The figure above represents an English Beggar about the middle of the fifteenth century, and has been copied from a Pontifical among the Lansdowne MSS. in the British Museum, on one of the margins of which the illuminator has rather strangely introduced it.

MENDICANT WANDERERS THROUGH THE
STREETS OF LONDON.

Sailors, according to the old adage, find a port in every storm. The appeal of "My worthy heart, stow a copper in Jack's locker,—for poor Jack has not had a quid to-day," is as piercingly felt by the lowly cottager as the British Admiral.

Who can recollect Bigg's pathetic picture of the "Shipwrecked Sailor-boy," or Mrs Ludlam's charming poem of "The Lost Child," without shedding the tear of sympathy?

The public are not, however, to conclude, that because a fellow sports a jacket and trousers, he must have been a seaman; for there are many fresh-water sailors, who never saw a ship but from London Bridge. Such an impostor was Jack Stuart, Flaxman's model, whose effigy is attached to the capital letter of this page. Jack's latter history is truly curious. After lingering for nearly three months, he died on the 15th of August 1815, aged 35. His funeral was attended by his wife and faithful dog, Tippo, as chief mourners, accompanied by three blind beggars in black cloaks; namely, John Fountain, George Dyball, and John Jewis. Two blind fiddlers, William Worthington and Joseph Symmonds, preceded the coffin, playing the 104th Psalm. The whimsical procession moved on, amidst crowds of spectators, from Jack's house, in Charlton Gardens, Somers Town, to the churchyard of St Pancras, Middlesex. The mourners afterwards returned to the place from whence the funeral had proceeded, where they remained the whole of the night, dancing, drinking, swearing, and fighting, and occasionally chaunting Tabernacle hymns; for it must be understood, that most of the beggars are staunch Methodists. The person from whom these particulars were obtained, and who was one of the party, thought himself extremely happy that he came off with a pair of black eyes only. The conduct of this man's associates in vice was however powerfully contrasted by the extraordinary attachment and fidelity of Jack's cur, Tippo, his long and stedfast guide, who, after remaining three days upon his master's grave, refusing every sort of food, died with intermitting sighs and howling sorrow. The dog of Woollett, the engraver, died nearly a similar death.

The following plate exhibits Stuart's pupil, George Dyball, a fellow of considerable notoriety. He sometimes dresses as a sailor, in nankeen waistcoat and trousers; but George, like his master, never was a seaman. Stuart taught him to maund, by allowing him to kneel at a respectful distance, and repeat his supplications.

Dyball was remarkable for his leader, Nelson, whose tricks displayed in an extraordinary degree the sagacity and docility of the canine race. This dog would, at a word from his master, lead him to any part of the town he wished to traverse, and at so quick a pace, that both animals have been observed to get on much faster than any other streetwalkers. His business was to make a response to his master's "Pray pity the Blind" by an impressive whine, accompanied with uplifted eyes and an importunate turn of the head; and when his eyes have not caught those of the spectators, he has been seen to rub the tin box against their knees, to enforce his solicitations. When money was thrown into the box, he immediately put it down, took out the contents with his mouth, and, joyfully wagging his tail, carried them to his master. After this, for a moment or two, he would venture to smell about the spot; but as soon as his master uttered "Come, Sir," off he would go, to the extent of his string, with his tail between his legs, apprehensive of the effects of his master's corrective switch. This animal was presented to Dyball by Joseph Symmonds, the blind fiddler, who received him of James Garland, another blind beggar, who had taught him his tricks. Unfortunately for Dyball, this treasure has lately been stolen from him, as is supposed by some itinerant player, and he is now obliged to depend on a dog of inferior qualifications, though George has declared him to "Shew very pretty for tricks."

This custom of teaching dogs to beg with cans in their mouths is not new. A few years since, there was such an animal in a booth at Bartholomew Fair, who made his supplications in favour of an Italian rope-dancer. The practice is indeed very ancient, as appears in a truly curious illuminated copy of the Speculum Humanæ Salvationis, written in the early part of the fifteenth century, in the possession of a friend of the author.

