at it, I took eighteenpence. I began at nine o’clock in the morning and stopped till four in the afternoon. The publican give fourpence, and the baker sixpence, and the butcher threepence, so that altogether I got above a half-crown. I stopped at this crossing a year, and I always knocked up about two shillings or a half-crown on the Sunday. I very seldom got anythink from the ladies; it was most all give by the gentlemen. Little children used sometimes to give me ha’pence, but it was when their father give it to ’em; the little children like to do that sort of thing.

“The way I come to leave this crossing was this here: the road was being repaired, and they shot down a lot of stones, so then I couldn’t sweep no crossing. I looked out for another place, and I went opposite the Duke of Sutherland public-house in the Lorrimore-road. I swept there one Sunday, and I got about one-and-sixpence. While I was sweeping this crossing, a gentleman comes up to me, and he axes me if I ever goes to chapel or church; and I tells him, ‘Yes;’ I goes to church, wot I’d been brought up to; and then he says, ‘You let me see you at St. Michael’s Church, Brixton, and I’ll ’courage you, and you’ll do better if you come up and sweep in front there of a Sunday instead of where you are; you’ll be sure to get more money, and get better ’couraged. It don’t matter what you do,’ he says, ‘as long as it brings you in a honest crust; anythink’s better than thieving.’ And then the gent gives me sixpence and goes away.

“As soon as he’d gone I started off to his church, and got there just after the people was all in. I left my broom in the churchyard. When I got inside the church, I could see him a-sitten jest agin the communion table, so I walks to the free seats and sets down right close again the communion table myself, for his pew was on my right, and he saw me directly and looked and smiled at me. As he was coming out of the church he says, says he, ‘As long as I live, if you comes here on a Sunday reg’lar I shall always ’courage you.’

“The next Sunday I went up to the church and swept the crossing, and he see me there, but he didn’t give me nothink till the church was over, and then he gave me a shilling, and the other people give me about one-and-sixpence; so I got about two-and-sixpence altogether, and I thought that was a good beginning.

“The next Sunday the gen’elman was ill, but he didn’t forget me. He sent me sixpence by his servant, and I got from the other people about two shillings more. I never see that gentleman after, for he died on the Saturday. His wife sent for me on the Sunday; she was ill a-bed, and I see one of the daughters, and she gave me sixpence, and said I was to be there on Monday morning. I went on the Monday, and the lady was much worse, and I see the daughter again. She gave me a couple of shirts, and told me to come on the Friday, and when I went on that day I found the old lady was dead. The daughter gave me a coat, and trousers, and waistcoat.

“After the daughters had buried the father and mother they moved. I kept on sweeping at the church, till at last things got so bad that I come away, for nobody give me nothink. The houses about there was so damp that people wouldn’t live in ’em.

“So then I come up into Lorrimore-road, and there I’ve been ever since. I don’t get on wonderful well there. Sometimes I don’t get above sixpence all day, but it’s mostly a shilling or so. The most I’ve took is about one-and-sixpence. The reason why I stop there is, because I’m known there, you see. I stands there all the week selling highsters, and the people about there give me a good many jobs. Besides, the road is rather bad there, and they like to have a clean crossing of a Sunday.

“I don’t get any more money in the winter (though it’s muddier) than I do in the summer; the reason is, ’cause there isn’t so many people stirring about in the winter as there is in the summer.

“One broom will carry me over three Sundays, and I gives twopence-ha’penny a-piece for ’em. Sometimes the people bring me out at my crossing--’specially in cold weather--a mug of hot tea and some bread and butter, or a bit of meat. I don’t know any other crossing-sweeper; I never ’sociates with nobody. I always keeps my own counsel, and likes my own company the best.

“My wife’s been dead five months, and my mother six months; but I’ve got a little boy seven year old; he stops at school all day till I go home at night, and then I fetches him home. I mean to do something better with him than give him a broom: a good many people would set him on a crossing; but I mean to keep him at school. I want to see him read and write well, because he’ll suit for a place then.

“There’s some art in sweeping a crossing even. That is, you mustn’t sweep too hard, ’cos if you do, you wears a hole right in the road, and then the water hangs in it. It’s the same as sweeping a path; if you sweeps too hard you wears up the stones.

“To do it properly, you must put the end of the broom-handle in the palm of your right hand, and lay hold of it with your left, about halfway down; then you takes half your crossing, and sweeps on one side till you gets over the road; then you turns round and comes back doing the other half. Some people holds the broom before ’em, and keeps swaying it back’ards and for’ards to sweep the width of the crossing all in one stroke, but that ain’t sich a good plan, ’cause you’re apt to splash people that’s coming by; and besides, it wears the road in holes and wears out the broom so quick. I always use my broom steady. I never splash nobody.

“I never tried myself, but I’ve seen some crossin’-sweepers as could do all manner of things in mud, sich as diamonds, and stars, and the moon, and letters of the alphabet; and once in Oxford-street I see our Saviour on his cross in mud, and it was done well, too. The figure wasn’t done with the broom, it was done with a pointed piece of stick; it was a boy as I see doin’ it, about fifteen. He didn’t seem to take much money while I was a-looking at him.

“I don’t think I should a took to crossin’ sweeping if I hadn’t got married; but when I’d got a couple of children (for I’ve had a girl die; if she’d lived she’d a been eight year old now,) I found I must do a somethin’, and so I took to the broom.”

_B. The Afflicted Crossing-Sweepers._

THE WOODEN-LEGGED SWEEPER.

This man lives up a little court running out of a wide, second-rate street. It is a small court, consisting of some half-dozen houses, all of them what are called by courtesy “private.”

I inquired at No. 3 for John ----; “The first-floor back, if you please, sir;” and to the first-floor back I went.

Here I was answered by a good-looking and intelligent young woman, with a baby, who said her husband had not yet come home, but would I walk in and wait? I did so; and found myself in a very small, close room, with a little furniture, which the man called “his few sticks,” and presently discovered another child--a little girl. The girl was very shy in her manner, being only two years and two months old, and as her mother said, very ailing from the difficulty of cutting her teeth, though the true cause seemed to be want of proper nourishment and fresh air. The baby was a boy--a fine, cheerful, good-tempered little fellow, but rather pale, and with an unnaturally large forehead. The mantelpiece of the room was filled with little ornaments of various sorts, such as bead-baskets, and over them hung a series of black profiles--not portraits of either the crossing-sweeper or any of his family, but an odd lot of heads, which had lost their owners many a year, and served, in company with a little red, green, and yellow scripture-piece, to keep the wall from looking bare. Over the door (inside the room) was nailed a horse-shoe, which, the wife told me, had been put there by her husband, for luck.

A bed, two deal tables, a couple of boxes, and three chairs, formed the entire furniture of the room, and nearly filled it. On the window-frame was hung a small shaving-glass; and on the two boxes stood a wicker-work apology for a perambulator, in which I learnt the poor crippled man took out his only daughter at half-past four in the morning.

“If some people was to see that, sir,” said the sweeper, when he entered and saw me looking at it, “they would, and in fact they _do_ say, ‘Why, you can’t be in want.’ Ah! little they know how we starved and pinched ourselves before we could get it.”

There was a fire in the room, notwithstanding the day was very hot; but the window was wide open, and the place tolerably ventilated, though oppressive. I have been in many poor people’s “places,” but never remember one so poor in its appointments and yet so _free_ from effluvia.

The crossing-sweeper himself was a very civil sort of man, and in answer to my inquiries said:--

“I know that I do as I ought to, and so I don’t feel hurt at standing at my crossing. I have been there four years. I found the place vacant. My wife, though she looks very well, will never be able to do any hard work; so we sold our mangle, and I took to the crossing: but we’re not in debt, and nobody can’t say nothing to us. I like to go along the streets free of such remarks as is made by people to whom you owes money. I had a mangle in ---- Yard, but through my wife’s weakness I was forced to part with it. I was on the crossing a short time before that, for I knew that if I parted with my mangle and things before I knew whether I could get a living at the crossing I couldn’t get my mangle back again.

“We sold the mangle only for a sovereign, and we gave two-pound-ten for it; we sold it to the same man that we bought it of. About six months ago I managed for to screw and save enough to buy that little wicker chaise, for I can’t carry the children because of my one leg, and of course the mother can’t carry them both out together. There was a man had the crossing I’ve got; he died three or four years before I took it; but he didn’t depend on the crossing--he did things for the tradespeople about, such as carpet-beating, messages, and so on.

“When I first took the crossing I did very well. It happened to be a very nasty, dirty season, and I took a good deal of money. Sweepers are not always civil, sir.

“I wish I had gone to one of the squares, though. But I think after ---- street is paved with stone I shall do better. I am certain I never taste a bit of meat from one week’s end to the other. The best day I ever made was five-and-sixpence or six shillings; it was the winter before last. If you remember, the snow laid very thick on the ground, and the sudden thaw made walking so uncomfortable, that I did very well. I have taken as little as sixpence, fourpence, and even twopence. Last Thursday I took two ha’pence all day. Take one week with the other, seven or eight shillings is the very outside.

“I don’t know how it is, but some people who used to give me a penny, don’t now. The boys who come in wet weather earn a great deal more than I do. I once lost a good chance, sir, at the corner of the street leading to Cavendish-square. There’s a bank, and they pay a man seven shillings a-week to sweep the crossing: a butcher in Oxford Market spoke for me; but when I went up, it unfortunately turned out that I was not fit, from the loss of my leg. The last man they had there they were obliged to turn away--he was so given to drink.

“I think there are some rich crossing-sweepers in the city, about the Exchange; but you won’t find them now during this dry weather, except in by-places. In wet weather, there are two or three boys who sweep near my crossing, and take all my earnings away. There’s a great able-bodied man besides--a fellow strong enough to follow the plough. I said to the policeman, ‘Now, ain’t this a shame?’ and the policeman said, ‘Well, _he_ must get his living as well as you.’ I’m always civil to the police, and they’re always civil to me--in fact, I think sometimes I’m too civil--I’m not rough enough with people.

“You soon tell whether to have any hopes of people coming across. I can tell a gentleman directly I see him.

“Where I stand, sir, I could get people in trouble everlasting; there’s all sorts of thieving going on. I saw the other day two or three respectable persons take a purse out of an old lady’s pocket before the baker’s shop at the corner; but I can’t say a word, or they would come and throw me into the road. If a gentleman gives me sixpence, he don’t give me any more for three weeks or a month; but I don’t think I’ve more than three or four gentlemen as gives me that. Well, you can scarcely tell the gentleman from the clerk, the clerks are such great swells now.

“Lawyers themselves dress very plain; those great men who don’t come every day, because they’ve clerks to do their business for them, they give most. People hardly ever stop to speak unless it is to ask you where places are--you might be occupied at that all day. I manage to pay my rent out of what I take on Sunday, but not lately--this weather religious people go pleasuring.

“No, I don’t go now--the fact is, I’d like to go to church, if I could, but when I come home I am tired; but I’ve got books here, and they do as well, sir. I read a little and write a little.

“I lost my leg through a swelling--there was no chloroform then. I was in the hospital three years and a half, and was about fifteen or sixteen when I had it off. I always feel the sensation of the foot, and more so at change of weather. I feel my toes moving about, and everything; sometimes, it’s just as if the calf of my leg was itching. I _feel_ the rain coming; when I see a cloud coming my leg shoots, and I know we shall have rain.

“My mother was a laundress--my father has been dead nineteen years my last birthday. My mother was subject to fits, so I was forced to stop at home to take care of the business.

“I don’t want to get on better, but I always think, if sickness or anything comes on----

“I am at my crossing at half-past eight; at half-past eleven I come home to dinner. I go back at one or two till seven.

“Sometimes I mind horses and carts, but the boys get all that business. One of these little customers got sixpence the other day for only opening the door of a cab. I don’t know how it is they let these little boys be about; if I was the police, I wouldn’t allow it.

“I think it’s a blessing, having children--(referring to his little girl)--that child wants the gravy of meat, or an egg beaten up, but she can’t get it. I take her out every morning round Euston-square and those open places. I get out about half-past four. It is early, but if it benefits her, that’s no odds.”

ONE-LEGGED SWEEPER AT CHANCERY-LANE.

“I don’t know what induced me to take that crossing, except it was that no one was there, and the traffic was so good--fact is, the traffic is too good, and people won’t stop as they cross over, they’re very glad to get out of the way of the cabs and the omnibuses.

“Tradespeople never give me anything--not even a bit of bread. The only thing I get is a few cuttings, such as crusts of sandwiches and remains of cheese, from the public-house at the corner of the court. The tradespeople are as distant to me now as they were when I came, but if I should pitch up a tale I should soon get acquainted with them.

“We have lived in this lodging two years and a half, and we pay one-and-ninepence a-week, as you may see from the rent-book, and that I manage to earn on Sundays. We owe four weeks now, and, thank God, it’s no more.

“I was born, sir, in ---- street, Berkeley-square, at Lord ----’s house, when my mother was minding the house. I have been used to London all my life, but not to this part; I have always been at the west-end, which is what I call the best end.

“I did not like the idea of crossing-sweeping at first, till I reasoned with myself, Why should I mind? I’m not doing any hurt to anybody. I don’t care at all now--I know I’m doing what I ought to do.

“A man had better be killed out of the way than be disabled. It’s not pleasant to know that my wife is suckling that great child, and, though she is so weakly, she can’t get no meat.

“I’ve been knocked down twice, sir--both times by cabs. The last time it was a fortnight before I could get about comfortably again. The fool of a fellow was coming along, not looking at his horse, but talking to somebody on the cab-rank. The place was as free as this room, if he had only been looking before him. Nobody hollered till I was down, but plenty hollered then. Ah, I often notice such carelessness--it’s really shameful. I don’t think those ‘shofuls’ (Hansoms) should be allowed--the fact is, if the driver is not a tall man he can’t see his horse’s head.

“A nasty place is end of ---- street: it narrows so suddenly. There’s more confusion and more bother about it than any place in London. When two cabs gets in at once, one one way and one the other, there’s sure to be a row to know which was the first in.”

THE MOST SEVERELY-AFFLICTED OF ALL THE CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

Passing the dreary portico of the Queen’s Theatre, and turning to the right down Tottenham Mews, we came upon a flight of steps leading up to what is called “The Gallery,” where an old man, gasping from the effects of a lung disease, and feebly polishing some old harness, proclaimed himself the father of the sweeper I was in search of, and ushered me into the room where he lay a-bed, having had a “very bad night.”

The room itself was large and of a low pitch, stretching over some stables; it was very old and creaky (the sweeper called, it “an old wilderness”), and contained, in addition to two turn-up bedsteads, that curious medley of articles which, in the course of years, an old and poor couple always manage to gather up. There was a large lithograph of a horse, dear to the remembrance of the old man from an indication of a dog in the corner. “The very spit of the one I had for years; it’s a real portrait, sir, for Mr. Hanbart, the printer, met me one day and sketched him.” There was an etching of Hogarth’s in a black frame; a stuffed bird in a wooden case, with a glass before it; a piece of painted glass, hanging in a place of honour, but for which no name could be remembered, excepting that it was “of the old-fashioned sort.” There were the odd remnants, too, of old china ornaments, but very little furniture; and, finally, a kitten.

The father, worn out and consumptive, had been groom to Lord Combermere. “I was with him, sir, when he took Bonyparte’s house at Malmasong. I could have had a pension then if I’d a liked, but I was young and foolish, and had plenty of money, and we never know what we may come to.”

The sweeper, although a middle-aged man, had all the appearance of a boy--his raw-looking eyes, which he was always wiping with a piece of linen rag, gave him a forbidding expression, which his shapeless, short, bridgeless nose tended to increase. But his manners and habits were as simple in their character as those of a child; and he spoke of his father’s being angry with him for not getting up before, as if he were a little boy talking of his nurse.

He walks, with great difficulty, by the help of a crutch; and the sight of his weak eyes, his withered limb, and his broken shoulder (his old helpless mother, and his gasping, almost inaudible father,) form a most painful subject for compassion.

The crossing-sweeper gave me, with no little meekness and some slight intelligence, the following statement:--

“I very seldom go out on a crossin’ o’ Sundays. I didn’t do much good at it. I used to go to church of a Sunday--in fact, I do now when I’m well enough.

“It’s fifteen year next January since I left Regent-street. I was there three years, and then I went on Sundays occasionally. Sometimes I used to get a shilling, but I have given it up now--it didn’t answer; besides, a lady who was kind to me found me out, and said she wouldn’t do any more for me if I went out on Sundays. She’s been dead these three or four years now.

“When I was at Regent-street I might have made twelve shillings a-week, or something thereabout.

“I am seven-and-thirty the 26th day of last month, and I have been lame six-and-twenty years. My eyes have been bad ever since my birth. The scrofulous disease it was that lamed me--it come with a swelling on the knee, and the outside wound broke about the size of a crown piece, and a piece of bone come from it; then it gathered in the inside and at the top. I didn’t go into the hospital then, but I was an out-patient, for the doctor said a close confined place wouldn’t do me no good. He said that the seaside would, though; but my parents couldn’t afford to send me, and that’s how it is. I _did_ go to Brighton and Margate nine years after my leg was bad, but it was too late then.

“I have been in Middlesex Hospital, with a broken collar-bone, when I was knocked down by a cab. I was in a fortnight there, and I was in again when I hurt my leg. I was sweeping my crossin’ when the top came off my crutch. I fell back’ards, and my leg doubled under me. They had to carry me there.

“I went into the Middlesex Hospital for my eyes and leg. I was in a month, but they wouldn’t keep me long, there’s no cure for me.

“My leg is very painful, ’specially at change of weather. Sometimes I don’t get an hour’s sleep of a night--it was daylight this morning before I closed my eyes.

“I went on the crossing first because my parents couldn’t keep me, not being able to keep theirselves. I thought it was the best thing I could do, but it’s like all other things, it’s got very bad now. I used to manage to rub along at first--the streets have got shockin’ bad of late.

“To tell the truth, I was turned away from Regent-street by Mr. Cook, the furrier, corner of Argyle Street. I’ll tell you as far as I was told. He called me into his passage one night, and said I must look out for another crossin’, for a lady, who was a very good customer of his, refused to come while I was there; my heavy afflictions was such that she didn’t like the look of me. I said, ‘Very well;’ but because I come there next day and the day after that, he got the policeman to turn me away. Certainly the policeman acted very kindly, but he said the gentleman wanted me removed, and I must find another crossing.

“Then I went down Charlotte-street, opposite Percy Chapel, at the corner of Windmill-street. After that I went to Wells-street, by getting permission of the doctor at the corner. He thought that it would be better for me than Charlotte-street, so he let me come.

“Ah! there ain’t so many crossing-sweepers as there was; I think they’ve done away with a great many of them.

