“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.