The next plate is of a beggar well known at fairs near the Metropolis. He is certainly blind, and perhaps one of the most cunning and witty of his tribe; for in order that his blindness may be manifest, he literally throws up his eyeballs, as if desirous of exemplifying the following lines in Hudibras:—

He is a foreigner, and probably a Frenchman; at all events he professed to be so on the commencement of the war; but having acquired a tolerable stock of English, and perhaps not choosing to return home, he now declares himself "A poor Spaniard Man."

Sometimes he will, by an artful mode of singing any stuff that comes into his head, and by merely sounding the last word of a line, so contrive to impose upon the waggoners and other country people, as to make them believe that he fought in the field of Waterloo.

"Poor fellow," exclaimed a spectator, "he has been in the battle of Waterloo." "Yes, my belove friends," returned the mendicant, "De money de money go very low too."

However, this fellow is now and then detected, in consequence of a picture, which is painted on a tin plate and fastened to his breast, being the portrait of and worn many years ago by a marine, who had lost his sight at Gibraltar. His hair, which is sometimes bushy, is now and then closely put under his hat, or tied in a tail; and when he alters his voice, he becomes a different character—the form of a decrepit vender of matches. The seated beggar in this plate is frequently to be seen at the wall of Privy Chambers; he never asks charity, nor goes any great distance from Westminster, where he resides.

The following plate of a walking beggar, attended by a boy, was taken from a drawing made in West Smithfield. The object of it is well known about Finsbury Square and Bunhill Row; sometimes he stands at the gates of Wesley's meeting-house. His cant is, "Do, my worthy, tender-hearted Christians, remember the blind; pray pity the stone dark blind." The tricks of the boy that attended this man when the drawing was made, brought to mind the sportive Lazarillo De Tormes, when he was the guide of a beggar; from which entertaining history there are two very spirited etchings by Thomas Wyck,—the one, where he defrauds his master when partaking of the bunch of grapes; and the other, where he revenges a thrashing received from his master by causing him to strike his head against a pillar, and tumble into a ditch that he was attempting to leap.

The next subject is a tall blind man, with a long staff, with which he strikes the curbstones. He is seldom to be seen in any particular place, and was drawn when he stood against the wall of Mr Whitbread's brewhouse.

He is frequently a vender of the penny religious tracts, dispersed by a society of Methodists, though perhaps with little use, for they are often purchased by people who are actually going to the gin-shop. It is here stated, on credible authority, that there are no less than 27,000 of the Methodist and 21,500 of the Evangelical Magazines published every month; and it is also reported, that not less than 800 Methodistical meeting-houses have been erected in England within the last year.

The beggar portrayed in the next plate is a blind man, who remains for many hours successively with his legs in one position. He observes a profound silence when on his stand, but makes noise enough when he attends the Tabernacle Walk on the Sabbath; on the week days, however, he is frequently heard singing obscene songs. He is introduced, with his wife, in the background of George Dyball's plate.

The next plate affords a remarkable instance of sobriety in a blind man, who never tasted gin in his life. He was some years since to be found on the historically and beggarly-famed road of Bethnal Green, and obtained an honest livelihood by trafficking in halfpenny ballads.

The ensuing etching is of Charles Wood, a blind man, with an organ and a dancing dog, which he declares to be "The real learned French dog, Bob," and extols his tricks by the following never-failing address, "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the real learned French dog; please to encourage him; throw any thing down to him, and see how nimbly he'll pick it up, and give it to his poor blind master. Look about, Bob; be sharp; see what you're about, Bob." Money being thrown, Bob picks it up, and puts it into his master's pocket. "Thank ye, thank ye, my good masters; should any more Ladies and Gentlemen wish to encourage the poor dog, he's now quite in the humour; he'll pick it up almost before you can throw it down." It is needless to add, that this man, whose station is against Privy Garden Wall, makes what is called "a pretty penny" by his learned French friend.

This little animal is of so interesting a nature, that it has been thought worth while to give a side view of him, in order to exhibit the true cut of his tail.

The two succeeding plates are of a class that must ensure attention from the gaping multitude, and are commonly termed industrious beggars.