“When I first went to Wells-street, I did pretty well, because there was a dress-maker’s at the corner, and I used to get a good deal from the carriages that stopped before the door. I used to take five or six shillings in a day then, and I don’t take so much in a week now. I tell you what I made this week. I’ve made one-and-fourpence, but it’s been so wet, and people are out of town; but, of course, it’s not always alike--sometimes I get three-and-sixpence or four shillings. Some people gives me a sixpence or a fourpenny-bit; I reckons that all in.

“I am dreadful tired when I comes home of a night. Thank God my other leg’s all right! I wish the t’other was as strong, but it never will be now.

“The police never try to turn me away; they’re very friendly, they’ll pass the time of day with me, or that, from knowing me so long in Oxford-street.

“My broom sometimes serves me a month; of course, they don’t last long now it’s showery weather. I give twopence-halfpenny a piece for ’em, or threepence.

“I don’t know who gives me the most; my eyes are so bad I can’t see. I think, though, upon an average, the gentlemen give most.

“Often I hear the children, as they are going by, ask their mothers for something to give to me; but they only say, ‘Come along--come along!’ It’s very rare that they lets the children have a ha’penny to give me.

“My mother is seventy the week before next Christmas. She can’t do much now; she does though go out on Wednesdays or Saturdays, but that’s to people she’s known for years who is attached to her. She does her work there just as she likes.

“Sometimes she gets a little washing--sometimes not. This week she had a little, and was forced to dry it indoors; but that makes ’em half dirty again.

“My father’s breath is so bad that he can’t do anything except little odd jobs for people down here; but they’ve got the knack now, a good many on ’em, of doin’ their own.

“We have lived here fifteen years next September; it’s a long time to live in such an old wilderness, but my old mother is a sort of woman as don’t like movin’ about, and I don’t like it. Some people are everlasting on the move.

“When I’m not on my crossin’ I sit poking at home, or make a job of mending my clothes. I mended these trousers in two or three places.

“It’s all done by feel, sir. My mother says it’s a good thing we’ve got our feeling at least, if we haven’t got our eyesight.”

THE NEGRO CROSSING-SWEEPER, WHO HAD LOST BOTH HIS LEGS.

This man sweeps a crossing in a principal and central thoroughfare when the weather is cold enough to let him walk; the colder the better, he says, as it “numbs his stumps like.” He is unable to follow this occupation in warm weather, as his legs feel “just like corns,” and he cannot walk more than a mile a-day. Under these circumstances he takes to begging, which he thinks he has a perfect right to do, as he has been left destitute in what is to him almost a strange country, and has been denied what he terms “his rights.” He generally sits while begging, dressed in a sailor shirt and trousers, with a black neckerchief round his neck, tied in the usual nautical knot. He places before him the placard which is given beneath, and never moves a muscle for the purpose of soliciting charity. He always appears scrupulously clean.

I went to see him at his home early one morning--in fact, at half-past eight, but he was not then up. I went again at nine, and found him prepared for my visit in a little parlour, in a dirty and rather disreputable alley running out of a court in a street near Brunswick-square. The negro’s parlour was scantily furnished with two chairs, a turn-up bedstead, and a sea-chest. A few odds and ends of crockery stood on the sideboard, and a kettle was singing over a cheerful bit of fire. The little man was seated on a chair, with his stumps of legs sticking straight out. He showed some amount of intelligence in answering my questions. We were quite alone, for he sent his wife and child--the former a pleasant-looking “half-caste,” and the latter the cheeriest little crowing, smiling “piccaninny” I have ever seen--he sent them out into the alley, while I conversed with himself.

His life is embittered by the idea that he has never yet had “his rights”--that the owners of the ship in which his legs were burnt off have not paid him his wages (of which, indeed, he says, he never received any but the five pounds which he had in advance before starting), and that he has been robbed of 42_l._ by a grocer in Glasgow. How true these statements may be it is almost impossible to say, but from what he says, some injustice seems to have been done him by the canny Scotchman, who refuses him his “pay,” without which he is determined “never to leave the country.”

“I was on that crossing,” he said, “almost the whole of last winter. It was very cold, and I had nothing at all to do; so, as I passed there, I asked the gentleman at the baccer-shop, as well as the gentleman at the office, and I asked at the boot-shop, too, if they would let me sweep there. The policeman wanted to turn me away, but I went to the gentleman inside the office, and he told the policeman to leave me alone. The policeman said first, ‘You must go away,’ but I said, ‘I couldn’t do anything else, and he ought to think it a charity to let me stop.’

“I don’t stop in London very long, though, at a time; I go to Glasgow, in Scotland, where the owners of the ship in which my legs were burnt off live. I served nine years in the merchant service and the navy. I was born in Kingston, in Jamaica; it is an English place, sir, so I am counted as not a foreigner. I’m different from them Lascars. I went to sea when I was only nine years old. The owners is in London who had that ship. I was cabin-boy; and after I had served my time I became cook, or when I couldn’t get the place of cook I went before the mast. I went as head cook in 1851, in the _Madeira_ barque; she used to be a West Indy trader, and to trade out when I belonged to her. We got down to 69 south of Cape Horn; and there we got almost froze and perished to death. That is the book what I sell.”

The “Book” (as he calls it) consists of eight pages, printed on paper the size of a sheet of note paper; it is entitled--

“BRIEF SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF

EDWARD ALBERT!

A native of Kingston, Jamaica.

Showing the hardships he underwent and the sufferings he endured in having both legs amputated.

HULL:

W. HOWE, PRINTER.”

It is embellished with a portrait of a black man, which has evidently been in its time a comic “nigger” of the Jim-Crow tobacco-paper kind, as is evidenced by the traces of a tobacco-pipe, which has been unskilfully erased.

The “Book” itself is concocted from an affidavit made by Edward Albert before “P. Mackinlay, Esq., one of Her Majesty’s Justices of the Peace for the country (so it is printed) of Lanark.”

I have seen the affidavit, and it is almost identical with the statement in the “book,” excepting in the matter of grammar, which has rather suffered on its road to Mr. Howe, the printer.

The following will give an idea of the matter of which it is composed:--

“In February, 1851, I engaged to serve as cook on board the barque _Madeira_, of Glasgow, Captain J. Douglas, on her voyage from Glasgow to California, thence to China, and thence home to a port of discharge in the United Kingdom. I signed articles, and delivered up my register-ticket as a British seaman, as required by law. I entered the service on board the said vessel, under the said engagement, and sailed with that vessel on the 18th of February, 1851. I discharged my duty as cook on board the said vessel, from the date of its having left the Clyde, until June the same year, in which month the vessel rounded Cape Horne, at that time my legs became frost bitten, and I became in consequence unfit for duty.

“In the course of the next day after my limbs became affected, the master of the vessel, and mate, took me to the ship’s oven, in order, as they said, to cure me; the oven was hot at the time, a fowl that was roasting therein having been removed in order to make room for my feet, which was put into the oven; in consequence of the treatment, my feet burst through the intense swelling, and mortification ensued.

“The vessel called, six weeks after, at Valpariso, and I was there taken to an hospital, where I remained five months and a half. Both my legs were amputated three inches below my knees soon after I went to the hospital at Valpariso. I asked my master for my wages due to me, for my service on board the vessel, and demanded my register-ticket; when the captain told me I should not recover, that the vessel could not wait for me, and that I was a dead man, and that he could not discharge a dead man; and that he also said, that as I had no friends there to get my money, he would only put a little money into the hands of the consul, which would be applied in burying me. On being discharged from the hospital I called on the consul, and was informed by him that master had not left any money.

“I was afterwards taken on board one of her Majesty’s ships, the _Driver_, Captain Charles Johnston, and landed at Portsmouth; from thence I got a passage to Glasgow, ware I remained three months. Upon supplication to the register-office for seamen, in London, my register-ticket has been forwarded to the Collector of Customs, Glasgow; and he is ready to deliver it to me upon obtaining the authority of the Justices of the Peace, and I recovered the same under the 22nd section of the General Merchant Seaman’s Act. Declares I cannot write.

“(Signed) DAVID MACKINLAY, J. P.

“The Justices having considered the foregoing information and declaration, finds that Edward Albert, therein named the last-register ticket, sought to be covered under circumstances which, so far as he was concerned, were unavoidable, and that no fraud was intended or committed by him in reference thereto, therefore authorised the Collector and Comptroller of Customs at the port of Glasgow to deliver to the said Edward Albert the register-ticket, sought to be recovered by him all in terms of 22nd section of the General Merchant Seamen’s Act.

“(Signed) DAVID MACKINLAY, J. P.

“Glasgow, Oct. 6th, 1852.

“Register Ticket, No. 512, 652, age 25 years.”

“I could make a large book of my sufferings, sir, if I liked,” he said, “and I will disgrace the owners of that ship as long as they don’t give me what they owe me.

“I will never leave England or Scotland until I get my rights; but they says money makes money, and if I had money I could get it. If they would only give me what they owe me, I wouldn’t ask anybody for a farthing, God knows, sir. I don’t know why the master put my feet in the oven; he said to cure me: the agony of pain I was in was such, he said, that it must be done.

“The loss of my limbs is bad enough, but it’s still worse when you can’t get what is your rights, nor anything for the sweat that they worked out of me.

“After I went down to Glasgow for my money I opened a little coffee-house; it was called ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin.’ I did very well. The man who sold me tea and coffee said he would get me on, and I had better give my money to him to keep safe, and he used to put it away in a tin box which I had given four-and-sixpence for. He advertised my place in the papers, and I did a good business. I had the place open a month, when he kept all my savings--two-and-forty pounds--and shut up the place, and denied me of it, and I never got a farthing.

“I declare to you I can’t describe the agony I felt when my legs were burst; I fainted away over and over again. There was four men came; I was lying in my hammock, and they moved the fowl that was roasting, and put my legs in the oven. There they held me for ten minutes. They said, it would take the cold out; but after I came out the cold caught ’em again, and the next day they swole up as big round as a pillar, and burst, and then like water come out. No man but God knows what I have suffered and went through.

“By the order of the doctor at Valparaiso, the sick patients had to come out of the room I went into; the smell was so bad I couldn’t bear it myself--it was all mortification--they had to use chloride o’ zinc to keep the smell down. They tried to save one leg, but the mortification was getting up into my body. I got better after my legs were off.

“I was three months good before I could turn, or able to lift up my hand to my head. I was glad to move after that time, it was a regular relief to me; if it wasn’t for good attendance, I should not have lived. You know they don’t allow tobaccer in a hospital, but I had it; it was the only thing I cared for. The Reverend Mr. Armstrong used to bring me a pound a fortnight; he used to bring it regular. I never used to smoke before; they said I never should recover, but after I got the tobaccer it seemed to soothe me. I was five months and a half in that place.

“Admiral Moseley, of the _Thetis_ frigate, sent me home; and the reason why he sent me home was, that after I came well, I called on Mr. Rouse, the English consul, and he sent me to the boarding-house, till such time as he could find a ship to send me home in. I was there about two months, and the boarding-master, Jan Pace, sent me to the consul.

“I used to get about a little, with two small crutches, and I also had a little cart before that, on three wheels; it was made by a man in the hospital. I used to lash myself down in it. That was the best thing I ever had--I could get about best in that.

“Well, I went to the consul, and when I went to him, he says, ‘I can’t pay your board; you must beg and pay for it;’ so I went and told Jan Pace, and he said, ‘If you had stopped here a hundred years, I would not turn you out;’ and then I asked Pace to tell me where the Admiral lived. ‘What do you want with him?’ says he. I said, ‘I think the Admiral must be higher than the consul.’ Pace slapped me on the back. Says he, ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got the pluck to complain to the Admiral.’

“I went down at nine o’clock the next morning, to see the Admiral. He said, ‘Well, Prince Albert, how are you getting on?’ So I told him I was getting on very bad; and then I told him all about the consul; and he said, as long as he stopped he would see me righted, and took me on board his ship, the _Thetis_; and he wrote to the consul, and said to me, ‘If the consul sends for you, don’t you go to him; tell him you have no legs to walk, and he must walk to you.’

“The consul wanted to send me back in a merchant ship, but the Admiral wouldn’t have it, so I came in the _Driver_, one of Her Majesty’s vessels. It was the 8th of May, 1852, when I got to Portsmouth.

“I stopped a little while--about a week--in Portsmouth. I went to the Admiral of the dockyard, and he told me I must go to the Lord Mayor of London. So I paid my passage to London, saw the Lord Mayor, who sent me to Mr. Yardley, the magistrate, and he advertised the case for me, and I got four pounds fifteen shillings, besides my passage to Glasgow. After I got there, I went to Mr. Symee a Custom-house officer (he’d been in the same ship with me to California); he said, ‘Oh, gracious, Edward, how have you lost your limbs!’ and I burst out a crying. I told him all about it. He advised me to go to the owner. I went there; but the policeman in London had put my name down as Robert Thorpe, which was the man I lodged with; so they denied me.

“I went to the shipping office, where they reckonised me; and I went to Mr. Symee again, and he told me to go before the Lord Mayor (a Lord Provost they call him in Scotland), and make an affidavit; and so, when they found my story was right, they sent to London for my seaman’s ticket; but they couldn’t do anything, because the captain was not there.

“When I got back to London, I commenced sweeping the crossin’, sir. I only sweep it in the winter, because I can’t stand in the summer. Oh, yes, I feel my feet still: it is just as if I had them sitting on the floor, now. I feel my toes moving, like as if I had ’em. I could count them, the whole ten, whenever I work my knees. I had a corn on one of my toes, and I can feel it still, particularly at the change of weather.

“Sometimes I might get two shillings a-day at my crossing, sometimes one shilling and sixpence, sometimes I don’t take above sixpence. The most I ever made in one day was three shillings and sixpence, but that’s very seldom.

“I am a very steady man. I don’t drink what money I get; and if I had the means to get something to do, I’d keep off the streets.

“When I offered to go to the parish, they told me to go to Scotland, to spite the men who owed me my wages.

“Many people tell me I ought to go to my country; but I tell them it’s very hard--I didn’t come here without my legs--I lost them, as it were, in this country; but if I had lost them in my own country, I should have been better off. I should have gone down to the magistrate every Friday, and have taken my ten shillings.

“I went to the Merchant Seaman’s Fund, and they said that those who got hurted before 1852 have been getting the funds, but those who were hurted after 1852 couldn’t get nothing--it was stopped in ’51, and the merchants wouldn’t pay any more, and don’t pay any more.

“That’s scandalous, because, whether you’re willing or not, you must pay two shillings a-month (one shilling a-month for the hospital fees, and one shilling a-month to the Merchant Seaman’s Fund), out of your pay.

“I am married: my wife is the same colour as me, but an Englishwoman. I’ve been married two years. I married her from where she belonged, in Leeds. I couldn’t get on to do anything without her. Sometimes she goes out and sells things--fruit, and so on--but she don’t make much. With the assistance of my wife, if I could get my money, I would set up in the same line of business as before, in a coffee-shop. If I had three pounds I could do it: it took well in Scotland. I am not a common cook, either; I am a pastrycook. I used to make all the sorts of cakes they have in the shops. I bought the shapes, and tins, and things to make them proper.

“I’ll tell you how I did--there was a kind of apparatus; it boils water and coffee, and the milk and the tea, in different departments; but you couldn’t see the divisions--the pipes all ran into one tap, like. I’ve had a sixpence and a shilling for people to look at it: it cost me two pound ten.

“Even if I had a coffee-stall down at Covent-garden, I should do; and, besides, I understand the making of eel-soup. I have one child,--it is just three months and a week old. It is a boy, and we call it James Edward Albert. James is after my grandfather, who was a slave.

“I was a little boy when the slaves in Jamaica got their freedom: the people were very glad to be free; they do better since, I know, because some of them have got property, and send their children to school. There’s more Christianity there than there is here. The public-house is close shut on Saturday night, and not opened till Monday morning. No fruit is allowed to be sold in the street. I am a Protestant. I don’t know the name of the church, but I goes down to a new-built church, near King’s-cross. I never go in, because of my legs; but I just go inside the door; and sometimes when I don’t go, I read the Testament I’ve got here: in all my sickness I took care of that.

“There are a great many Irish in this place. I would like to get away from it, for it is a very disgraceful place,--it is an awful, awful place altogether. I haven’t been in it very long, and I want to get out of it; it is not fit.

“I pay one-and-sixpence rent. If you don’t go out and drink and carouse with them, they don’t like it; they make use of bad language--they chaff me about my misfortune--they call me ‘Cripple;’ some says ‘Uncle Tom,’ and some says ‘Nigger;’ but I never takes no notice of ’em at all.”

* * * * *

The following is a verbatim copy of the placard which the poor fellow places before him when he begs. He carries it, when not in use, in a little calico bag which hangs round his neck:--

KIND CHRISTIAN FRIENDS

THE UNFORTUNATE

EDWARD ALBERT

WAS COOK ON BOARD THE BARQUE MADEIRA OF GLASGOW CAPTAIN J. DOUGLAS IN FEBRUARY 1851 WHEN AFTER ROUNDING CAPE HORNE HE HAD HIS LEGS AND FEET FROST BITTEN WHEN in that state the master and mate put my Legs and Feet into the Oven as they said to cure me the Oven being hot at the time a fowl was roasting was took away to make room for my feet and legs in consequence of this my feet and legs swelled and burst----Mortification then Ensued after which my legs were amputated Three Inches below the knees soon after my entering the Hospital at Valpariso.

AS I HAVE NO OTHER MEANS TO GET A LIVELYHOOD BUT BY APPEALING TO

A GENEROUS PUBLIC

YOUR KIND DONATIONS WILL BE MOST THANKFULLY RECEIVED.

THE MAIMED IRISH CROSSING-SWEEPER.

He stands at the corner of ---- street, where the yellow omnibuses stop, and refers to himself every now and then as the “poor lame man.” He has no especial mode of addressing the passers-by, except that of hobbling a step or two towards them and sweeping away an imaginary accumulation of mud. He has lost one leg (from the knee) by a fall from a scaffold, while working as a bricklayer’s labourer in Wales, some six years ago; and speaks bitterly of the hard time he had of it when he first came to London, and hobbled about selling matches. He says he is thirty-six, but looks more than fifty; and his face has the ghastly expression of death. He wears the ordinary close cloth street-cap and corduroy trousers. Even during the warm weather he wears an upper coat--a rough thick garment, fit for the Arctic regions. It was very difficult to make him understand my object in getting information from him: he thought that he had nothing to tell, and laid great stress upon the fact of his never keeping “count” of anything.

He accounted for his miserably small income by stating that he was an invalid--“now and thin continually.” He said--

“I can’t say how long I have been on this crossin’; I think about five year. When I came on it there had been no one here before. No one interferes with me at all, at all. I niver hard of a crossin’ bein’ sould; but I don’t know any other sweepers. I makes no fraydom with no one, and I always keeps my own mind.

