THE WAY THEY LIVE,
and the things they do, are matters which most people know but little about, and seem to care still less. Most of them start out as newsboys, bootblacks, or both combined. Those who don’t turn out to be thieves and “toughs” learn trades, and sometimes develop into shrewd and successful business men. Let me tell you about the doings of some of the street arabs of Toronto that I have known. Their names I won’t mention, though I have them all before me, because I hope to see some of them occupying a better position in life one of these days. In that case it wouldn’t be agreeable to them, perhaps, to have somebody turn up the files of The News and remind them of the adventures of their boyhood.
First I will tell you about the good boys I have known, for as I have said, in spite of their poverty they are not all bad.
About fourteen years ago one of the best bookbinders in England emigrated to Canada with his wife and little boy. They settled in Toronto. Shortly afterwards the man commenced to drink. His wife soon followed his example. They both went down the hill rapidly. Finally they drifted into prison, and their little boy was left to shift for himself. He experienced hard lines for a long time. Like the sparrows, he got his food wherever he could find a crumb, and slept under a crossing, in an empty packing-box, or elsewhere as fortune might decide. When a reverend gentleman, who had known his parents under better circumstances, took an interest in the lad’s welfare, and went in search of him, he found him