The female figure is that of Priscilla, an inhabitant of St James, Clerkenwell, who is often to be seen in the summer seated against the wall of the Reservoir of the New River Water-works, Spa-fields, and employed in the making of patchwork quilts. She threads her own needle, cuts her own patches, and fits them entirely herself.

The other plate exhibits the portrait of Taylor, a blind shoemaker, who lost his sight eighteen years since by a blight. This harmless man, who lives at No. 6 Saffron Hill, maintains a family by his attention to his stands, which are sometimes at Whitehall, and the wall by Whitfield's Chapel, Tottenham Court Road. This meritorious pair may be justly regarded as true objects of compassion, as they never associate with the common street-beggars.

The next plate, which will close the series of blind beggars, exhibits the portrait of William Kinlock. He was employed many years ago to turn a wheel for a four-post bedstead turner in Oxford Street, but afterwards lost his sight at Gibraltar, under the great Lord Heathfield. His stands are at Furnival's Inn and Portugal Street, near which latter place he resides.

Industrious beggars are sometimes confounded with sturdy impostors. Of the latter description is the man whose figure is given in the next plate. His employment is to cut a chain out of a piece of ash, which chain he calls "Turkish Moorings."

After this fellow had agreed to accept two shillings for half an hour's sitting for the present work, he had not been seated in the kitchen ten minutes before he began to nestle, and growled a hope that he might not be detained long, adding that he could get twice the money in less time either at Charing Cross or Hyde Park Corner. In order to soften the brute, he had the offer of bread, cheese, and small beer. He said he never took any. At this moment the servant being employed in making a veal pie, he was asked whether he would accept of a steak, and take it to a public-house for his lunch. After slowly turning his head, without giving the least motion of his body, he sneeringly observed, that the veal had no fat.

It was then determined to keep him the full time; and after a few close questions, he observed, that no one dared to keep him in prison; that he worked with tools, and was not a beggar. True it was, indeed, that his hat was on the ground; and if people would put money into it, surely it was not for him to turn it out. As to his chains, few persons would give him his price; they were five shillings a yard; nor did he care much to sell them, for if he did he should have nothing to show. After turning his money over several times, and for which he did not condescend to make the least acknowledgement, he exclaimed on leaving the house, "Now that you have draughted me off, I suppose you'll make a fine deal of money of it."

The annexed representation is of a fellow whose figure was recently copied in Holborn, and although he was so scandalously intoxicated in the middle of the day that it was with the greatest difficulty he could stand, yet many people followed to give him money, because the inscription on his hat declared him to be "Out of Employment." Such are the effects of imposture, and the mischief of ill-directed benevolence. As a contrast to the two preceding characters, see the next plate, which affords the portraits of two truly industrious persons, Joseph Thake and his son. These people are natives of Watford, in Hertfordshire, who finding it impossible to procure work, and being determined not to beg, employed themselves in making puzzles. The boy learned the art when under a shepherd in Cambridgeshire. These specimens of ingenuity are made of pieces of willow, which contain small stones, serving for children's rattles, or as an amusement for grown persons who, unacquainted with the key, after taking them to pieces are puzzled to put them together again. When honest Thake and his son had filled a sack, they trudged to the great City, where they took their station in St Paul's Churchyard, vending their toys at the moderate price of sixpence a piece.

Their rustic simplicity quickly procured them customers; among whom the author's friend, Mr Henry Pocknell, after purchasing a few specimens of their handy-work, procured for him the pleasure of imitating his example.

The worthy parent transferred the money to his son, who requested that he might have the satisfaction of presenting his benefactor with a bird.