“I dunno how much I earn a-day--p’rhaps I may git a shilling, and p’rhaps sixpence. I didn’t git much yesterday (Sunday)--only sixpence. I was not out on Saturday; I was ill in bed, and I was at home on Friday. Indeed, I did not get much on Thursday, only tuppence ha’penny. The largest day? I dunno. Why, about a shilling. Well, sure, I might git as much as two shillings, if I got a shillin’ from a lady. Some gintlemen are good--such a gintleman as you, now, might give me a shilling.

“Well, as to weather, I likes half dry and half wit; of course I wish for the bad wither. Every one must be glad of what brings good to him; and, there’s one thing, I can’t make the wither--I can’t make a fine day nor a wit one. I don’t think anybody would interfere with me; certainly, if I was a blaggya’rd I should not be left here; no, nor if I was a thief; but if any other man was to come on to my crossing, I can’t say whether the police _would_ interfere to protect me--p’rhaps they might.

“What is it I say to shabby people? Well, by J----, they’re all shabby, I think. I don’t see any difference; but what can I do? I can’t insult thim, and I was niver insulted mysilf, since here I’ve been, nor, for the matter of that, ever had an angry worrud spoken to me.

“Well, sure, I dunno who’s the most liberal; if I got a fourpinny bit from a moll I’d take it. Some of the ladies are very liberal; a good lady will give a sixpence. I never hard of sweepin’ the mud back again; and as for the boys annoying me, I has no coleaguein’ with boys, and they wouldn’t be allowed to interfere with me--the police wouldn’t allow it.

“After I came from Wales, where I was on one leg, selling matches, then it was I took to sweep the crossin’. A poor divil must put up with anything, good or bad. Well, I was a laborin’ man, a bricklayer’s labourer, and I’ve been away from Ireland these sixteen year. When I came from Ireland I went to Wales. I was there a long time; and the way I broke my leg was, I fell off a scaffold. I am not married; a lame man wouldn’t get any woman to have him in London at all, at all. I don’t know what age I am. I am not fifty, nor forty; I think about thirty-six. No, by J----, it’s not mysilf that iver knew a well-off crossin’-sweeper. I don’t dale in them at all.

“I got a dale of friends in London assist me (but only now and thin). If I depinded on the few ha’pence I get, I wouldn’t live on ’em; what money I get here wouldn’t buy a pound of mate; and I wouldn’t live, only for my frinds. You see, sir, I can’t be out always. I am laid up nows and thins continually. Oh, it’s a poor trade to big on the crossin’ from morning till night, and not get sixpence. I couldn’t do with it, I know.

“Yes, sir, I smoke; it’s a comfort, it is. I like any kind I’d get to smoke. I’d like the best if I got it.

“I am a Roman Catholic, and I go to St. Patrick’s, in St. Giles’s; a many people from my neighbourhood go there. I go every Sunday, and to Confession just once a-year--that saves me.

“By the Lord’s mercy! I don’t get broken victuals, nor broken mate, not as much as you might put on the tip of a forruk; they’d chuck it out in the dust-bin before they’d give it to me. I suppose they’re all alike.

“The divil an odd job I iver got, master, nor knives to clane. If I got their knives to clane, p’rhaps I might clane them.

“My brooms cost threepence ha’penny; they are very good. I wear them down to a stump, and they last three weeks, this fine wither. I niver got any ould clothes--not but I want a coat very bad, sir.

“I come from Dublin; my father and mother died there of cholera; and when they died, I come to England, and that was the cause of my coming.

“By my oath it didn’t stand me in more than eighteenpence that I took here last week.

“I live in ---- lane, St. Giles’s Church, on the second landing, and I pay eightpence a week. I haven’t a room to mysilf, for there’s a family lives in it wid me.

“When I goes home I just smokes a pipe, and goes to bid, that’s all.”

II.--JUVENILE CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

_A. The Boy Crossing-Sweepers._

BOY CROSSING-SWEEPERS AND TUMBLERS.

A remarkably intelligent lad, who, on being spoken to, at once consented to give all the information in his power, told me the following story of his life.

It will be seen from this boy’s account, and the one or two following, that a kind of partnership exists among some of these young sweepers. They have associated themselves together, appropriated several crossings to their use, and appointed a captain over them. They have their forms of trial, and “jury-house” for the settlement of disputes; laws have been framed, which govern their commercial proceedings, and a kind of language adopted by the society for its better protection from its arch-enemy, the policeman.

I found the lad who first gave me an insight into the proceedings of the associated crossing-sweepers crouched on the stone steps of a door in Adelaide-street, Strand; and when I spoke to him he was preparing to settle down in a corner and go to sleep--his legs and body being curled round almost as closely as those of a cat on a hearth.

The moment he heard my voice he was upon his feet, asking me to “give a halfpenny to poor little Jack.”

He was a good-looking lad, with a pair of large mild eyes, which he took good care to turn up with an expression of supplication as he moaned for his halfpenny.

A cap, or more properly a stuff bag, covered a crop of hair which had matted itself into the form of so many paint-brushes, while his face, from its roundness of feature and the complexion of dirt, had an almost Indian look about it; the colour of his hands, too, was such that you could imagine he had been shelling walnuts.

He ran before me, treading cautiously with his naked feet, until I reached a convenient spot to take down his statement, which was as follows:--

“I’ve got no mother or father; mother has been dead for two years, and father’s been gone more than that--more nigh five years--he died at Ipswich, in Suffolk. He was a perfumer by trade, and used to make hair-dye, and scent, and pomatum, and all kinds of scents. He didn’t keep a shop himself, but he used to serve them as did; he didn’t hawk his goods about, neether, but had regular customers, what used to send him a letter, and then he’d take them what they wanted. Yes, he used to serve some good shops: there was H----’s, of London Bridge, what’s a large chemist’s. He used to make a good deal of money, but he lost it betting; and so his brother, my uncle, did all his. He used to go up to High Park, and then go round by the Hospital, and then turn up a yard, where all the men are who play for money [Tattersall’s]; and there he’d lose his money, or sometimes win,--but that wasn’t often. I remember he used to come home tipsy, and say he’d lost on this or that horse, naming wot one he’d laid on; and then mother would coax him to bed, and afterwards sit down and begin to cry.

“I was not with father when he died (but I was when he was dying), for I was sent up along with eldest sister to London with a letter to uncle, who was head servant at a doctor’s. In this letter, mother asked uncle to pay back some money wot he owed, and wot father lent him, and she asked him if he’d like to come down and see father before he died. I recollect I went back again to mother by the Orwell steamer. I was well dressed then, and had good clothes on, and I was given to the care of the captain--Mr. King his name was. But when I got back to Ipswich, father was dead.

“Mother took on dreadful; she was ill for three months afterwards, confined to her bed. She hardly eat anything: only beaf-tea--I think they call it--and eggs. All the while she kept on crying.

“Mother kept a servant; yes, sir, we always had a servant, as long as I can recollect; and she and the woman as was there--Anna they called her, an old lady--used to take care of me and sister. Sister was fourteen years old (she’s married to a young man now, and they’ve gone to America; she went from a place in the East India Docks, and I saw her off). I used, when I was with mother, to go to school in the morning, and go at nine and come home at twelve to dinner, then go again at two and leave off at half-past four,--that is, if I behaved myself and did all my lessons right; for if I did not I was kept back till I _did_ them so. Mother used to pay one shilling a-week, and extra for the copy-books and things. I can read and write--oh, yes, I mean read and write well--read anything, even old English; and I write pretty fair,--though I don’t get much reading now, unless it’s a penny paper--I’ve got one in my pocket now--it’s the _London Journal_--there’s a tale in it now about two brothers, and one of them steals the child away and puts another in his place, and then he gets found out, and all that, and he’s just been falling off a bridge now.

“After mother got better, she sold all the furniture and goods and came up to London;--poor mother! She let a man of the name of Hayes have the greater part, and he left Ipswich soon after, and never gave mother the money. We came up to London, and mother took two rooms in Westminster, and I and sister lived along with her. She used to make hair-nets, and sister helped her, and used to take ’em to the hair-dressers to sell. She made these nets for two or three years, though she was suffering with a bad breast;--she died of that--poor thing!--for she had what doctors calls cancer--perhaps you’ve heard of ’em, sir,--and they had to cut all round here (making motions with his hands from the shoulder to the bosom). Sister saw it, though I didn’t.

“Ah! she was a very good, kind mother, and very fond of both of us; though father wasn’t, for he’d always have a noise with mother when he come home, only he was seldom with us when he was making his goods.

“After mother died, sister still kept on making nets, and I lived with her for some time, until she told me she couldn’t afford to keep me no longer, though she seemed to have a pretty good lot to do; but she would never let me go with her to the shops, though I could crochet, which she’d learned me, and used to run and get her all her silks and things what she wanted. But she was keeping company with a young man, and one day they went out, and came back and said they’d been and got married. It was him as got rid of me.

“He was kind to me for the first two or three months, while he was keeping her company; but before he was married he got a little cross, and after he was married he begun to get more cross, and used to send me to play in the streets, and tell me not to come home again till night. One day he hit me, and I said I wouldn’t be hit about by him, and then at tea that night sister gave me three shillings, and told me I must go and get my own living. So I bought a box and brushes (they cost me just the money) and went cleaning boots, and I done pretty well with them, till my box was stole from me by a boy where I was lodging. He’s in prison now--got six calendar for picking pockets.

“Sister kept all my clothes. When I asked her for ’em, she said they was disposed of along with all mother’s goods; but she gave me some shirts and stockings, and such-like, and I had very good clothes, only they was all worn out. I saw sister after I left her, many times. I asked her many times to take me back, but she used to say, ‘It was not her likes, but her husband’s, or she’d have had me back;’ and I think it was true, for until he came she was a kind-hearted girl; but he said he’d enough to do to look after his own living; he was a fancy-baker by trade.

“I was fifteen the 24th of last May, sir, and I’ve been sweeping crossings now near upon two years. There’s a party of six of us, and we have the crossings from St. Martin’s Church as far as Pall Mall. I always go along with them as lodges in the same place as I do. In the daytime, if it’s dry, we do anythink what we can--open cabs, or anythink; but if it’s wet, we separate, and I and another gets a crossing--those who gets on it first, keeps it,--and we stand on each side and take our chance.

“We do it in this way:--if I was to see two gentlemen coming, I should cry out, ‘Two toffs!’ and then they are mine; and whether they give me anythink or not they are mine, and my mate is bound not to follow them; for if he did he would get a hiding from the whole lot of us. If we both cry out together, then we share. If it’s a lady and gentleman, then we cries, ‘A toff and a doll!’ Sometimes we are caught out in this way. Perhaps it is a lady and gentleman and a child; and if I was to see them, and only say, ‘A toff and a doll,’ and leave out the child, then my mate can add the child; and as he is right and I wrong, then it’s his party.

“If there’s a policeman close at hand we mustn’t ask for money; but we are always on the look-out for the policemen, and if we see one, then we calls out ‘Phillup!’ for that’s our signal. One of the policemen at St. Martin’s Church--Bandy, we calls him--knows what Phillup means, for he’s up to us; so we had to change the word. (At the request of the young crossing-sweeper the present signal is omitted.)

“Yesterday on the crossing I got threepence halfpenny, but when it’s dry like to-day I do nothink, for I haven’t got a penny yet. We never carries no pockets, for if the policemen find us we generally pass the money to our mates, for if money’s found on us we have fourteen days in prison.

“If I was to reckon all the year round, that is, one day with another, I think we make fourpence every day, and if we were to stick to it we should make more, for on a very muddy day we do better. One day, the best I ever had, from nine o’clock in the morning till seven o’clock at night, I made seven shillings and sixpence, and got not one bit of silver money among it. Every shilling I got I went and left at a shop near where my crossing is, for fear I might get into any harm. The shop’s kept by a woman we deals with for what we wants--tea and butter, or sugar, or brooms--anythink we wants. Saturday night week I made two-and-sixpence; that’s what I took altogether up to six o’clock.

“When we see the rain we say together, ‘Oh! there’s a jolly good rain! we’ll have a good day to-morrow.’ If a shower comes on, and we are at our room, which we general are about three o’clock, to get somethink to eat--besides, we general go there to see how much each other’s taken in the day--why, out we run with our brooms.

“We’re always sure to make money if there’s mud--that’s to say, if we look for our money, and ask; of course, if we stand still we don’t. Now, there’s Lord Fitzhardinge, he’s a good gentleman, what lives in Spring-gardens, in a large house. He’s got a lot of servants and carriages. Every time he crosses the Charing-cross crossing he always gives the girl half a sovereign.” (This statement was taken in June 1856.) “He doesn’t cross often, because, hang it, he’s got such a lot of carriages, but when he’s on foot he always does. If they asks him he doesn’t give nothink, but if they touches their caps he does. The housekeeper at his house is very kind to us. We run errands for her, and when she wants any of her own letters taken to the post then she calls, and if we are on the crossing we takes them for her. She’s a very nice lady, and gives us broken victuals. I’ve got a share in that crossing,--there are three of us, and when he gives the half sovereign he always gives it to the girl, and those that are in it shares it. She would do us out of it if she could, but we all takes good care of that, for we are all cheats.

“At night-time we tumbles--that is, if the policemen ain’t nigh. We goes general to Waterloo-place when the Opera’s on. We sends on one of us ahead, as a looker-out, to look for the policeman, and then we follows. It’s no good tumbling to gentlemen _going_ to the Opera; it’s when they’re coming back they gives us money. When they’ve got a young lady on their arm they laugh at us tumbling; some will give us a penny, others threepence, sometimes a sixpence or a shilling, and sometimes a halfpenny. We either do the cat’un-wheel, or else we keep before the gentleman and lady, turning head-over-heels, putting our broom on the ground and then turning over it.

“I work a good deal fetching cabs after the Opera is over; we general open the doors of those what draw up at the side of the pavement for people to get into as have walked a little down the Haymarket looking for a cab. We gets a month in prison if we touch the others by the columns. I once had half a sovereign give me by a gentleman; it was raining awful, and I run all about for a cab, and at last I got one. The gentleman knew it was half a sovereign, because he said--‘Here, my little man, here’s half a sovereign for your trouble.’ He had three ladies with him, beautiful ones, with nothink on their heads, and only capes on their bare shoulders; and he had white kids on, and his regular Opera togs, too. I liked him very much, and as he was going to give me somethink the ladies says--‘Oh, give him somethink extra!’ It was pouring with rain, and they couldn’t get a cab; they were all engaged, but I jumped on the box of one as was driving along the line. Last Saturday Opera night I made fifteen pence by the gentlemen coming from the Opera.

“After the Opera we go into the Haymarket, where all the women are who walk the streets all night. They don’t give us no money, but they tell the gentlemen to. Sometimes, when they are talking to the gentlemen, they say, ‘Go away, you young rascal!’ and if they are saucy, then we say to them, ‘We’re not talking to you, my doxy, we’re talking to the gentleman,’--but that’s only if they’re rude, for if they speak civil we always goes. They knows what ‘doxy’ means. What is it? Why that they are no better than us! If we are on the crossing, and we says to them as they go by, ‘Good luck to you!’ they always give us somethink either that night or the next. There are two with bloomer bonnets, who always give us somethink if we says ‘Good luck.’ Sometimes a gentleman will tell us to go and get them a young lady, and then we goes, and they general gives us sixpence for that. If the gents is dressed finely we gets them a handsome girl; if they’re dressed middling, then we gets them a middling-dressed one; but we usual prefers giving a turn to girls that have been kind to us, and they are sure to give us somethink the next night. If we don’t find any girls walking, we knows where to get them in the houses in the streets round about.

“We always meet at St. Martin’s steps--the ‘jury house,’ we calls ’em--at three o’clock in the morning, that’s always our hour. We reckons up what we’ve taken, but we don’t divide. Sometimes, if we owe anythink where we lodge, the women of the house will be waiting on the steps for us: then, if we’ve got it, we pay them; if we haven’t, why it can’t be helped, and it goes on. We gets into debt, because sometimes the women where we live gets lushy; then we don’t give them anythink, because they’d forget it, so we spends it ourselves. We can’t lodge at what’s called model lodging-houses, as our hours don’t suit them folks. We pays threepence a-night for lodging. Food, if we get plenty of money, we buys for ourselves. We buys a pound of bread, that’s twopence farthing--best seconds, and a farthing’s worth of dripping--that’s enough for a pound of bread--and we gets a ha’porth of tea and a ha’porth of sugar; or if we’re hard up, we gets only a penn’orth of bread. We make our own tea at home; they lends us a kittle, teapot, and cups and saucers, and all that.

“Once or twice a-week we gets meat. We all club together, and go into Newgate Market and gets some pieces cheap, and biles them at home. We tosses up who shall have the biggest bit, and we divide the broth, a cupful in each basin, until it’s lasted out. If any of us has been unlucky we each gives the unlucky one one or two halfpence. Some of us is obliged at times to sleep out all night; and sometimes, if any of us gets nothink, then the others gives him a penny or two, and _he_ does the same for us when _we_ are out of luck.

“Besides, there’s our clothes: I’m paying for a pair of boots now. I paid a shilling off Saturday night.

“When we gets home at half-past three in the morning, whoever cries out ‘first wash’ has it. First of all we washes our feet, and we all uses the same water. Then we washes our faces and hands, and necks, and whoever fetches the fresh water up has first wash; and if the second don’t like to go and get fresh, why he uses the dirty. Whenever we come in the landlady makes us wash our feet. Very often the stones cuts our feet and makes them bleed; then we bind a bit of rag round them. We like to put on boots and shoes in the daytime, but at night-time we can’t, because it stops the tumbling.

“On the Sunday we all have a clean shirt put on before we go out, and then we go and tumble after the omnibuses. Sometimes we do very well on a fine Sunday, when there’s plenty of people out on the roofs of the busses. We never do anythink on a wet day, but only when it’s been raining and then dried up. I have run after a Cremorne bus, when they’ve thrown us money, as far as from Charing-cross right up to Piccadilly, but if they don’t throw us nothink we don’t run very far. I should think we gets at that work, taking one Sunday with another, eightpence all the year round.

“When there’s snow on the ground we puts our money together, and goes and buys an old shovel, and then, about seven o’clock in the morning, we goes to the shops and asks them if we shall scrape the snow away. We general gets twopence every house, but some gives sixpence, for it’s very hard to clean the snow away, particular when it’s been on the ground some time. It’s awful cold, and gives us chilblains on our feet; but we don’t mind it when we’re working, for we soon gets hot then.

“Before winter comes, we general save up our money and buys a pair of shoes. Sometimes we makes a very big snowball and rolls it up to the hotels, and then the gentlemen laughs and throws us money; or else we pelt each other with snowballs, and then they scrambles money between us. We always go to Morley’s Hotel, at Charing-cross. The police in winter times is kinder to us than in summer, and they only laughs at us;--p’rhaps it is because there is not so many of us about then,--only them as is obligated to find a living for themselves; for many of the boys has fathers and mothers as sends them out in summer, but keeps them at home in winter when it’s piercing cold.

“I have been to the station-house, because the police always takes us up if we are out at night; but we’re only locked up till morning,--that is, if we behaves ourselves when we’re taken before the gentleman. Mr. Hall, at Bow-street, only says, ‘Poor boy, let him go.’ But it’s only when we’ve done nothink but stop out that he says that. He’s a kind old gentleman; but mind, it’s only when you have been before him two or three times he says so, because if it’s a many times, he’ll send you for fourteen days.

“But we don’t mind the police much at night-time, because we jumps over the walls round the place at Trafalgar-square, and they don’t like to follow us at that game, and only stands looking at you over the parrypit. There was one tried to jump the wall, but he split his trousers all to bits, and now they’re afraid. That was Old Bandy as bust his breeches; and we all hate him, as well as another we calls Black Diamond, what’s general along with the Red Liners, as we calls the Mendicity officers, who goes about in disguise as gentlemen, to take up poor boys caught begging.

“When we are talking together we always talk in a kind of slang. Each policeman we gives a regular name--there’s ‘Bull’s Head,’ ‘Bandy Shanks,’ and ‘Old Cherry Legs,’ and ‘Dot-and-carry-one;’ they all knows their names as well as us. We never talks of crossings, but ‘fakes.’ We don’t make no slang of our own, but uses the regular one.

“A broom doesn’t last us more than a week in wet weather, and they costs us twopence halfpenny each; but in dry weather they are good for a fortnight.”

YOUNG MIKE’S STATEMENT.

The next lad I examined was called Mike. He was a short, stout-set youth, with a face like an old man’s, for the features were hard and defined, and the hollows had got filled up with dirt till his countenance was brown as an old wood carving. I have seldom seen so dirty a face, for the boy had been in a perspiration, and then wiped his cheeks with his muddy hands, until they were marbled, like the covering to a copy-book.

The old lady of the house in which the boy lived seemed to be hurt by the unwashed appearance of her lodger. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself--and that’s God’s truth--not to go and sluice yourself afore spaking to the jintlemin,” she cried, looking alternately at me and the lad, as if asking me to witness her indignation.

Mike wore no shoes, but his feet were as black as if cased in gloves with short fingers. His coat had been a man’s, and the tails reached to his ankles; one of the sleeves was wanting, and a dirty rag had been wound round the arm in its stead. His hair spread about like a tuft of grass where a rabbit has been squatting.

He said, “I haven’t got neither no father nor no mother,--never had, sir; for father’s been dead these two year, and mother getting on for eight. They was both Irish people, please sir, and father was a bricklayer. When father was at work in the country, mother used to get work carrying loads at Covent-garden Market. I lived with father till he died, and that was from a complaint in his chest. After that I lived along with my big brother, what’s ’listed in the Marines now. He used to sweep a crossing in Camden-town, opposite the Southampting Harms, near the toll-gate.

“He did pretty well up there sometimes, such as on Christmas-day, where he has took as much as six shillings sometimes, and never less than one and sixpence. All the gentlements knowed him thereabouts, and one or two used to give him a shilling a-week regular.

“It was he as first of all put me up to sweep a crossing, and I used to take my stand at St. Martin’s Church.

“I didn’t see anybody working there, so I planted myself on it. After a time some other boys come up. They come up and wanted to turn me off, and began hitting me with their brooms,--they hit me regular hard with the old stumps; there was five or six of them; so I couldn’t defend myself, but told the policeman, and he turned them all away except me, because he saw me on first, sir. Now we are all friends, and work together, and all that we earns ourself we has.

“On a good day, when it’s poured o’ rain and then leave off sudden, and made it nice and muddy, I’ve took as much as ninepence; but it’s too dry now, and we don’t do more than fourpence.

“At night, I go along with the others tumbling. I does the cat’en-wheel [probably a contraction of Catherine-wheel]; I throws myself over sideways on my hands with my legs in the air. I can’t do it more than four times running, because it makes the blood to the head, and then all the things seems to turn round. Sometimes a chap will give me a lick with a stick just as I’m going over--sometimes a reg’lar good hard whack; but it ain’t often, and we general gets a halfpenny or a penny by it.

“The boys as runs after the busses was the first to do these here cat’en-wheels. I know the boy as was the very first to do it. His name is Gander, so we calls him the Goose.

“There’s about nine or ten of us in our gang, and as is reg’lar; we lodges at different places, and we has our reg’lar hours for meeting, but we all comes and goes when we likes, only we keeps together, so as not to let any others come on the crossings but ourselves.

“If another boy tries to come on we cries out, ‘Here’s a Rooshian,’ and then if he won’t go away, we all sets on him and gives him a drubbing; and if he still comes down the next day, we pays him out twice as much, and harder.

“There’s never been one down there yet as can lick us all together.

“If we sees one of our pals being pitched into by other boys, we goes up and helps him. Gander’s the leader of our gang, ’cause he can tumble back’ards (no, that ain’t the cat’en-wheel, that’s tumbling); so he gets more tin give him, and that’s why we makes him cap’an.

“After twelve at night we goes to the Regent’s Circus, and we tumbles there to the gentlemen and ladies. The most I ever got was sixpence at a time. The French ladies never give us nothink, but they all says, ‘Chit, chit, chit,’ like hissing at us, for they can’t understand us, and we’re as bad off with them.

“If it’s a wet night we leaves off work about twelve o’clock, and don’t bother with the Haymarket.

“The first as gets to the crossing does the sweeping away of the mud. Then they has in return all the halfpence they can take. When it’s been wet every day, a broom gets down to stump in about four days. We either burns the old brooms, or, if we can, we sells ’em for a ha’penny to some other boy, if he’s flat enough to buy ’em.”

GANDER--THE “CAPTAIN” OF THE BOY CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

Gander, the captain of the gang of boy crossing-sweepers, was a big lad of sixteen, with a face devoid of all expression, until he laughed, when the cheeks, mouth, and forehead instantly became crumpled up with a wonderful quantity of lines and dimples. His hair was cut short, and stood up in all directions, like the bristles of a hearth-broom, and was a light dust tint, matching with the hue of his complexion, which also, from an absence of washing, had turned to a decided drab, or what house-painters term a stone-colour.

He spoke with a lisp, occasioned by the loss of two of his large front teeth, which allowed the tongue as he talked to appear through the opening in a round nob like a raspberry.

The boy’s clothing was in a shocking condition. He had no coat, and his blue-striped shirt was as dirty as a French-polisher’s rags, and so tattered, that the shoulder was completely bare, while the sleeve hung down over the hand like a big bag.

From the fish-scales on the sleeves of his coat, it had evidently once belonged to some coster in the herring line. The nap was all worn off, so that the lines of the web were showing like a coarse carpet; and instead of buttons, string had been passed through holes pierced at the side.

Of course he had no shoes on, and his black trousers, which, with the grease on them, were gradually assuming a tarpaulin look, were fastened over one shoulder by means of a brace and bits of string.

During his statement, he illustrated his account of the tumbling backwards--the “caten-wheeling”--with different specimens of the art, throwing himself about on the floor with an ease and almost grace, and taking up so small a space of the ground for the performance, that his limbs seemed to bend as though his bones were flexible like cane.

“To tell you the blessed truth, I can’t say the last shilling I handled.”

“Don’t you go a-believing on him,” whispered another lad in my ear, whilst Gander’s head was turned: “he took thirteenpence last night, he did.”

It was perfectly impossible to obtain from this lad any account of his average earnings. The other boys in the gang told me that he made more than any of them. But Gander, who is a thorough street-beggar, and speaks with a peculiar whine, and who, directly you look at him, puts on an expression of deep distress, seemed to have made up his mind, that if he made himself out to be in great want I should most likely relieve him--so he would not budge an inch from his twopence a-day, declaring it to be the maximum of his daily earnings.

“Ah,” he continued, with a persecuted tone of voice, “if I had only got a little money, I’d be a bright youth! The first chance as I get of earning a few halfpence, I’ll buy myself a coat, and be off to the country, and I’ll lay something I’d soon be a gentleman then, and come home with a couple of pounds in my pocket, instead of never having ne’er a farthing, as now.”

One of the other lads here exclaimed, “Don’t go on like that there, Goose; you’re making us out all liars to the gentleman.”

The old woman also interfered. She lost all patience with Gander, and reproached him for making a false return of his income. She tried to shame him into truthfulness, by saying,--

“Look at my Johnny--my grandson, sir, he’s not a quarther the Goose’s size, and yet he’ll bring me home his shilling, or perhaps eighteenpence or two shillings--for shame on you, Gander! Now, did you make six shillings last week?--now, speak God’s truth!”

“What! six shillings?” cried the Goose--“six shillings!” and he began to look up at the ceiling, and shake his hands. “Why, I never heard of sich a sum. I did once _see_ a half-crown; but I don’t know as I ever touched e’er a one.”

“Thin,” added the old woman, indignantly, “it’s because you’re idle, Gander, and you don’t study when you’re on the crossing; but lets the gintlefolk go by without ever a word. That’s what it is, sir.”

The Goose seemed to feel the truth of this reproach, for he said with a sigh, “I knows I am fickle-minded.”

He then continued his statement,--

“I can’t tell how many brooms I use; for as fast as I gets one, it is took from me. God help me! They watch me put it away, and then up they comes and takes it. What kinds of brooms is the best? Why, as far as I am concerned, I would sooner have a stump on a dry day--it’s lighter and handier to carry; but on a wet day, give me a new un.

“I’m sixteen, your honour, and my name’s George Gandea, and the boys calls me ‘the Goose’ in consequence; for it’s a nickname they gives me, though my name ain’t spelt with a _har_ at the end, but with a _h’ay_, so that I ain’t Gand_er_ after all, but Gand_ea_, which is a sell for ’em.

“God knows what I am--whether I’m h’Irish or h’_I_talian, or what; but I was christened here in London, and that’s all about it.

“Father was a bookbinder. I’m sixteen now, and father turned me away when I was nine year old, for mother had been dead before that. I was told my right name by my brother-in-law, who had my register. He’s a sweep, sir, by trade, and I wanted to know about my real name when I was going down to the _Waterloo_--that’s a ship as I wanted to get aboard as a cabin-boy.

“I remember the fust night I slept out after father got rid of me. I slept on a gentleman’s door-step, in the winter, on the 15th January. I packed my shirt and coat, which was a pretty good one, right over my ears, and then scruntched myself into a doorway, and the policeman passed by four or five times without seeing on me.

“I had a mother-in-law at the time; but father used to drink, or else I should never have been as I am; and he came home one night, and says he, ‘Go out and get me a few ha’pence for breakfast,’ and I said I had never been in the streets in my life, and couldn’t; and, says he, ‘Go out, and never let me see you no more,’ and I took him to his word, and have never been near him since.

“Father lived in Barbican at that time, and after leaving him, I used to go to the Royal Exchange, and there I met a boy of the name of Michael, and he first learnt me to beg, and made me run after people, saying, ‘Poor boy, sir--please give us a ha’penny to get a mossel of bread.’ But as fast as I got anythink, he used to take it away, and knock me about shameful; so I left him, and then I picked up with a chap as taught me tumbling. I soon larnt how to do it, and then I used to go tumbling after busses. That was my notion all along, and I hadn’t picked up the way of doing it half an hour before I was after that game.

“I took to crossings about eight year ago, and the very fust person as I asked, I had a fourpenny-piece give to me. I said to him, ‘Poor little Jack, yer honour,’ and, fust of all, says he, ‘I haven’t got no coppers,’ and then he turns back and give me a fourpenny-bit. I thought I was made for life when I got that.

“I wasn’t working in a gang then, but all by myself, and I used to do well, making about a shilling or ninepence a-day. I lodged in Church-lane at that time.

“It was at the time of the Shibition year (1851) as these gangs come up. There was lots of boys that came out sweeping, and that’s how they picked up the tumbling off me, seeing me do it up in the Park, going along to the Shibition.

“The crossing at St. Martin’s Church was mine fust of all; and when the other lads come to it I didn’t take no heed of ’em--only for that I’d have been a bright boy by now, but they carnied me over like; for when I tried to turn ’em off they’d say, in a carnying way, ‘Oh, let us stay on,’ so I never took no heed of ’em.

“There was about thirteen of ’em in my gang at that time.

“They made me cap’an over the lot--I suppose because they thought I was the best tumbler of ’em. They obeyed me a little. If I told ’em not to go to any gentleman, they wouldn’t, and leave him to me. There was only one feller as used to give me a share of his money, and that was for larning him to tumble--he’d give a penny or twopence, just as he yearnt a little or a lot. I taught ’em all to tumble, and we used to do it near the crossing, and at night along the streets.

“We used to be sometimes together of a day, some a-running after one gentleman, and some after another; but we seldom kept together more than three or four at a time.

“I was the fust to introduce tumbling backards, and I’m proud of it--yes, sir, I’m proud of it. There’s another little chap as I’m larning to do it; but he ain’t got strength enough in his arms like. (‘Ah!’ exclaimed a lad in the room, ‘he _is_ a one to tumble, is Johnny--go along the streets like anythink.’)

“He is the King of the Tumblers,” continued Gander--“King, and I’m Cap’an.”

The old grandmother here joined in. “He was taught by a furreign gintleman, sir, whose wife rode at a circus. He used to come here twice a-day and give him lessons in this here very room, sir. That’s how he got it, sir.”

“Ah,” added another lad, in an admiring tone, “see him and the Goose have a race! Away they goes, but Jacky will leave him a mile behind.”

The history then continued:--“People liked the tumbling backards and forards, and it got a good bit of money at fust, but they is getting tired with it, and I’m growing too hold, I fancy. It hurt me awful at fust. I tried it fust under a railway arch of the Blackwall Railway; and when I goes backards, I thought it’d cut my head open. It hurts me if I’ve got a thin cap on.

“The man as taught me tumbling has gone on the stage. Fust he went about with swords, fencing, in public-houses, and then he got engaged. Me and him once tumbled all round the circus at the Rotunda one night wot was a benefit, and got one-and-eightpence a-piece, and all for only five hours and a half--from six to half-past eleven, and we acting and tumbling, and all that. We had plenty of beer, too. We was wery much applauded when we did it.

“I was the fust boy as ever did ornamental work in the mud of my crossings. I used to be at the crossing at the corner of Regent-suckus; and that’s the wery place where I fust did it. The wery fust thing as I did was a hanker (anchor)--a regular one, with turn-up sides and a rope down the centre, and all. I sweeped it away clean in the mud in the shape of the drawing I’d seen. It paid well, for I took one-and-ninepence on it. The next thing I tried was writing ‘God save the Queen;’ and that, too, paid capital, for I think I got two bob. After that I tried We Har (V. R.) and a star, and that was a sweep too. I never did no flowers, but I’ve done imitations of laurels, and put them all round the crossing, and very pretty it looked, too, at night. I’d buy a farthing candle and stick it over it, and make it nice and comfortable, so that the people could look at it easy. Whenever I see a carriage coming I used to douse the glim and run away with it, but the wheels would regularly spile the drawings, and then we’d have all the trouble to put it to rights again, and that we used to do with our hands.

“I fust learnt drawing in the mud from a man in Adelaide-street, Strand; he kept a crossing, but he only used to draw ’em close to the kerb-stone. He used to keep some soft mud there, and when a carriage come up to the Lowther Arcade, after he’d opened the door and let the lady out, he would set to work, and by the time she come back he’d have some flowers, or a We Har, or whatever he liked, done in the mud, and underneath he’d write, ‘Please to remember honnest hindustry.’

“I used to stand by and see him do it, until I’d learnt, and when I knowed, I went off and did it at my crossing.

“I was the fust to light up at night though, and now I wish I’d never done it, for it was that which got me turned off my crossing, and a capital one it was. I thought the gentlemen coming from the play would like it, for it looked very pretty. The policeman said I was destructing (obstructing) the thoroughfare, and making too much row there, for the people used to stop in the crossing to look, it were so pretty. He took me in charge three times on one night, cause I wouldn’t go away; but he let me go again, till at last I thought he would lock me up for the night, so I hooked it.

“It was after this as I went to St. Martin’s Church, and I haven’t done half as well there. Last night I took three-ha’pence; but I was larking, or I might have had more.”

As a proof of the very small expense which is required for the toilette of a crossing-sweeper, I may mention, that within a few minutes after Master Gander had finished his statement, he was in possession of a coat, for which he had paid the sum of fivepence.

When he brought it into the room, all the boys and the women crowded round to see the purchase.

“It’s a very good un,” said the Goose. “It only wants just taking up here and there; and this cuff putting to rights.” And as he spoke he pointed to tears large enough for a head to be thrust through.

“I’ve seen that coat before, sum’ares,” said one of the women; “where did you get it?”

“At the chandly-shop,” answered the Goose.

THE “KING” OF THE TUMBLING-BOY CROSSING-SWEEPERS.

The young sweeper who had been styled by his companions the “King” was a pretty-looking boy, only tall enough to rest his chin comfortably on the mantel-piece as he talked to me, and with a pair of grey eyes that were as bright and clear as drops of sea-water. He was clad in a style in no way agreeing with his royal title; for he had on a kind of dirt-coloured shooting-coat of tweed, which was fraying into a kind of cobweb at the edges and elbows. His trousers too, were rather faulty, for there was a pink-wrinkled dot of flesh at one of the knees; while their length was too great for his majesty’s short legs, so that they had to be rolled up at the end like a washerwoman’s sleeves.

His royal highness was of a restless disposition, and, whilst talking, lifted up, one after another, the different ornaments on the mantel-piece, frowning and looking at them sideways, as he pondered over the replies he should make to my questions.

When I arrived at the grandmother’s apartment the “king” was absent, his majesty having been sent with a pitcher to fetch some spring-water.

The “king” also was kind enough to favour me with samples of his wondrous tumbling powers. He could bend his little legs round till they curved like the long German sausages we see in the ham-and-beef shops; and when he turned head over heels, he curled up his tiny body as closely as a wood-louse, and then rolled along, wabbling like an egg.