The succeeding plate displays the effigy of Joseph Johnson, a black, who in consequence of his having been employed in the merchant service only, is not entitled to the provision of Greenwich. His wounds rendering him incapable of doing further duty on the ocean, and having no claim to relief in any parish, he is obliged to gain a living on shore; and in order to elude the vigilance of the parochial beadles, he first started on Tower Hill, where he amused the idlers by singing George Alexander Stevenson's "Storm." By degrees he ventured into the public streets, and at length became what is called a "Regular Chaunter." But novelty, the grand secret of all exhibitions, from the Magic Lantern to the Panorama, induced Black Joe to build a model of the ship Nelson, to which, when placed on his cap, he can, by a bow of thanks, or a supplicating inclination to a drawing-room window, give the appearance of sea-motion. Johnson is as frequently to be seen in the rural village as in great cities; and when he takes a journey, the kindhearted waggoner will often enable him in a few hours to visit the marketplaces of Staines, Romford, or St Albans, where he never fails to gain the farmer's penny, either by singing "The British Seaman's Praise," or Green's more popular song of "The Wooden Walls of Old England."

The following plate presents the portrait of another black man of great notoriety, Charles M'Gee, a native of Ribon, in Jamaica, born in 1744, and whose father died at the great age of 108. This singular man usually stands at the Obelisk, at the foot of Ludgate Hill. He has lost an eye, and his woolly hair, which is almost white, is tied up behind in a tail, with a large tuft at the end, horizontally resting upon the cape of his coat. Charles is supposed to be worth money. His stand is certainly above all others the most popular, many thousands of persons crossing it in the course of the day. He has of late on the working-days sported a smart coat, presented to him by a city pastry-cook. On a Sunday he is a constant attendant at Rowland Hill's meeting-house, and on that occasion his apparel is appropriately varied.

This man's portrait, when in his 73d year, was drawn on the 9th of October 1815, in the parlour of a public-house, the sign of the Twelve Bells, opposite to the famous well of St Brigit, which gave name to the ancient palace of our kings, Bridewell; but which has, ever since the grant of Edward VI., been a house of correction for vagabonds, &c. It is a truly curious circumstance, that this establishment gave name to other prisons of a similar kind; for instance, Clerkenwell Bridewell, and Tothill-fields' Bridewell. Over the entrance of the latter, the following inscription has been placed:—

HERE ARE SEVERAL SORTS OF WORK
FOR THE POOR OF THIS PARISH OF ST.
MARGARET'S, WESTMINSTER;
AS ALSO THE COUNTY, ACCORDING TO
LAW, AND FOR SUCH AS WILL BEG, AND
LIVE IDLE IN THIS CITY AND LIBERTY
OF WESTMINSTER, ANNO 1655.

Black people, as well as those destitute of sight, seldom fail to excite compassion. Few persons, however humble their situation, can withhold charity from the infant smiling upon features necessarily dead to its supplications, and deeply shrouded from the prying eyes of the vulgar by the bonnet, placarded with

PRAY PITY THE BLIND AND FATHERLESS!

A lady, on seeing this woodcut, composed the following lines:—

Doctor Johnson, who generally gave to importunate beggars, never failed to relieve the silent blind.

Black men are extremely cunning, and often witty; they have mostly short names, such as Jumbo, Toby, &c., but the last seems of late to be the most fashionable, for it has not only been used by the master of Mr Punch, the street-strolling puppet, as a name for that merry little fellow's dog, but by the proprietor of the Sapient Pig.

The last negro beggar called Toby, was a character well known in this Metropolis. He was destitute of toes, had his head bound with a white handkerchief, and bent himself almost double to walk upon two hand-crutches, with which he nearly occupied the width of the pavement. Master Toby generally affected to be tired and exhausted whenever he approached a house where the best gin was to be procured; and was perhaps of all the inhabitants of Church Lane, St Giles's, the man who expended the most money in that national cordial.

But this man was nothing when compared with a Lascar, who lately sold halfpenny ballads, and whose gains enabled him to spit his goose, or broil a duck; for it is well known, that upon an average he made not less than fifteen shillings per day.

The author of this little work sincerely regrets the loss of a sketch that he made from a black man, whose countenance and figure were the most interesting of any of the tribe. He was nearly six feet in height, rather round in the shoulders, and usually wore a covering of green baize; indeed altogether he brought to recollection that exquisite statue of Cicero, in the Pomfret collection of marbles at Oxford, so beautifully engraved by Sherwin. This fellow, who had often been taken up, has not been seen for several months.

Go-cart, Billies in bowls, or Sledge-beggars, are denominations for those cripples whose misfortunes will not permit them to travel in any other way; and these are next presented to the reader's notice.

Men of this class are to be found in every country. The little fellow above depicted in the cart is copied from Luca Carlevarij's 100 Views in Venice, a set of long quarto plates, most spiritedly etched, and published in 1703.

Hogarth, whose active eye caught Nature in all her garbs, has introduced in his Wedding of the Industrious Apprentice, a cripple well known in those days under the appellation of Philip in the Tub, a fellow who constantly attended weddings, and retailed the ballad of "Jesse, or the Happy Pair."

Dublin has ever been famous for a Billy in the Bowl. A very remarkable fellow of this class, well known in that city, and who thought proper to leave Ireland on the Union, was met in London by a Noble Lord, who observed, "So you are here too!" "Yes, my Lord," replied the beggar, "the Union has brought us all over."

The back view of the person exhibited in the following plate, is that of Samuel Horsey, who, in December 1816, had been a London beggar for thirty-one years. Of this man there are various opinions, and it is much to be doubted if the truth can be obtained even from his own mouth. He states that Mr Abernethy cut off his legs in St Bartholomew's Hospital, but he does not declare from what cause; so that being deprived of the power of gaining a subsistence by labour, he was forced to become a beggar. By some persons he is styled the King of the Beggars, but certainly without the least foundation. He says that no one has been less acquainted with beggars than himself; and as for his having the command of a district, that he utterly denies. His walks, or rather movements, are not always confined; on some days he slides to Charing Cross, but is oftener to be seen at the door of Mr Coutts's banking-house, perhaps with an idea that persons just after they have received money are more likely to bestow charity.

Of all other men, Horsey has the most dexterous mode of turning, or rather swinging himself, into a gin-shop. He dashes the door open by forcibly striking the front of his sledge and himself against it.

He was once seen in a most perilous situation, when he lodged in a two-pair of stairs back room, in Wharton's Court, Holborn. He had placed himself on the window-sill, in order to clean the outside upper panes, and was attached as usual to his sledge, when unfortunately he broke a square. On this occasion he let loose the volley of oaths which at other times he can so forcibly discharge; nor did his rage subside after he had launched himself into the room again; indeed he was heard at intervals to vociferate in this way for several hours.

The very extraordinary torso etched in the next plate is that of John Mac Nally, of the county of Tyrone. This poor fellow lost the use of his legs by a log, that crushed both his thighs, when an apprentice at Cork.

His head, shoulders, and chest, which are exactly those of Hercules, would prove valuable models for the artist.

Mac, who is well known about Parliament Street, Whitehall, and the Surrey foot of Westminster Bridge, after scuttling along the streets for some time upon a sledge, discovered the power of novelty, and trained two dogs, Boxer and Rover, to draw him in a truck, by which contrivance he has increased his income beyond all belief.

Though this man's dogs when coupled have occasional snarlings, particularly when one scratches himself with an overstrained exertion, the other feeling at the same time an inclination to dose, yet, when their master has been dead drunk, and become literally a log on his truck, they have very cordially united their efforts to convey him to his lodgings in St Ann's Lane, Westminster, and perhaps with more safety than if he had governed them, frequently taking a circuitous route during street repairs in order to obtain the clearest path.

The figure in the box is that of a Jew mendicant, who has unfortunately lost the use of his legs, and is placed every morning in the above vehicle, so that he may be drawn about the neighbourhood of Petticoat Lane, and exhibited as an object of charity. His venerable appearance renders it impossible for a Jew or a Christian to pass without giving him alms, though he never begs but of his own people; a custom highly creditable to the Jews, and even more attentively observed by that truly honourable Society of Friends, vulgarly called Quakers, who neither suffer their poor to beg, nor become burthensome to any but themselves.