“The boys call me Johnny,” he said; “and I’m getting on for eleven, and I goes along with the Goose and Harry, a-sweeping at St. Martin’s Church, and about there. I used, too, to go to the crossing where the statute is, sir, at the bottom of the Haymarket. I went along with the others; sometimes there were three or four of us, or sometimes one, sir. I never used to sweep unless it was wet. I don’t go out not before twelve or one in the day; it ain’t no use going before that; and beside, I couldn’t get up before that, I’m too sleepy. I don’t stop out so late as the other boys; they sometimes stop all night, but I don’t like that. The Goose was out all night along with Martin; they went all along up Piccirilly, and there they climbed over the Park railings and went a birding all by themselves, and then they went to sleep for an hour on the grass--so they says. I likes better to come home to my bed. It kills me for the next day when I do stop out all night. The Goose is always out all night; he likes it.

“Neither father nor mother’s alive, sir, but I lives along with grandmother and aunt, as owns this room, and I always gives them all I gets.

“Sometimes I makes a shilling, sometimes sixpence, and sometimes less. I can never take nothink of a day, only of a night, because I can’t tumble of a day, and I can of a night.

“The Gander taught me tumbling, and he was the first as did it along the crossings. I can tumble quite as well as the Goose; I can turn a caten-wheel, and he can’t, and I can go further on forards than him, but I can’t tumble backards as he can. I can’t do a handspring, though. Why, a handspring’s pitching yourself forards on both hands, turning over in front, and lighting on your feet; that’s very difficult, and very few can do it. There’s one little chap, but he’s very clever, and can tie himself up in a knot a’most. I’m best at caten-wheels; I can do ’em twelve or fourteen times running--keep on at it. It just _does_ tire you, that’s all. When I gets up I feels quite giddy. I can tumble about forty times over head and heels. I does the most of that, and I thinks it’s the most difficult, but I can’t say which gentlemen likes best. You see they are anigh sick of the head-and-heels tumbling, and then werry few of the boys can do caten-wheels on the crossings--only two or three besides me.

“When I see anybody coming, I says, ‘Please, sir, give me a halfpenny,’ and touches my hair, and then I throws a caten-wheel, and has a look at ’em, and if I sees they are laughing, then I goes on and throws more of ’em. Perhaps one in ten will give a chap something. Some of ’em will give you a threepenny-bit or p’rhaps sixpence, and others only give you a kick. Well, sir, I should say they likes tumbling over head and heels; if you can keep it up twenty times then they begins laughing, but if you only does it once, some of ’em will say, ‘Oh, I could do that myself,’ and then they don’t give nothink.

“I know they calls me the King of Tumblers, and I think I can tumble the best of them; none of them is so good as me, only the Goose at tumbling backards.

“We don’t crab one another when we are sweeping; if we was to crab one another, we’d get to fighting and giving slaps of the jaw to one another. So when we sees anybody coming, we cries, ‘My gentleman and lady coming here;’ ‘My lady;’ ‘My two gentlemens;’ and if any other chap gets the money, then we says, ‘I named them, now I’ll have halves.’ And if he won’t give it, then we’ll smug his broom or his cap. I’m the littlest chap among our lot, but if a fellow like the Goose was to take my naming then I’d smug somethink. I shouldn’t mind his licking me, I’d smug his money and get his halfpence or somethink. If a chap as can’t tumble sees a sporting gent coming and names him, he says to one of us tumblers, ‘Now, then, who’ll give us halves?’ and then we goes and tumbles and shares. The sporting gentlemens likes tumbling; they kicks up more row laughing than a dozen others.

“Sometimes at night we goes down to Covent Garden, to where Hevans’s is, but not till all the plays is over, cause Hevans’s don’t shut afore two or three. When the people comes out we gets tumbling afore them. Some of the drunken gentlemens is shocking spiteful, and runs after a chap and gives us a cut with the cane; some of the others will give us money, and some will buy our broom off us for sixpence. Me and Jemmy sold the two of our brooms for a shilling to two drunken gentlemens, and they began kicking up a row, and going before other gentlemens and pretending to sweep, and taking off their hats begging, like a mocking of us. They danced about with the brooms, flourishing ’em in the air, and knocking off people’s hats; and at last they got into a cab, and chucked the brooms away. The drunken gentlemens is always either jolly or spiteful.

“But I goes only to the Haymarket, and about Pall Mall, now. I used to be going up to Hevans’s every night, but I can’t take my money up there now. I stands at the top of the Haymarket by Windmill-street, and when I sees a lady and gentleman coming out of the Argyle, then I begs of them as they comes across. I says--‘Can’t you give me a ha’penny, sir, poor little Jack? I’ll stand on my nose for a penny;’--and then they laughs at that.

“Goose can stand on his nose as well as me; we puts the face flat down on the ground, instead of standing on our heads. There’s Duckey Dunnovan, and the Stuttering Baboon, too, and two others as well, as can do it; but the Stuttering Baboon’s getting too big and fat to do it well; he’s a very awkward tumbler. It don’t hurt, only at larning; cos you bears more on your hands than your nose.

“Sometimes they says--‘Well, let us see you do it,’ and then p’raps they’ll search in their pockets, and say--‘O, I haven’t got any coppers:’ so then we’ll force ’em, and p’raps they’ll pull out their purse and gives us a little bit of silver.

“Ah, we works hard for what we gets, and then there’s the policemen birching us. Some of ’em is so spiteful, they takes up their belt what they uses round the waist to keep their coat tight, and’ll hit us with the buckle; but we generally gives ’em the lucky dodge and gets out of their way.

“One night, two gentlemen, officers they was, was standing in the Haymarket, and a drunken man passed by. There was snow on the ground, and we’d been begging of ’em, and says one of them--‘I’ll give you a shilling if you’ll knock that drunken man over.’ We was three of us; so we set on him, and soon had him down. After he got up he went and told the policemen, but we all cut round different ways and got off, and then met again. We didn’t get the shilling, though, cos a boy crabbed us. He went up to the gentleman, and says he--‘Give it me, sir, I’m the boy;’ and then we says--‘No, sir, it’s us.’ So, says the officer--‘I sharn’t give it to none of you,’ and puts it back again in his pockets. We broke a broom over the boy as crabbed us, and then we cut down Waterloo-place, and afterwards we come up to the Haymarket again, and there we met the officers again. I did a caten-wheel, and then says I--‘Then won’t you give me un now?’ and they says--‘Go and sweep some mud on that woman.’ So I went and did it, and then they takes me in a pastry-shop at the corner, and they tells me to tumble on the tables in the shop. I nearly broke one of ’em, they were so delicate. They gived me a fourpenny meat-pie and two penny sponge-cakes, which I puts in my pocket, cos there was another sharing with me. The lady of the shop kept on screaming--‘Go and fetch me a police--take the dirty boy out,’ cos I was standing on the tables in my muddy feet, and the officers was a bursting their sides with laughing; and says they, ‘No, he sharn’t stir.’

“I was frightened, cos if the police had come they’d been safe and sure to have took me. They made me tumble from the door to the end of the shop, and back again, and then I turned ’em a caten-wheel, and was near knocking down all the things as was on the counter.

“They didn’t give me no money, only pies; but I got a shilling another time for tumbling to some French ladies and gentlemen in a pastry-cook’s shop under the Colonnade. I often goes into a shop like that; I’ve done it a good many times.

“There was a gentleman once as belonged to a ‘suckus,’ (circus) as wanted to take me with him abroad, and teach me tumbling. He had a little mustache, and used to belong to Drury-lane play-house, riding on horses. I went to his place, and stopped there some time. He taught me to put my leg round my neck, and I was just getting along nicely with the splits (going down on the ground with both legs extended), when I left him. They (the splits) used to hurt worst of all; very bad for the thighs. I used, too, to hang with my leg round his neck. When I did anythink he liked, he used to be clapping me on the back. He wasn’t so very stunning well off, for he never had what I calls a good dinner--grandmother used to have a better dinner than he,--perhaps only a bit of scrag of mutton between three of us. I don’t like meat nor butter, but I likes dripping, and they never had none there. The wife used to drink--ay, very much, on the sly. She used when he was out to send me round with a bottle and sixpence to get a quartern of gin for her, and she’d take it with three or four oysters. Grandmother didn’t like the notion of my going away, so she went down one day, and says she--‘I wants my child;’ and the wife says--‘That’s according to the master’s likings;’ and then grandmother says--‘What, not my own child?’ And then grandmother began talking, and at last, when the master come home, he says to me--‘Which will you do, stop here, or go home with your grandmother?’ So I come along with her.

“I’ve been sweeping the crossings getting on for two years. Before that I used to go caten-wheeling after the busses. I don’t like the sweeping, and I don’t think there’s e’er a one of us wot likes it. In the winter we has to be out in the cold, and then in summer we have to sleep out all night, or go asleep on the church-steps, reg’lar tired out.

“One of us’ll say at night--‘Oh, I’m sleepy now, who’s game for a doss? I’m for a doss;’--and then we go eight or ten of us into a doorway of the church, where they keep the dead in a kind of airy-like underneath, and there we go to sleep. The most of the boys has got no homes. Perhaps they’ve got the price of a lodging, but they’re hungry, and they eats the money, and then they must lay out. There’s some of ’em will stop out in the wet for perhaps the sake of a halfpenny, and get themselves sopping wet. I think all our chaps would like to get out of the work if they could; I’m sure Goose would, and so would I.

“All the boys call me the King, because I tumbles so well, and some calls me ‘Pluck,’ and some ‘Judy.’ I’m called ‘Pluck,’ cause I’m so plucked a going at the gentlemen! Tommy Dunnovan--‘Tipperty Tight’--we calls him, cos his trousers is so tight he can hardly move in them sometimes,--he was the first as called me ‘Judy.’ Dunnovan once swallowed a pill for a shilling. A gentleman in the Haymarket says--‘If you’ll swallow this here pill I’ll give you a shilling;’ and Jimmy says, ‘All right, sir;’ and he puts it in his mouth, and went to the water-pails near the cab-stand and swallowed it.

“All the chaps in our gang likes me, and we all likes one another. We always shows what we gets given to us to eat.

“Sometimes we gets one another up wild, and then that fetches up a fight, but that isn’t often. When two of us fights, the others stands round and sees fair play. There was a fight last night between ‘Broke his Bones’--as we calls Antony Hones--and Neddy Hall--the ‘Sparrow,’ or ‘Spider,’ we calls him,--something about the root of a pineapple, as we was aiming with at one another, and that called up a fight. We all stood round and saw them at it, but neither of ’em licked, for they gived in for to-day, and they’re to finish it to-night. We makes ’em fight fair. We all of us likes to see a fight, but not to fight ourselves. Hones is sure to beat, as Spider is as thin as a wafer, and all bones. I can lick the Spider, though he’s twice my size.”

THE STREET WHERE THE BOY-SWEEPERS LODGED.

I was anxious to see the room in which the gang of boy crossing-sweepers lived, so that I might judge of their peculiar style of house-keeping, and form some notion of their principles of domestic economy.

I asked young Harry and “the Goose” to conduct me to their lodgings, and they at once consented, “the Goose” prefacing his compliance with the remark, that “it wern’t such as genilmen had been accustomed to, but then I must take ’em as they was.”

The boys led me in the direction of Drury-lane; and before entering one of the narrow streets which branch off like the side-bones of a fish’s spine from that long thoroughfare, they thought fit to caution me that I was not to be frightened, as nobody would touch me, for all was very civil.

The locality consisted of one of those narrow streets which, were it not for the paved cartway in the centre would be called a court. Seated on the pavement at each side of the entrance was a costerwoman with her basket before her, and her legs tucked up mysteriously under her gown into a round ball, so that her figure resembled in shape the plaster tumblers sold by the Italians. These women remained as inanimate as if they had been carved images, and it was only when a passenger went by that they gave signs of life, by calling out in a low voice, like talking to themselves, “Two for three haarpence--herrens,”--“Fine hinguns.”

The street itself is like the description given of thoroughfares in the East. Opposite neighbours could not exactly shake hands out of window, but they could talk together very comfortably; and, indeed, as I passed along, I observed several women with their arms folded up like a cat’s paws on the sill, and chatting with their friends over the way.

Nearly all the inhabitants were costermongers, and, indeed, the narrow cartway seemed to have been made just wide enough for a truck to wheel down it. A beershop and a general store, together with a couple of sweeps,--whose residences were distinguished by a broom over the door,--formed the only exceptions to the street-selling class of inhabitants.

As I entered the place, it gave me the notion that it belonged to a distinct coster colony, and formed one large hawkers’ home; for everybody seemed to be doing just as he liked, and I was stared at as if considered an intruder. Women were seated on the pavement, knitting, and repairing their linen; the doorways were filled up with bonnetless girls, who wore their shawls over their head, as the Spanish women do their mantillas; and the youths in corduroy and brass buttons, who were chatting with them, leant against the walls as they smoked their pipes, and blocked up the pavement, as if they were the proprietors of the place. Little children formed a convenient bench out of the kerb-stone; and a party of four men were seated on the footway, playing with cards which had turned to the colour of brown paper from long usage, and marking the points with chalk upon the flags.

The parlour-windows of the houses had all of them wooden shutters, as thick and clumsy-looking as a kitchen flap-table, the paint of which had turned to the dull dirt-colour of an old slate. Some of these shutters were evidently never used as a security for the dwelling, but served only as tables on which to chalk the accounts of the day’s sales.

Before most of the doors were costermongers’ trucks--some standing ready to be wheeled off, and others stained and muddy with the day’s work. A few of the costers were dressing up their barrows, arranging the sieves of waxy-looking potatoes--and others taking the stiff herrings, browned like a meerschaum with the smoke they had been dried in, from the barrels beside them, and spacing them out in pennyworths on their trays.

You might guess what each costermonger had taken out that day by the heap of refuse swept into the street before the doors. One house had a blue mound of mussel-shells in front of it--another, a pile of the outside leaves of broccoli and cabbages, turning yellow and slimy with bruises and moisture.

Hanging up beside some of the doors were bundles of old strawberry pottles, stained red with the fruit. Over the trap-doors to the cellars were piles of market-gardeners’ sieves, ruddled like a sheep’s back with big red letters. In fact, everything that met the eye seemed to be in some way connected with the coster’s trade.

From the windows poles stretched out, on which blankets, petticoats, and linen were drying; and so numerous were they, that they reminded me of the flags hung out at a Paris fête. Some of the sheets had patches as big as trap-doors let into their centres; and the blankets were--many of them--as full of holes as a pigeon-house.

As I entered the court, a “row” was going on; and from a first-floor window a lady, whose hair sadly wanted brushing, was haranguing a crowd beneath, throwing her arms about like a drowning man, and in her excitement thrusting her body half out of her temporary rostrum as energetically as I have seen Punch lean over his theatre.

“The willin dragged her,” she shouted, “by the hair of her head, at least three yards into the court--the willin! and then he kicked her, and the blood was on his boot.”

It was a sweep who had been behaving in this cowardly manner; but still he had his defenders in the women around him. One with very shiny hair, and an Indian kerchief round her neck, answered the lady in the window, by calling her a “d----d old cat;” whilst the sweep’s wife rushed about, clapping her hands together as quickly as if she was applauding at a theatre, and styled somebody or other “an old wagabones as she wouldn’t dirty her hands to fight with.”

This “row” had the effect of drawing all the lodgers to the windows--their heads popping out as suddenly as dogs from their kennels in a fancier’s yard.

THE BOY-SWEEPERS’ ROOM.

The room where the boys lodged was scarcely bigger than a coach-house; and so low was the ceiling, that a fly-paper suspended from a clothes-line was on a level with my head, and had to be carefully avoided when I moved about.

One corner of the apartment was completely filled up by a big four-post bedstead, which fitted into a kind of recess as perfectly as if it had been built to order.

The old woman who kept this lodging had endeavoured to give it a homely look of comfort, by hanging little black-framed pictures, scarcely bigger than pocket-books, on the walls. Most of these were sacred subjects, with large yellow glories round the heads; though between the drawing representing the bleeding heart of Christ, and the Saviour bearing the Cross, was an illustration of a red-waistcoated sailor smoking his pipe. The Adoration of the Shepherds, again, was matched on the other side of the fireplace by a portrait of Daniel O’Connell.

A chest of drawers was covered over with a green baize cloth, on which books, shelves, and clean glasses were tidily set out.

Where so many persons (for there were about eight of them, including the landlady, her daughter, and grandson) could all sleep, puzzled me extremely.

The landlady wore a frilled nightcap, which fitted so closely to the skull, that it was evident she had lost her hair. One of her eyes was slowly recovering from a blow, which, to use her own words, “a blackgeyard gave her.” Her lip, too, had suffered in the encounter, for it was swollen and cut.

“I’ve a nice flock-bid for the boys,” she said, when I inquired into the accommodation of her lodging-house, “where three of them can slape aisy and comfortable.”

“It’s a large bed, sir,” said one of the boys, “and a warm covering over us; and you see it’s better than a regular lodging-house; for, if you want a knife or a cup, you don’t have to leave something on it till it’s returned.”

The old woman spoke up for her lodgers, telling me that they were good boys, and very honest; “for,” she added, “they pays me rig’lar ivery night, which is threepence.”

The only youth as to whose morals she seemed to be at all doubtful was “the Goose,” “for he kept late hours, and sometimes came home without a penny in his pocket.”

_B. The Girl Crossing-Sweepers._

THE GIRL CROSSING-SWEEPER SENT OUT BY HER FATHER.

A little girl, who worked by herself at her own crossing, gave me some curious information on the subject.

This child had a peculiarly flat face, with a button of a nose, while her mouth was scarcely larger than a button-hole. When she spoke, there was not the slightest expression visible in her features; indeed, one might have fancied she wore a mask and was talking behind it; but her eyes were shining the while as brightly as those of a person in a fever, and kept moving about, restless with her timidity. The green frock she wore was fastened close to the neck, and was turning into a kind of mouldy tint; she also wore a black stuff apron, stained with big patches of gruel, “from feeding baby at home,” as she said. Her hair was tidily dressed, being drawn tightly back from the forehead, like the buy-a-broom girls; and as she stood with her hands thrust up her sleeves, she curtseyed each time before answering, bobbing down like a float, as though the floor under her had suddenly given way.

“I’m twelve years old, please sir, and my name is Margaret R----, and I sweep a crossing in New Oxford-street, by Dunn’s-passage, just facing Moses and Sons’, sir; by the Catholic school, sir. Mother’s been dead these two year, sir, and father’s a working cutler, sir; and I lives with him, but he don’t get much to do, and so I’m obligated to help him, doing what I can, sir. Since mother’s been dead, I’ve had to mind my little brother and sister, so that I haven’t been to school; but when I goes a crossing-sweeping I takes them along with me, and they sits on the steps close by, sir. If it’s wet I has to stop at home and take care of them, for father depends upon me for looking after them. Sister’s three and a-half year old, and brother’s five year, so he’s just beginning to help me, sir. I hope he’ll get something better than a crossing when he grows up.