About forty-eight years ago, when the sites of Portland Place, Devonshire Street, &c., were fields, the famous Tommy Lowe, then a singer at Mary-le-bone Gardens, raised a subscription to enable an unfortunate man to run a small chariot, drawn by four muzzled mastiffs, from a pond near Portland Chapel—called Cockney Ladle, which supplied Mary-le-bone Basin with water—to the Farthing Pie-house, a building remaining at the end of Norton Street, and now the sign of the Green Man, in order to accommodate children with a ride for a halfpenny. And it is rather extraordinary, that the son of that very man, a few years since, and after the death of his wife, harnessed a spaniel to a small cart, but large enough to hold his infant, which the animal drew after the father from lamp to lamp through the very streets above mentioned. The dog became so accustomed to his task, that as soon as he heard his master cover a lamp, away he would scamper to the next, and there wait the arrival of the ladder.

Street-crossing sweepers next make their appearance; the first on the list being William Tomlins, whose stand is very productive, as it includes both Albemarle and St James Streets. Of this man there is nothing further remarkable, beyond his attention to his pitch, for so the beggars and ballad-singers call their stands. He appears to be alive to the receipt of every penny, and will not suffer himself by any means to be diverted from his solicitations; as a strong proof of which, he refused to hold the horse of a gentleman who called to him for that purpose, and from this it may be inferred that he thought begging a better occupation.

The next character portrayed is a constant sweeper of the crossing at the top of Ludgate Hill. This man finds it his interest to wear a cloth round his head, as he is on that account frequently noticed by elderly maiden city dames, who mistake him for one of their own sex.

The crossing from Charles Street to Rathbone Place is swept by Daniel Cropp, as filthy a looking fellow as any of his tribe. In order to render himself noticed, he literally combs his hair with his opened fingers. He at present differs from the etching, by wearing a fireman's jacket.

The next plate represents a lad who occasionally sweeps the crossing at the end of Princes Street, Hanover Square, and wears a large waistcoat, surmounted by a soldier's jacket.

At the time he was drawn, he was so sickly that his person was not recognised as a vender of matches, in which character he had two years before been selected as a subject for this work, and whose portrait as such is given in the following plate. The boy occasionally sings the old match song, and at certain hours finds it his interest to exercise his broom at the above station.

The subjects of the next two plates are unfortunate mendicants. The first is a silver-haired man, of the name of Lilly, who lost his leg in some repairs at Westminster. Poets' Corner, in the Abbey, is the place where he is mostly to be seen.

The second plate is the portrait of William Frasier, deprived of both his hands in the field of battle. His allowance as a maimed soldier not being sufficient to maintain his large family, he is obliged to depend on the benevolence of such of the public who purchase boot-laces of him. When this poor fellow's portrait was taken, he lodged in Market Lane, in the house formerly occupied by Torre, the print-seller, who was the original fireworker at Mary-le-bone Gardens.

London has of late been gradually losing many of its old street customs, particularly that pleasing one of the milkmaid's garland, so richly decorated with articles of silver and bunches of cowslips. The garland was of a pyramidal form, and placed upon a horse carried by two chairmen, adorned with ribbons and tulips. The plate consisted of pint mugs, quart tankards, and large dishes, sometimes to the value of five hundred pounds, hired of silversmiths for the purpose. The milkwoman and her pretty maids, in their Nancy Dawson petticoats, would dance to the fiddler's jigs of "Paddy O'Rafferty," or "Off she goes," before the doors of their customers; but now, instead of this innocent scene of May-day gaiety, the streets are infested by such fellows as the one exhibited in the adjoining plate, who have been dismissed, perhaps for their indecent conduct, from the public places of entertainment. These men hire old dresses, and join the Chimney Sweeper's, Cinder-sifter's, or Bunter's Garland, or Jack in the Green, &c., and exhibit all sorts of grimace and ribaldry to extort money from their numerous admirers.

Few persons, particularly those in elevated life, can witness, or even entertain a true idea of the various modes by which the lowest classes gain a livelihood. It is scarcely to be believed that some few years ago a woman, of the name of Smith, regularly went over London early in the morning, to strike out the teeth of dead dogs that had been stolen and killed for the sake of their skins. These teeth she sold to bookbinders, carvers, and gilders, as burnishing tools.