“First of all I used to go singing songs in the streets, sir. It was when father had no work, so he stopped at home and looked after the children. I used to sing the ‘Red, White, and Blue,’ and ‘Mother, is the Battle over?’ and ‘The Gipsy Girl,’ and sometimes I’d get fourpence or fivepence, and sometimes I’d have a chance of making ninepence, sir. Sometimes, though, I’d take a shilling of a Saturday night in the markets.

“At last the songs grew so stale people wouldn’t listen to them, and, as I carn’t read, I couldn’t learn any more, sir. My big brother and father used to learn me some, but I never could get enough out of them for the streets; besides, father was out of work still, and we couldn’t get money enough to buy ballads with, and it’s no good singing without having them to sell. We live over there, sir, (pointing to a window on the other side of the narrow street).

“The notion come into my head all of itself to sweep crossings, sir. As I used to go up Regent-street I used to see men and women, and girls and boys, sweeping, and the people giving them money, so I thought I’d do the same thing. That’s how it come about. Just now the weather is so dry, I don’t go to my crossing, but goes out singing. I’ve learnt some new songs, such as ‘The Queen of the Navy for ever,’ and ‘The Widow’s Last Prayer,’ which is about the wars. I only go sweeping in wet weather, because then’s the best time. When I am there, there’s some ladies and gentlemen as gives to me regular. I knows them by sight; and there’s a beer-shop where they give me some bread and cheese whenever I go.

“I generally takes about sixpence, or sevenpence, or eightpence on the crossing, from about nine o’clock in the morning till four in the evening, when I come home. I don’t stop out at nights because father won’t let me, and I’m got to be home to see to baby.

“My broom costs me twopence ha’penny, and in wet weather it lasts a week, but in dry weather we seldom uses it.

“When I sees the busses and carriages coming I stands on the side, for I’m afeard of being runned over. In winter I goes out and cleans ladies’ doors, general about Lincoln’s-inn, for the housekeepers. I gets twopence a door, but it takes a long time when the ice is hardened, so that I carn’t do only about two or three.

“I carn’t tell whether I shall always stop at sweeping, but I’ve no clothes, and so I carn’t get a situation; for, though I’m small and young, yet I could do housework, such as cleaning.

“No, sir, there’s no gang on my crossing--I’m all alone. If another girl or a boy was to come and take it when I’m not there, I should stop on it as well as him or her, and go shares with ’em.”

GIRL CROSSING-SWEEPER.

I was told that a little girl formed one of the association of young sweepers, and at my request one of the boys went to fetch her.

She was a clean-washed little thing, with a pretty, expressive countenance, and each time she was asked a question she frowned, like a baby in its sleep, while thinking of the answer. In her ears she wore instead of rings loops of string, “which the doctor had put there because her sight was wrong.” A cotton velvet bonnet, scarcely larger than the sun-shades worn at the sea-side, hung on her shoulders, leaving exposed her head, with the hair as rough as tow. Her green stuff gown was hanging in tatters, with long three-cornered rents as large as penny kites, showing the grey lining underneath; and her mantle was separated into so many pieces, that it was only held together by the braiding at the edge.

As she conversed with me, she played with the strings of her bonnet, rolling them up as if curling them, on her singularly small and also singularly dirty fingers.

“I’ll be fourteen, sir, a fortnight before next Christmas. I was born in Liquorpond-street, Gray’s Inn-lane. Father come over from Ireland, and was a bricklayer. He had pains in his limbs and wasn’t strong enough, so he give it over. He’s dead now--been dead a long time, sir. I was a littler girl then than I am now, for I wasn’t above eleven at that time. I lived with mother after father died. She used to sell things in the streets--yes, sir, she was a coster. About a twelvemonth after father’s death, mother was taken bad with the cholera, and died. I then went along with both grandmother and grandfather, who was a porter in Newgate Market; I stopped there until I got a place as servant of all-work. I was only turned, just turned, eleven then. I worked along with a French lady and gentleman in Hatton Garden, who used to give me a shilling a-week and my tea. I used to go home to grandmother’s to dinner every day. I hadn’t to do any work, only just to clean the room and nuss the child. It was a nice little thing. I couldn’t understand what the French people used to say, but there was a boy working there, and he used to explain to me what they meant.

“I left them because they was going to a place called Italy--perhaps you may have heerd tell of it, sir. Well, I suppose they must have been Italians, but we calls everybody, whose talk we don’t understand, French. I went back to grandmother’s, but, after grandfather died, she couldn’t keep me, and so I went out begging--she sent me. I carried lucifer-matches and stay-laces fust. I used to carry about a dozen laces, and perhaps I’d sell six out of them. I suppose I used to make about sixpence a-day, and I used to take it home to grandmother, who kept and fed me.

“At last, finding I didn’t get much at begging, I thought I’d go crossing-sweeping. I saw other children doing it. I says to myself, ‘I’ll go and buy a broom,’ and I spoke to another little girl, who was sweeping up Holborn, who told me what I was to do. ‘But,’ says she, ‘don’t come and cut up me.’

“I went fust to Holborn, near to home, at the end of Red Lion-street. Then I was frightened of the cabs and carriages, but I’d get there early, about eight o’clock, and sweep the crossing clean, and I’d stand at the side on the pavement, and speak to the gentlemen and ladies before they crossed.

“There was a couple of boys, sweepers at the same crossing before I went there. I went to them and asked if I might come and sweep there too, and they said Yes, if I would give them some of the halfpence I got. These was boys about as old as I was, and they said, if I earned sixpence, I was to give them twopence a-piece; but they never give me nothink of theirs. I never took more than sixpence, and out of that I had to give fourpence, so that I did not do so well as with the laces.

“The crossings made my hands sore with the sweeping, and, as I got so little, I thought I’d try somewhere else. Then I got right down to the Fountings in Trafalgar-square, by the crossing at the statey on ’orseback. There were a good many boys and girls on that crossing at the time--five of them; so I went along with them. When I fust went they said, ‘Here’s another fresh ’un.’ They come up to me and says, ‘Are you going to sweep here?’ and I says, ‘Yes;’ and they says, ‘You mustn’t come here, there’s too many;’ and I says, ‘They’re different ones every day,’--for they’re not regular there, but shift about, sometimes one lot of boys and girls, and the next day another. They didn’t say another word to me, and so I stopped.

“It’s a capital crossing, but there’s so many of us, it spiles it. I seldom gets more than sevenpence a-day, which I always takes home to grandmother.

“I’ve been on that crossing about three months. They always calls me Ellen, my regular name, and behaves very well to me. If I see anybody coming, I call them out as the boys does, and then they are mine.

“There’s a boy and myself, and another strange girl, works on our side of the statey, and another lot of boys and girls on the other.

“I like Saturdays the best day of the week, because that’s the time as gentlemen as has been at work has their money, and then they are more generous. I gets more then, perhaps ninepence, but not quite a shilling, on the Saturday.

“I’ve had a threepenny-bit give to me, but never sixpence. It was a gentleman, and I should know him again. Ladies gives me less than gentlemen. I foller ’em, saying, ‘If you please, sir, give a poor girl a halfpenny;’ but if the police are looking, I stop still.

“I never goes out on Sunday, but stops at home with grandmother. I don’t stop out at nights like the boys, but I gets home by ten at latest.”

INDEX.

Articles for amusement, second-hand sellers of, 16

Bear-baiting, 54

Bedding, &c., second-hand sellers of, 15

Bird-catchers who are street sellers, 64

---- duffers, tricks of, 69

---- street-seller, the crippled, 66

Birds’-nests, sellers of, 72

---- ---- ---- life of a, 74

Birds, stuffed, sellers of, 23

---- live, sellers of, 58

---- foreign, sellers of, 70

Bone-grubbers, 139

---- ---- narrative of a, 141

Boots and shoes, second-hand, sellers of, 42

Boy crossing-sweepers’ room, 504

Brisk and slack seasons, 297

Brushes, second-hand, sellers of, 22

Burnt linen or calico, 13

Cabinet-ware, second-hand, sellers of, 22

Casual labour in general, 297

---- ---- brisk and slack seasons, 297

---- ---- among the chimney-sweeps, 374

Carpeting, &c., second-hand, sellers of, 14

Cesspool emptying by trunk and hose, 447

Cesspool system of London, 437

---- ---- of Paris, 438

Cesspool-sewerman, statement of a, 448

Cesspoolage and nightmen, 433

Chimney-sweepers, the London, 339

---- ---- of old, and climbing-boys, 346

---- ---- stealing children, 347

---- ---- sores and diseases, 350

---- ---- accidents, 351

---- ---- cruelties towards, 352

---- ---- of the present day, 354

---- ---- work and wages, 357

---- ---- general characteristics of, 365

---- ---- dress and diet, 366

---- ---- abodes, 367

---- ---- festival at May-day, 371

---- ---- “leeks”, 375

---- ---- knullers and queriers, 376

Cigar-end finders, 145

Clocks, second-hand, sellers of, 23

Clothes worn in town and country, table showing comparative cost of, 192

Coal, consumption of, 169

---- sellers of, 81

Coke, sellers of, 85

Commissioners of Sewers, powers of, 416

“Coshar” meat killed for the Jews, 121

Criminals, number of, in England and Wales, 320

Crossing-sweeper, the aristocratic, 467

---- ---- the bearded, 471

---- ---- a Regent-Street, 474

---- ---- a tradesman’s, 476

---- ---- “old woman over the water”, 477

---- ---- old woman who had been a pensioner, 478

---- ---- one who had been a servant-maid, 479

---- ---- the female Irish, 482

---- ---- the Sunday, 484

---- ---- the wooden-legged, 486

---- ---- the one-legged, 488

---- ---- the most severely afflicted, 488

---- ---- the negro who lost both his legs, 490

---- ---- the maimed Irish, 493

---- ---- Mike’s statement, 498

---- ---- Gander the captain, 499

---- ---- the king of the tumbling-boy crossing-sweepers, 501

---- ---- the girl sweeper sent out by her father, 505

Crossing-sweepers, 465

---- ---- able-bodied male, 467

---- ---- who have got permission from the police, narratives of, 472

---- ---- able-bodied Irish, 481

---- ---- the occasional, 484

---- ---- the afflicted, 486

---- ---- boy, and tumblers, 494

---- ---- where they lodge, 503

---- ---- their room, 504

---- ---- girl, 505

Curiosities, second-hand, sellers of, 21

Curtains, second-hand, sellers of, 14

Dog “finder’s” career, a, 51

Dog-finders, stealers, and restorers, the former, 48

---- ---- extent of their trade, 49

Dogs, sellers of, 52

---- sporting, sellers of, 54

“Dolly” business, the, 108

Dredgers, the, or river-finders, 147

Dust-contractors, 168

Dust-heap, composition of a, 171

---- ---- separation of, 172

Dustmen, the, 166

---- “filler” and “carrier”, 175

---- their general character, 177

Dustmen, sweeps, and nightmen, 159

---- number of, 162

Employers, “cutting,” varieties of, 232

---- “drivers”, 233

---- “grinders”, 233

Fires of London, 378

---- abstract of causes of, 379

---- extinction of, 381

Flushermen, the working, 428

---- history of an individual, 430

Furs, second-hand, sellers of, 45

Gander, the “captain” of the boy sweepers, 499

Garret workmen, labour of, 302

Glass and crockery, second-hand, sellers of, 15

Gold and silver fish, sellers of, 78

Hare and rabbit-skins, buyers of, 111

Harness, second-hand, sellers of, 23

Hill men and women, 173

Hogs’-wash, buyers of, 132

Home work, 313

Horse, food consumed by, and excretions in twenty-four hours, 194

Horse-dung of the streets of London, 193

---- ---- gross annual weight of, 195

House-drainage, as connected with the sewers, 395

Iron Jack, 11

Jew old clothes-men, 119

---- street-seller, life of a, 122

---- boy street-sellers, 122

---- their pursuits, traffic, &c., 123

---- girl street-sellers, 124

---- sellers of accordions, &c., 131

Jews, the street, 115

---- history of, 117

---- trades and localities, 117

---- habits and diet, 121

---- synagogues and religion, 125

---- politics, literature, and amusements, 126

---- charities, schools, and education, 127

---- funeral ceremonies, fasts, and customs, 131

Jewesses, street, the, 124

Kitchen-stuff, grease, and dripping, buyers of, 111

Knullers and queriers, 376

Labour, economy of, 307

Lasts, second-hand, sellers of, 23

“Leeks,” the, 375

Leverets, wild rabbits, &c., sellers of, 77

Linen, second-hand, sellers of, 13

Live animals, sellers of, 47

London street drains, 398

---- ---- ---- extent of, 400

---- ---- ---- order of, 401

---- ---- ---- outlets, ramifications, &c., of, 405

Low wages, remedies for, 254

“Lurker’s,” a, career, 51

Marine-store shops, 108

May-day, 370

May-day, sweeps’ festival, 371

Men’s second-hand clothes, sellers of, 40

Metal trays, second-hand, sellers of, 12

Metropolitan police district, the, 159

---- inhabited houses, 164

---- population, 165

“Middleman” system of work, 329

Monmouth-street, Dickens’s description of, 36

Mud-larks, 155

---- ---- story of a reclaimed, 158

Mineral productions and natural curiosities, sellers of, 81

Music “duffers”, 19

Musical instruments, second-hand, sellers of, 18

Night-soil, present disposal of, 448

Nightmen, the, working and mode of work, 450

Offal, how disposed of, 7

Old Clothes Exchange, the, 26

---- ---- ---- wholesale business at the, 27

Old clothes-men, 119

Old hats, sellers of, 43

Old John, the waterman, statement of, 480

Old woman “over the water,” the, 477

Old wood gatherers, 146

Paris, cesspool and sewer system of, 439

---- rag-gatherers of, 141

Paupers, street-sweeping, narratives of, 245

----, number of, in England and Wales, 320

Petticoat-lane, street-sellers of, 36

“Pure” finders, 143

---- ---- narrative of a female, 144

Purl-men, the, 93

“Rag and bottle” shops, 108

Rag-gatherers, 139

Rags, broken metal, bottles, glass, and bone, buyers of, 106

“Ramoneur Company,” the, 373

Rat-killing, 56

River beer-sellers, 93

River finders, 147

Rosemary-lane, street sellers of, 39

Rubbish-carters, the, 281, 289

---- ---- wages and perquisites of, 292

---- ---- social characteristics of, 295

---- ---- casual labourers among, 323

---- ---- scurf trade among, 327

Salt, sellers of, 89

Sand, sellers of, 90

Scavenger, statement of a “regular”, 224

Scavengers, master, of former times, 205

---- ---- oath of, 206

---- working, 216

---- labour and rates of payment, 219

---- “casual hands”, 220

---- habits and diet, 226

---- influence of free trade on their earnings, 228

---- worse paid, the, 232

Scavengery, contractors for, 210

---- contractors, regulations of, 211

---- contractors, premises of, 216

Scavenging, jet and hose system of, 275

Scurf-labourers, 236

Second-hand apparel, sellers of, 25

---- ---- articles, sellers of, 5

---- ---- ---- experience of a dealer in, 11

---- ---- live animals, productions, &c., street-sellers of, their numbers, capital, and income, 97

---- ---- garments, uses of, 29

---- ---- varieties of, 32

---- ---- store-shops, 24

Seven-dials, Dickens’s description of, 35

Sewage, metropolitan, quantity of, 387

---- qualities and uses of, 407

Sewerage, the City, 403

---- new plan of, 411

Sewerage and scavengery, London, history of, 179

Sewers, ancient, 388

---- kinds and characteristics of, 390

---- subterranean character of, 394

---- house-drainage in connection with, 395

---- ventilation of, 423

---- flushing and plunging, 424

---- rats in the, 431

---- management of the, and the late Commission, 414

---- Commissioners, powers of, 416

---- rate, 420

Sewer-hunters, 150

---- ---- numbers of, 152

---- ---- strange tale of, 154

Sewermen and nightmen of London, 383

Shells, sellers of, 91

Shoddy mills, 30

---- fever, 31

Smithfield market, second-hand sellers at, 46

Smoke, evils of, 339

---- ---- scientific opinions upon, 340

Squirrels, sellers of, 77

“Strapping” system, the, illustration of, 304

Street-buyers, the, varieties of, 103

Street-cleansing, modes and characteristics of, 207

---- ---- men and carts employed in, 213

---- ---- pauper labour employed in, 243

---- ---- narratives of individuals, 245

Street-finders or collectors, varieties of, 136

Street-folk, census of, 1

---- ---- capital and trade, 2

---- ---- proscription of, 3

---- ---- rate of increase, 5

Street-muck, or “mac”, 198

---- ---- uses of, 198

---- ---- value of, 199

Street Jews, the, 115

Street-orderlies, the, 253

---- ---- condition of, 261

---- ---- expenditure of, 265

---- ---- earnings of, 266

---- ---- City surveyor’s report of, 271

Street-sweeping, employers, 209

---- ---- parishes, 209

---- ---- philanthropists, 209

Street-sweeping machines, 208

---- ---- hands employed, 238

Streets of London, how paved, 181

---- ---- traffic of, 184

---- ---- dust and dirt of, 185

---- ---- ---- loss and injury from, 185

---- ---- mud of the, 200

---- ---- cost and traffic of, 278

Sweeping chimneys of steam-vessels, 372

Surface-water of the streets of London, 202

---- ---- ---- ---- analysis of, 205

Tan-turf, sellers of, 87

Tea-leaves, buyers of, 133

Telescopes and pocket-glasses, second-hand, sellers of, 22

“Translators” of old shoes, 34

---- extent of the trade, 35

Tumbling boy-sweepers, king of the, 501

Umbrellas and parasols, buyers of, 115

Washing expenses in London, 190

Waste-paper, buyers of, 113

Water, daily supply of the metropolis, 203

Watermen’s Company, form of license, 95

Weapons, second-hand, sellers of, 21

Wet house-refuse, 383

---- ---- ---- means of removing, 385

Women’s second-hand apparel, sellers of, 44

Wrappers or “bale-stuff”, 13

Young Mike the crossing-sweeper, 498

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The definition of a Costermonger strictly includes only such individuals as confine themselves to the sale of the produce of the Green and Fruit Markets: the term is here restricted to that signification.

[2] This number includes Men, Women, and Children.

[3] The Watercress trade is carried on in the streets, principally by old people and children. The chief mart to which the street-sellers of cresses resort is Farringdon-market, a place which but few or none of the regular Costermongers attend.

[4] The Chickweed and Groundsell Sellers and the Turf-Cutters’ traffic has but little expense connected with it, and their trade is therefore nearly all profit.

[5] “v. t.” signifies “various times,” of theft and of “restoration.”

[6] The Metropolitan Police District comprises a circle, the radius of which is 15 miles from Charing Cross; the extreme boundary on the N. includes the parish of Cheshunt and South Mimms; on the S., Epsom; on the E., Dagenham and Crayford; and on the W., Uxbridge and Staines.