There are women who, on Sunday mornings when there are no carts about, frequent Thames Street, and the adjoining lanes inhabited by Lisbon merchants, to pick up from the kennels the refuse of lemons, after they have been squeezed for their juice. These they sell to the Jew distillers, who extract a further portion of liquor, and thus afford them the means of selling, at a considerably reduced price, lemon drops to the lower order of confectioners.

It is seldom that the common beggars eat the food given to them; and it is a well-known fact, that they sell their broken bread to the lowest order of the biscuit bakers, who grind it for the purpose of making "tops and bottoms," &c.

This was also the practice in former days, as appears in an old ballad, from which the following is an extract:—

THE BEGGAR'S WEDDING;
OR, THE JOVIAL CREW.
Printed with allowance, October 19, 1676.

Some women gain a living by going from house to house and begging phials. They pretend that they have an order for medicines at the dispensary, for their dear husband, or only child, but know not in what way to get it without a bottle, as they are obliged to take one of their own; at the same time, some will beg white linen rags to dress wounds with. These they soon turn into money at the old iron shops,—the "dealers in marine stores."

Those who beg old shoes, such as Grannee Manoo, make as much as six or seven shillings a day. They sell them to the people who live in cellars in Monmouth Street, or stalls in Food and Raiment Alley, Rosemary Lane, &c. These persons give them new soles, and are called Translators. In Mountsorrel, Leicestershire, a cobbler of the name of Bates styles himself a translator.

The plate of two Bone-pickers is the next to be described. The physiognomy of the fellow who is stitching patches together to tack to his coat, which consists of some hundreds of bits of old velvet, carpets, &c., would baffle the skill of either Lavater or Spurzheim; it has the mixture of the idiot, the goat, and the bull-dog. Such a visage might have been useful to Spagnolet, or his pupil Salvator. In order to discover a few of the habits of this character, he was followed for several hours through many streets, alleys, and courts, in the parish of St Martin's in the Fields. On his arrival at Moor's Yard, which is said to have been a place for the execution of public criminals in early times, he was accused of stealing door mats, and with some difficulty extricated his tatters from the tugs of a couple of dogs. In Hartshorn Lane, in the Strand, at one time the residence of Ben Jonson, he was seen to take up a brick, and throw it at two curs fighting for a bone, which he picked up and put into his bag. These bones are bought by the burners at Haggerstone, Shoreditch, and Battlebridge, at two shillings per bushel, in which half a bushel is given over, that being bone measure.

Bill Row and John Taylor, two grubbers, are introduced in the next plate. These men, with Stephen Lloyd, form the sum total of their description in London. They procure a livelihood by whatever they find in grubbing out the dirt from between the stones with a crooked bit of iron, in search of nails that fall from horse-shoes, which are allowed to be the best iron that can be made use of for gun-barrels; and though the streets are constantly looked over at the dawn of day by a set of men in search of sticks, handkerchiefs, shawls, &c., that may have been dropped during the night, yet these grubbers now and then find rings that have been drawn off with the gloves, or small money that has been washed by the showers between the stones. These men are frequently employed to clear gully-holes and common sewers, the stench of which is so great that their breath becomes pestilential; and its noxious quality on one occasion had so powerful an effect on a man of the name of Dixie, as to deprive him of two of his senses, smelling and tasting, and yet Ned Flowers followed this calling for forty years.

But there is still a more wretched class of beings than the grubbers, who never know the comfort of dry clothes,—they are, like the leech, perpetually in water. The occupation of these draggle-tail wretches commences on the banks of the Thames at low water. They go up to their knees in mud, to pick up the coals that fall from the barges when at the wharfs. Their flesh and dripping rags are like the coals they carry in small bags across their shoulders, and which they dispose of, at a reduced price, to the meanest order of chandler-shop retailers.

The environs produce characters equally curious with those of London, particularly among that order of people called Simplers, whose business it is to gather and supply the city markets with physical herbs. Such an innocent instance of rustic simplicity is William Friday, whose portrait is exhibited in the following plate. This man starts from Croydon, with champignons, mushrooms, &c., and is alternately snail-picker, leech-bather, and viper-catcher.