[7] The inner district includes the parish of St. John, Hampstead, on the N.; Tooting and Streatham on the S.; Ealing and Brentford on the W.; and Greenwich on the E.

The Registrar General’s District is equal, or nearly so, to the inner Metropolitan Police District.

[8] The City of London is bounded on the S. by the River, on the E. by Whitechapel, on the W. by Chancery Lane, and N. by Finsbury.

[9] The area here stated is that of the city without the walls, and includes White Friars precinct and Holy Trinity, Minories, both belonging to other districts.

[10] This area is that of the city within the walls, and does not include White Friars, which belongs to the district.

[11] The area of the districts of St. Saviour and St. Olave is included in that returned for St. George, Southwark.

[12] The population and number of inhabited houses in these districts has decreased annually to this extent since 1841.

[13] This relates merely to the repairs to the wooden pavement, but if a renewal of the blocks be necessary, then the cost approaches that of a new road; and a renewal is considered necessary about once in three years.

[14] “Haunsed” is explained by Strype to signify “made too high,” and the “Redosses” to be “Reredoughs.” A mason informed me that he believed these Redosses were what were known in some old country-houses as “Back-Flues,” or flues connecting any fire-grate in the out-offices with the main chimney. The term “lene” is the Teutonic _Lehn_, and signifies “let, lease,” or literally _loan_.

[15] The reader will remember that in the historical sketch given of the progress of public scavengery, the word “Rakers” occurred in connection with the sworn master scavengers, &c., &c.; the word is now unknown to the trade, except that it appears on city documents.

[16] The parishes marked thus [16] have their dustmen and dust-carts, as well as the rubbish carting and the individuals in the dust-yard, reckoned in the numbers employed by the contractors.

[17] I have computed all the weekly wages at 16_s._, though some of the men are paid only 14_s._ My object in this is to give the contractors the benefit of the difference.

[18] The Saxon _Sceorfa_, which is the original of the English Scurf, means a scab, and scab is the term given to the “cheap men” in the shoemaking trade. Scab is the root of our word _Shabby_; hence Scurf and Scab, deprived of their offensive associations, both mean shabby fellows.

[19] These items wages _must_ include to prevent pauperism, _even with providence_. But this is only on the supposition that the labourer is unmarried; if married, however, and having a family, then his wages should include, moreover, the keep of at least three extra persons, as well as the education of the children. If not, one of two results is self-evident--either the wife must toil, to the neglect of her young ones, and they be allowed to run about and pick their morals and education, as I have before said, out of the gutter, or else the whole family must be transferred to the care of the parish.

[20] I have estimated the whole at 15_s._ a week the year through, gangers, “honourable men,” regular hands and all, so as to allow for the diminished receipts of the casual hands.

[21] The usual argument in favour of machinery, viz., that “by reducing prices it extends the market, and so, causing a greater demand for the commodities, induces a greater quantity of employment,” would also be an argument in favour of over population, since this, by cheapening labour, must have the same effect as machinery on prices, and, consequently (according to the above logic), induce a greater quantity of employment! But granting that machinery really does benefit the labourer in cases _where the market, and therefore the quantity of work, is largely extensible_, surely it cannot but be an injury in those callings where _the quantity of work is fixed_. Such is the fact with the sawing of wood, the reaping of corn, the threshing of corn, the sweeping of the streets, &c., and hence the evil of mechanical labour applied to such trades.

[22] Mr. Sidney Herbert informed me, that when he was connected with the Ordnance Department the severest punishment they could discover for idleness was the piling and unpiling of cannon shot; but surely this was the consummation of official folly! for idleness being simply an aversion to work, it is almost self-evident that it is _impossible_ to remove this aversion by making labour inordinately irksome and repulsive. Until we understand the means by which work is made pleasant, and can discover other modes of employing our paupers and criminals, all our workhouse and prison discipline is idle tyranny.

[23] This is done at the Model Prison, Pentonville.

[24] The number of men here given as employed by the parishes in the scavaging of the streets will be found to differ from that of the table at page 213; but the present table includes all the parish-men employed throughout London, whereas the other referred to only a portion of the localities there mentioned.

[25] To the honourable conduct of the above-named contractors to their men, I am glad to be able to bear witness. All the men speak in the highest terms of them.

[26] This is Mr. Mills’s second _fundamental_ proposition respecting capital (see “Principles of Pol. Econ.” p. 82, vol. i.). “What I intend to assert is,” says that gentleman, “that the portion (of capital) which is destined to the maintenance of the labourers may--supposing no increase in anything else--be indefinitely increased, without creating an impossibility of finding them employment--in other words, if there are human beings capable of work, and food to feed them, they may always be employed in producing something.”

[27] Mr. Cochrane is said, in the Reports of the National Philanthropic Association, to have expended no less than 6000_l._ of his fortune in the institution of the Street-Orderly system of scavaging.

[28] A street-orderly in St. Martin’s-lane recovered a piece of broad-cloth from a man who had just stolen it from a warehouse; others in Drury-lane detected several thefts from provision-shops. Two orderlies in Holborn saved the lives of the guard and driver of one of Her Majesty’s mail-carts, the horse having become unmanageable in consequence of the shafts being broken. In St. Mary’s Church, Lambeth, a gentleman having fallen down in apoplexy, the orderlies who were attending Divine service, carried him out into the air, and promptly procured him medical aid, but unhappily life was extinct. Many instances have occurred, however, in which they have rendered essential service to the public and to individuals.

[29] The wages paid are not stated.

[30] At p. 183 the sum of 18,225_l._ is said to be expended in repairs _annually_; it should have been _weekly_.

[31] At p. 185 the traffic of London Bridge is stated to be 13,000 conveyances per hour, instead of per 12 hours.

[32] The _core_ in this term may be a corruption of the Saxon _Carr_, a rock, rather than that which would at first suggest itself as its origin, viz., the Latin _cor_, the heart. _Hard-core_ would therefore mean hard rock-like rubbish, instead of lumps of rubbish having a hard nucleus or heart.

[33] The term _rubbish_ is a polite corruption of the original word _rubbage_, which is still used by uneducated people; _ish_ is an _adjectival_ termination, as whitish, slavish, brutish, &c., and is used only in connection with such substantives as are derived from adjectives, as English, Scottish, &c. Whereas the affix age is strictly substantival, as sewage, garbage, wharfage, &c., and is found applied only to adjectives derived from substantives, as _savage_. A like polite corruption is found in the word _pudding_, which should be strictly _pudden_; the addition of the g is as gross a mistake as saying _garding_ for _garden_. There is no such verb as to _pud_ whence could come the substantival participle _pudding_; and the French word from which we derive our term is _poudin_ without the _g_, like _jardin_, the root of our _garden_.

[34] This is the Saxon _sceard_, which means a sheard, remnant, or fragment, and is from the verb _sceran_, signifying both to shear and to share or divide. The low Dutch _schaard_ is a piece of pot, a fragment.

[35] Lord Bacon’s Hist. of King Henry VII., Works, vol. v. p. 61.

[36] 25th Henry VIII. cap. 13.

[37] 5 & 6 Edw. VI., cap. 5.

[38] Eden’s Hist. of the Poor, vol. i. p. 118.

[39] Latimer’s Sermons, p. 100.

[40] Pictorial History of England, vol. ii. p. 900.

[41] Reports of the “Commissioner” of the _Times_ Newspaper, in June, 1845.

[42] I have here included those engaged in Trade and Commerce, and employers as well as the employed among the _producers_.

[43] The amount of the population from 1570 to 1750, as here given, is copied from Rickman’s tables, as published by the Registrar-General.

[44] The population at the decennial term, as here given, is the amended calculation of the Registrar-General, as given in the new census tables.

[45] From returns furnished by the clergy.

[46] The returns here cited are copied from those given by the Registrar-General in the new census.

[47] Returns obtained through an inquiry instituted by the Irish House of Lords.

[48] The population from 1754-1788 is estimated from the “hearth money” returns.

[49] Newenham’s Inquiry into the Population of Ireland.

[50] Estimate from incomplete census.

[51] First complete census.

[52] The _official_ value was established long ago; it represents a price put upon merchandise or commodities; it is in reality a fixed value, and serves to indicate the relative extent of imports and exports in different years. The _declared_ value is simply the market price.

[53] The official returns as to the number of paupers are most incomplete and unsatisfactory. In the 10th annual Report of the Poor Law Commissioners, p. 480 (1844), a table is printed which is said to give the returns from the earliest period for which authentic Parliamentary documents have been received, and this sets forth the number of paupers in England and Wales, for the _entire twelve months_ in the years 1803, 1813, 1814, and 1815; then comes a long interval of “no returns,” and after 1839 we have the numbers for only _three months_ in each year, from 1840 up to 1843; in the first annual Report (1848) these returns for one quarter in each year are continued up to 1848; and then we get the returns for only two days in each year, the 1st of July and the 1st of January, so that to come to any conclusion amid so much inconsistency is utterly impossible. The numbers above given would have been continued to the present period, could any comparison have been instituted. The numbers for the periods (not above given) are--

1803 1,040,716} 1813 1,426,065} Number of paupers for the 1814 1,402,576} entire twelve months. 1815 1,319,851} 1849 (1st Jan.) 940,851 } „ (1st July) 846,988 } 1850 (1st Jan.) 889,830 } Number of paupers for two „ (1st July) 796,318 } separate days in each year. 1851 (1st Jan.) 829,440 }

[54] It might at first appear that, when the work is shifted to the Continent, there would be a proportionate decrease of the aggregate quantity at home, but a little reflection will teach us that the foreigners must take something from us in _exchange_ for their work, and so increase the quantity of our work in certain respects as much as they depress it in others.

[55] The Great Exhibition, I am informed, produced a very small effect on the consumption of porter; and, according to the official returns, 160,000 gallons less spirits were consumed in the first nine months of the present year, than in the corresponding months of the last: thus showing that any occupation of mind or body is incompatible with intemperate habits, for drunkenness is essentially the vice of idleness, or want of something better to do.

[56] The term _sanc_ in “sanc-work” is the Norman word for blood (Latin, _sanguis_; French, _sang_), so that “sanc-work” means, literally, bloody work, this called either from the sanguinary trade of the soldier, or from the blood-red colour of the cloth.

[57] “Reredos, dossel (_retable_, Fr.; _postergule_, Ital.),” according to Parker’s Glossary of Architecture, was “the wall or screen at the back of an altar, seat, &c.; it was usually ornamented with panelling, &c., especially behind an altar, and sometimes was enriched with a profusion of niches, buttresses, pinnacles, statues, and other decorations, which were often painted with brilliant colours.

“The open fire-hearth, frequently used in ancient domestic halls, was likewise called a reredos.

“In the description of Britain prefixed to Holinshed’s ‘Chronicles,’ we are told that formerly, before chimneys were common in mean houses, ‘each man made his fire against a reredosse in the hall, where he dined and dressed his meat.’”

The original word would appear to be _dosel_ or _rere-dosel_; for Kelham, in his “Norman Dictionary,” explains the word _doser_ or _dosel_ to signify a hanging or canopy of silk, silver, or gold work, under which kings or great personages sit; also the back of a chair of state (the word being probably a derivative of the Latin _dorsum_, the back. _Dos_, in slang, means a _bed_, a “dossing crib” being a sleeping-place, and has clearly the same origin). A _rere-dos_ or _rere-dosel_ would thus appear to have been a _screen_ placed _behind_ anything. I am told, that in the old houses in the north of England, erections at the back of the fire may, to this day, occasionally be seen, with an aperture behind for the insertion of plates, and such other things as may require warming.

A correspondent says there is “a ‘reredos,’ or open fire-hearth, now to be seen in the extensive and beautiful ruins of the Abbey of St. Agatha, in the North Riding of Yorkshire. The ivy now hangs over and partially conceals this reredos; but its form is tolerably perfect, and the stones are still coloured by the action of the fire, which was extinguished, I need hardly say, by the cold water thrown on such places by Henry VIII.”

[58] It has been notorious for many years, that flowers will not bloom in any natural luxuriance, and that fruit will not properly ripen, in the heart of the city. Whilst this is an unquestionable fact, it is also a fact, that greatly as suburban dwellings have increased, and truly as London may be said to have “gone into the country,” the greater quantity of the large, excellent, unfailing, and cheap supply of the fruits and vegetables in the London “green” markets are grown within a circle of from ten to twelve miles from St. Paul’s. In the course of my inquiries (in the series of letters on Labour and the Poor in the _Morning Chronicle_) into the supply, &c., to the “green markets” of the metropolis, I was told by an experienced market-gardener, who had friends and connections in several of the suburbs, that he fancied, and others in the trade were of the same opinion, that no gardening could be anything but a failure if attempted within “where the fogs went.” My informant explained to me that the fogs, so peculiar to London, did not usually extend beyond three or four miles from the heart of the city. He was satisfied, he said, that within half a mile or so of this reach of fog the gardener’s labours might be crowned with success. He knew nothing of any scientific reason for his opinion, but as far as a purely London fog extended (without regard to any mist pervading the whole country as well as the neighbourhood of the capital), he thought it was the boundary within which there could be no proper growth of fruit or flowers. That the London fog has its _limits_ as regards the manifestation of its greatest density, there can be no doubt. My informant was frequently asked, when on his way home, by omnibus drivers and others whom he knew, and met on their way to town a few miles from it: “How’s the fog, sir? _How far?_”

The extent of the London fog, then, if the information I have cited be correct, may be considered as indicating that portion of the metropolis where the population, and consequently the smoke, is the thickest, and within which agricultural and horticultural labours cannot meet with success. “The nuisance of a November fog in London,” Mr. Booth stated to the Smoke Committee, “is most assuredly increased by the smoke of the town, arising from furnaces and private fires. It is vapour saturated with particles of carbon which causes all that uneasiness and pain in the lungs, and the uneasy sensations which we experience in our heads. I have no doubt of the density of these fogs arising from this carbonaceous matter.”

The loss from the impossibility of promoting vegetation in the district most subjected to the fog is nothing, as the whole ground is already occupied for the thousand purposes of a great commercial city. The matter is, however, highly curious, as a result of the London smoke.

Concerning the frequency of fogs in the district of the immediate neighbourhood of the metropolis, it is stated in Weale’s “London,” that fogs “appear to be owing, 1st, to the presence of the river; and, 2ndly, to the fact that the superior temperature of the town produces results precisely similar to those we find to occur upon rivers and lakes. The cold damp currents of the atmosphere, which cannot act upon the air of the country districts, owing to the equality of their specific gravity, when they encounter the warmer and lighter strata over the town, displace the latter, intermixing with it and condensing the moisture. Fogs thus are often to be observed in London, whilst the surrounding country is entirely free from them. The peculiar colour of the London fogs appears to be owing to the fact that, during their prevalence, the ascent of the coal smoke is impeded, and that it is thus mixed with the condensed moisture of the atmosphere. As is well known, they are often so dense as to require the gas to be lighted in midday, and they cover the town with a most dingy and depressing pall. They also frequently exhibit the peculiarity of increasing density after their first formation, which appears to be owing to the descent of fresh currents of cold air towards the lighter regions of the atmosphere.

“They do not occur when the wind is in a dry quarter, as for instance when it is in the east; notwithstanding that there may be very considerable difference in the temperature of the air and of the water or the ground. The peculiar odour which attends the London fogs has not yet been satisfactorily explained; although the uniformity of its recurrence, and its very marked character, would appear to challenge elaborate examination.”

[59] The quantity of soot deposited depends greatly on the length, draught, and irregular surface of the chimney. The kitchen flue yields by far the most soot for an equal quantity of coals burnt, because it is of greater length. The quantity above cited is the average yield from the several chimneys of a house. It will be seen hereafter that the quantity collected is only 800,000 bushels; a great proportion of the chimneys of the poor being seldom swept, and some cleansed by themselves.

[60] Soot of coal is said, by Dr. Ure, in his admirable Dictionary of Arts and Manufactures, to contain “sulphate and carbonate of ammonia along with bituminous matter.”

[61] Querying means literally inquiring or asking for work at the different houses. The “queriers” among the sweeps are a kind of pedlar operatives.

[62] In East and West London there are rather more than 32 houses to the acre, which gives an average of 151 square yards to each dwelling, so that, allowing the streets here to occupy one-third of the area, we have 100 square yards for the space covered by each house. In Lewisham, Hampstead, and Wandsworth, there is not one house to the acre. The average number of houses per acre throughout London is 4.

[63] _Gully_ here is a corruption of the word _Gullet_, or throat; the Norman is _guelle_ (Lat. _gula_), and the French, _goulet_; from this the word _gully_ appears to be directly derived. A _gully_-drain is literally a _gullet_-drain, that is, a drain serving the purposes of a gullet or channel for liquids, and a gully-hole the mouth, orifice, or opening to the _gullet_ or gully-drain.

[64] Of the derivation of the word _Sewer_ there have been many conjectures, but no approximation to the truth. One of the earliest instances I have met with of any detailed mention of sewers, is in an address delivered by a “Coroner,” whose name does not appear, to “a jury of sewers.” This address was delivered somewhere between the years 1660 and 1670. The coroner having first spoken of the importance of “Navigation and Drayning” (draining), then came to the question of sewers.

“Sewars,” he said, “are to be accounted your grand Issuers of Water, from whence I conceive they carry their name (_Sewars quasi Issuers_). I shall take his opinion who delivers them to be Currents of Water, kept in on both sides with banks, and, in some sense, they may be called a certain kind of a little or small river. But as for the derivation of the word Sewar, from two of our English words, _Sea_ and _Were_, or, as others will have it, _Sea_ and _Ward_, give me leave, now I have mentioned it, to--leave it to your judgments.

“However, this word _Sewar_ is very famous amongst us, both for giving the title of the Commission of Sewars itself, and for being the ordinary name of most of your common water-courses, for Drayning, and therefore, I presume, there are none of you of these juries but both know--

“1. What Sewars signify, and also, in particular,

“2. What they are; and of a thing so generally known, and of such general use.”

The Rev. Dr. Lemon, who gave the world a work on “English Etymology,” from the Greek and Latin, and from the Saxon and Norman, was regarded as a high authority during the latter part of the last century, when his quarto first appeared. The following is his account, under the head “Sewers”--

“Skinn. rejects Minsh’s. deriv. of ‘olim scriptum fuisse _seward_ à sea-ward, quod versus mare factæ sunt: longè verisimilius à Fr. Gall. _eauier_; sentina; _incile_, supple. aquarum:’--then why did not the Dr. trace this Fr. Gall. _eauier_? if he had, he would have found it distorted ab Ὑδωρ, _aqua_; _sewers_ being a species of _aqueduct_:--Lye, in his Add., gives another deriv., viz. ‘ab Iceland. _sua_, _colare_; ut existimo; ad quod referre vellem _sewer_; _cloaca_; per _sordes_ urbis ejiciuntur:’--the very word _sordes_ gives me a hint that _sewer_ may be derived à ‘Σαιρω, _vel_ Σαροω, _verro_: nempe quia _sordes_, quæ _everruntur_ è domo, in unum locum _accumulantur_; R. Σωρος, _cumulus_: Voss.’--_a collection of sweepings, slop, dirt, &c._”

But these are the follies of learning. Had our lexicographers known that the vulgar were, as Dr. Latham says, “the conservators of the Saxon language” with us, they would have sought information from the word “shore,” which the uneducated, and, consequently, unperverted, invariably use in the place of the more polite “sewer”--the common _sewer_ is always termed by them “the common _shore_.” Now the word _shore_, in Saxon, is written _score_ and _scor_ (for _c_ = _h_), and means not only a bank, the land immediately next to the sea, but a _score_, a tally--for they are both substantives, made from the verb _sceran_ (p. _scear_, _scær_, pp. _scoren_, _gescoren_), to _shear_, cut off, _share_, divide; and hence they meant, in the one case, the division of the land from the sea; and in the other, a division cut in a piece of wood, with a view to counting. The substantive _scar_ has the same origin; as well as the verb to _score_, to cut, to gash. The Scandinavian cognates for the Saxon _scor_ may be cited as proofs of what is here asserted. They are, Icel., _skor_, a notch; Swed., _skâra_, a notch; and Dan., _skaar_ and _skure_, a notch, an incision. It would seem, therefore, that the word _shore_, in the sense of _sewer_ (Dan., _skure_; Anglice, _shure_, for _k_ = _h_), originally meant merely a _score_ or incision made in the ground, a _ditch_ sunk with the view of carrying off the refuse-water, a watercourse, and consequently a drain. A sewer is now a covered ditch, or channel for refuse water.

[65] This outlet is known to the flushermen, &c., as “below the backs of houses,” from its devious course _under the houses_ without pursuing any direct line parallel with the open part of the streets.

[66] The following is the analysis of a gallon of sewage, also dried to evaporation, by Professor Miller:--

Ammonia 3·26 Phosphoric acid 0·44 Potash 1·02 Silica 0·54 Lime 7·54 Magnesia 1·87 Common salt 13·66 Sulphuric acid 7·04 Carbonic acid 4·41 Combustible matter, containing 0·34 nitrogen 5·80 Traces of oxide of iron. ----- Making in solution 45·58 ----- Matters in suspension, consisting of combustible matters, sand, lime, and oxide of iron 44·50

[67] The following note appears in Mr. Fortescue’s statement:--“In some trial works near the metropolis sewer water was applied to land, on the condition that the value of half the extra crop should be taken as payment. The dressings were only single dressings. The officer making the valuation reported, that there was at the least one sack of wheat and one load of straw per acre extra from its application on one breadth of land; in another, full one quarter of wheat more, and one load of straw extra per acre. The reports of the effects of sewer-water in increasing the yield of oats as well as of wheat were equally good. It is stated by Captain Vetch that in South America irrigation is used with great advantage for wheat.”

[68] The following statement may, according to the work above alluded to, be presented as an approximate.

[69] Rental of the districts now rated.

[70] Rental of the districts within the active jurisdiction in which expenses have been incurred, and which are about to be rated.

[71] These officers are paid only during the period of service, and are chiefly engaged on special works.

The corresponding officers for London are under the City Commissioners.

[72] In one of their Reports the Board of Health has spoken of the yearly cleansing of the cesspools; but a cesspool, I am assured, is rarely emptied by manual labour, unless it be full, for as the process is generally regarded as a nuisance, it is resorted to as seldom as possible. It may, perhaps, be different with the cesspool-emptying by the hydraulic process, which is _not_ a nuisance.

[73] It was ascertained that 3 gallons (half a cubic foot) of water would carry off 1 lb. of the more solid excrementitious matter through a 6-inch pipe, with an inclination of 1 in 10.

[74] Mr. Rammell supplies the following note on the use of “Poudrette.”

“In connexion with this subject,” he says, “a few observations upon the application of poudrette in agricultural process may not be without interest.

“With regard to the fertilizing properties of this preparation, M. Maxime Paulet, in his work entitled ‘Théorie et Pratique des Engrais,’ gives a table of the fertilizing qualities of various descriptions of manure, the value of each being determined by the quantity of nitrogen it contains. Taking for a standard good farm-yard dung, which contains on an average 4 per 1000 of nitrogen, and assuming that 10,000 kilogrammes (about 22,000 lbs. English) of this manure (containing 40 kilogrammes of nitrogen) are necessary to manure one hectare (2-1/2 acres nearly) of land, the quantities of poudrette and of some other animal manures required to produce a similar effect would be as follows:--

Kilogr. “Good farm-yard dung, the quantity usually spread upon one hectare of land 10,000 Equivalent quantities of human urine, not having undergone fermentation 5,600 Equivalent quantities of poudrette of Montfaucon 2,550 Equivalent quantities of mixed human excrements (this quantity I have calculated from data given in the same work) 1,333 Equivalent quantities of liquid blood of the abattoirs 1,333 Equivalent quantities of bones 650 Equivalent quantities of average of guano (two specimens are given) 512 Equivalent quantities of urine of the public urinals in fermentation, and incompletely dried 233

“M. Paulet estimates the loss of the ammoniacal products contained in the fæcal matters when they are withdrawn from the cesspools, by the time they have been ultimately reduced into poudrette, at from 80 to 90 per cent.

“I have not been able to meet with an analysis of the matters found in the fixed and movable cesspools of Paris, but in the ‘Cours d’Agriculture,’ of M. le Comte de Gasparin, I find an analysis by MM. Payen and Boussingault of some matter taken from the cesspools of Lille, and in the state in which it is ordinarily used in the suburbs of that city as manure. This matter was found to contain on the average 0·205 per cent of nitrogen, and thus by the rule observed in drawing up the above table, 19,512 kilogrammes of it would be necessary to produce the same effect upon one hectare of land as the other manures there mentioned. The wide difference between this quantity and that (1333 kilogrammes) stated for the mixed human excrements in their undiluted state, would lead to the conclusion that a very large proportion of water was present in the matter sent from Lille, unless we are to attribute a portion of the difference to the accidental circumstance of the bad quality of this matter. It appears that this is very variable, according to the style of living of the persons producing it. ‘Upon this subject,’ M. Paulet says, ‘the case of an agriculturist in the neighbourhood of Paris is cited, who bought the contents of the cesspools of one of the fashionable restaurants of the Palais Royal. Making a profitable speculation of it, he purchased the matter of the cesspools of several barracks. This bargain, however, resulted in a loss, for the produce from this last matter came very short of that given by the first.’

“Poudrette weighs 70 kilogrammes the hectolitre (154 lbs. per 22 gallons), and the quantity usually spread upon one hectare of land (2-1/2 acres nearly) is 1750 kilogrammes, being at the rate of about 1540 lbs. per acre English measure. It is cast upon the land by the hand, in the manner that corn is sown.

“Poudrette packed in sacks very soon destroys them. This is always the case, whether it is whole or has been newly prepared.

“A serious accident occurred in 1818, on board a vessel named the _Arthur_, which sailed from Rouen with a cargo of poudrette for Guadaloupe. During the voyage a disease broke out on board which carried off half the crew, and left the remainder in a deplorable state of health when they reached their destination. It attacked also the men who landed the cargo; they all suffered in a greater or less degree. The poudrette was proved to have been shipped during a wet season, and to have been exposed before and during shipment, in a manner to allow it to absorb a considerable quantity of moisture. The accident appears to have been due to the subsequent fermentation of the mass in the hold--increased to an intense degree by the moisture it had acquired, and by the heat of a tropical climate.

“M. Parent du Châtelet, to whom the matter was referred, recommended that to guard against similar accidents in future, the poudrette intended for exportation, in order to deprive it entirely of humidity, should be mixed with an absorbent powder, such as quicklime, and that it should be packed in casks to protect it from moisture during the voyage.”

[75] “It is in the upper basins,” adds the Reports, “that the first separation of the liquids and solids takes place, the latter falling to the bottom, and the former gradually flowing off through a sluice into the lower basins. This first separation, however, is by no means complete, a considerable deposit taking place in the lower basins. The mass in the upper basins, after three or four years, then appears like a thick mud, half liquid, half solid; it is of depth varying from 12 to 15 feet. In order entirely to get rid of the liquids, deep channels are then cut across the mass, by which they are drained off, when the deposit soon becomes sufficiently stiff to permit of its being dug out and spread upon the drying-ground, where, to assist the desiccation, it is turned over two or three times a-day by means of a harrow drawn by a horse.

“The time necessary for the requisite desiccation varies a good deal, according to the season of the year, the temperature, and the dry or moist state of the atmosphere. Ere yet it is entirely deprived of humidity, the matter is collected into heaps, varying in size usually from 8 to 10 yards high, and from 60 to 80 yards long, by 25 or 30 yards wide. These heaps or mounds generally remain a twelvemonth untouched, sometimes even for two or three years; but as fast as the material is required, they are worked from one of the sides by means of pickaxes, shovels, and rakes; the pieces separated are then easily broken and reduced to powder, foreign substances being carefully excluded. This operation, which is the last the matter undergoes, is performed by women. The poudrette then appears like a mould of a grey-black colour, light, greasy to the touch, finely grained, and giving out a particular faint and nauseous odour.

“The finer particles of matter carried by the liquids into the lower basins, and there more gradually deposited in combination with a precipitate from the urine, yield a variety of poudrette, preferred, by the farmers, for its superior fertilizing properties. In this case the drying process is conducted more slowly and with more difficulty than in the other, but more completely.

“In general the poudrette is dried with great difficulty; it appears to have an extreme affinity for water; few substances give out moisture more slowly, or absorb it more greedily from the air.

“A good deal of heat is generated in the heaps of desiccated matter. This is always sensible to the touch, and sometimes results in spontaneous combustion.

“The intensity of this heat is not in proportion to the elevation of temperature of the atmosphere. It is promoted by moisture. The only means of extinguishing the fire when it is once developed is to turn over the mass from top to bottom, in order to expose it to the air. Water thrown upon it, unless in very large quantities, would only increase its activity.”

[76] 4-1/4 heaped bushels each, English measure.

[77] I did not hear any of the London nightmen or sewermen complain of inflammation in the eyes, and no such effect was visible; nor that they suffered from temporary blindness, or were, indeed, thrown out of work from any such cause; they merely remarked that they were first dazzled, or “_dazed_,” with the soil. But the labour of the Parisian is far more continuous and regular than the London nightman, owing in a great degree to the system of _movable cesspools_ in Paris.

[78] It must be recollected, to account for the greater quantity of matter between the cesspools of Paris and London, that the French fixed cesspool, from the greater average of inmates to each house, must necessarily contain about three times and a half as much as that of a London cesspool. If the dwellers in a Parisian house, instead of averaging twenty-four, averaged between seven and eight, as in London, the cesspool contents in Paris would, at the above rate, be between four and five tons (as it is in London) for the average of each house.

Transcriber's Note

Transcribed from the 1967 reprinting of the 1865 edition.

Larger tables have been refactored to improve readability on smaller screens.

Images and tables have been moved to avoid breaking paragraphs.

The following apparent errors have been corrected:

p. 8 "arts" changed to "‘arts"

p. 9 "_s_" changed to "_s._"

p. 9 "per lb." changed to "per lb.)"

p. 9 "year’s" changed to "years"

p. 14 "streets." changed to "streets,"

p. 14 "the second hand" changed to "the second-hand"

p. 14 "“slaughter-houses.”" changed to "“slaughter-houses")."

p. 15 "&c.," changed to "&c.),"

p. 16 "trooper." changed to "trooper.”"

p. 20 "pawbroker" changed to "pawnbroker"

p. 23 "been" changed to "being"

p. 24 "Second hand" changed to "Second-hand"

p. 29 "insufcient" changed to "insufficient"

p. 29 "fermerly" changed to "formerly"

p. 30 "In the upper" changed to "“In the upper"

p. 36 "habilments" changed to "habiliments"

p. 42 "day’s" changed to "days"

p. 43 "them go.”" changed to "them go."

p. 48 "Amdassador" changed to "Ambassador"

p. 49 "Barnard (v. t)" changed to "Barnard (v. t.)"

p. 58 " bird-cather’s" changed to " bird-catcher’s"

p. 64 "‘Why" changed to "“‘Why"

p. 69 "When" changed to "“When"

p. 72 "6_d_;" changed to "6_d._;"

p. 72 "fern." changed to "fern)."

p. 73 "gentlemen" changed to "gentleman"

p. 75 "After father" changed to "“After father"

p. 91 "cwt;" changed to "cwt.;" (two instances)

p. 93 "naval stimulate" changed to "stimulate"

p. 93 "navel" changed to "naval"

p. 100 "early" changed to "yearly"

pp. 104-5 "alalthough" changed to "although"

p. 105 "formant" changed to "informant"

p. 111 "wife," changed to "wife,”"

(illustration) "_by_ BKARD" changed to "_by_ BEARD"

p. 131 "officating" changed to "officiating"

(illustration) "BEARD." changed to "BEARD.]"

p. 143 "disgreeable" changed to "disagreeable"

p. 160 "to-enjoy" changed to "to enjoy"

p. 164 "many others." changed to "many others.”"

p. 167 "Ditto" changed to "Ditto."

p. 174 "commisioners" changed to "commissioners"

p. 191 "250 ton" changed to "250 tons"

p. 202 "Daniel" changed to "Daniell"

p. 209 "Somers-town." changed to "Somers-town.”"

p. 227 "daily, “he" changed to "daily, he"

p. 227 "average" changed to "average)"

p. 228 "pursuaded" changed to "persuaded"

p. 232 "two" changed to "two."

p. 241 (note) "cheapening, labour" changed to "cheapening labour,"

p. 241 "work)," changed to "work,"

p. 243 "willingnes" changed to "willingness"

p. 244 "2_s_,"ct "2_s._,"

p. 249 "16_s_," changed to "16_s._,"

p. 249 "100,000_l_," changed to "100,000_l._,"

p. 249 "lost 6_s._’”" changed to "lost 6_s._”"

p. 249 "and though" changed to "“and though"

p. 249 "and very few" changed to "“and very few"

p. 262 "_stoneyard_.”" changed to "_stoneyard_."

p. 266 "National School" changed to "National School."

p. 267 "dispensary" changed to "dispensary."

p. 269 "boys boys" changed to "boys"

p. 272 "cartage, &c." changed to "cartage, &c.)"

p. 273 "2 Years" changed to "2 Years."

p. 278 "(3000_l._) per annum" changed to "(3000_l._) per annum;"

p. 280 "Gracechurch-streeet" changed to "Gracechurch-street"

p. 284 "St, Martin’s" changed to "St. Martin’s"

p. 288 "which is the the" changed to "which is the"

p. 291 "Wandsworth" changed to "Wandsworth."

p. 297 "some 3_d_" changed to "some 3_d._"

p. 304 "at present." changed to "at present.”"

p. 305 "were some" changed to "where some"

p. 307 "_production_" changed to "_production_."

p. 308 "tenants were," changed to "tenants, were"

p. 309 "An act was passed" changed to "an Act was passed"

p. 312 "veneers.”" changed to "veneers.’"

p. 313 "decideded" changed to "decided"

p. 334 "they don’t" changed to "‘they don’t"

p. 335 "Londonreceive" changed to "London receive"

p. 337 "became" changed to "become"

p. 344 "small master" changed to "a small master"

p. 348 "“Soon after" changed to "Soon after"

p. 349 "The way" changed to "“The way"

p. 361 "St.James’s" changed to "St. James’s"

p. 362 "Hammersmith." changed to "Hammersmith"

p. 362 "_d_" changed to "_d._" (eleven instances)

p. 363 "_s_" changed to "_s._"

p. 363 "_d_" changed to "_d._" (six instances)

p. 364 "intances" changed to "instances"

p. 369 "don t care" changed to "don’t care"

p. 371 "term term" changed to "term"

p. 375 "“She’s a ironer" changed to "She’s a ironer"

p. 376 "trading workmen" changed to "trading workman"

p. 376 "desk-makers,’" changed to "desk-makers’,"

p. 377 "deseribed" changed to "described"

p. 377 "Retherhithe" changed to "Rotherhithe"

p. 378 "I could" changed to "I could."

p. 378 "know that I" changed to "know that"

p. 385 "as cannot be be" changed to "as cannot be"

p. 385 "Dr Paley" changed to "Dr. Paley"

p. 388 "mattter" changed to "matter"

p. 388 "degreee" changed to "degree"

p. 388 "fœcal" changed to "fæcal"

p. 393 "contant" changed to "constant"

p. 404 "“The more ancient" changed to "The more ancient"

p. 407 "surveyer" changed to "surveyor"

p. 407 "1849,” have" changed to "1849, “have"

p. 419 "marsh-bailliff" changed to "marsh-bailiff"

p. 420 "Commissionors" changed to "Commissioners"

p. 421 "an approximate" changed to "an approximate."

p. 437 "of 1665" changed to "of 1666"

p. 440 (note) "Paulett" changed to "Paulet"

p. 440 (note) "19 512" changed to "19,512"

p. 442 "the result." changed to "the result.”"

p. 446 "pump-and hose" changed to "pump-and-hose"

p. 463 "300 colls each." changed to "300 colls. each"

p. 463 "visites, &c" changed to "visites, &c."

p. 467 "“His hair" changed to "His hair"

p. 470 "butler, in?" changed to "butler, in?’"

p. 472 "“They only" changed to "They only"

p. 477 "New Kent-roads.”" changed to "New Kent-roads."

p. 485 "“Baked taters" changed to "‘Baked taters"

p. 486 "gentleman, after for" changed to "gentleman after, for"

p. 487 "a shame?" changed to "a shame?’"

p. 487 "respectabl" changed to "respectable"

p. 489 "they re" changed to "they’re"

p. 491 "vessed rounded" changed to "vessel rounded"

p. 491 "he his ready" changed to "he is ready"

p. 494 "I am laid" changed to "Iam laid"

p. 494 "CROSSING-SWEEPERS" changed to "CROSSING-SWEEPERS."

p. 504 "as if condered" changed to "as if considered"

p. 505 "home, as she said.”" changed to "home,” as she said."

p. 510 "wild rabbits, &c," changed to "wild rabbits, &c.,"

p. 511 "Dickens s" changed to "Dickens’s"

In the List of Illustrations, "The Crippled Street Bird-seller" and "Street-Seller of Birds’-Nests" were printed in reverse order and have been moved.

Inconsistent or archaic spelling, capitalisation and punctuation have otherwise been kept as printed.