University of Virginia Library

OF AN ORPHAN BOY, A STREET-SELLER.

From one of this class I had the following account.
It may be observed that the lad's statement con-
tains little of incident, or of novelty, but this is
characteristic of many of his class. With many
of them, it may indeed be said, "one day certifieth
another." It is often the same tale of labour and
of poverty, day after day, so that the mere
uniformity makes a youth half oblivious of the
past; the months, or perhaps years, seem all
alike.

This boy seemed healthy, wore a suit of cor-
duroy, evidently not made for him, and but little
patched, although old; he was in good spirits.

"I believe I'm between fifteen and sixteen,"
he said, "and mother died more than two year
ago, nearer three, perhaps. Father had gone dead
a long time afore; I don't remember him." [I am
inclined to think that this story of the death of the
father is often told by the mother of an illegitimate
child to her offspring, through a natural repugnance
to reveal her shame to her child. I do not
know, however, that it was the case in this
instance.] "I don't remember about mother's
funeral, for I was ill myself at the time. She
worked with her needle; sometimes for a dress-
maker, on "skirts," and sometimes for a tailor, on
flannels. She sometimes worked all night, but
we was wery badly off — we was so. She had
only me. When mother died there was nothing
left for me, but there was a good woman — she
was a laundress and kept a mangle — and she said,
`well, here's a old basket and a few odd things;
give the kid the basket and turn the bits of old
traps into money, and let him start on muffins, and
then he must shift for hisself.' So she tuk me to a
shop and I was started in the muffin line. I didn't
do so bad, but it's on'y a winter trade, isn't
muffins. I sold creases next — no, not creases,
cherries; yes, it was creases, and then cherries,
for I remembers as 'ow'Ungerford was the first
market I ever was at; it was so. Since then, I've
sold apples, and oranges, and nuts, and chestnuts
— but they was dear the last time as I had'em —
and spring garters a penny a pair, and glass pens;
yes, and other things. I goes to market, mostly to
Common Gard'n, and there's a man goes there
what buys bushels and bushels, and he'll let me
have any little lot reas'nable; he will so. There's
another will, but he ain't so good to a poor kid.
Well, I doesn't know as 'ow one trade's better
nor another; I think I've done as much in
one as in another. But I've done better lately;
I've sold more oranges, and I had a few
sticks of rhubarb. I think times is mending,
but others says that's on'y my luck. I sleeps
with a boy as is younger nor I am, and pays 9d. a week. Tom's father and mother — he's a coal-
heaver, but he's sometimes out of work — sleeps in
the same room, but we has a good bed to our-
selves. Tom's father knew my mother. There's
on'y us four. Tom's father says sometimes if his
rheumatics continues, he and all on'em must go
into the house. Most likely I should then go to
a lodging-house. I don't know that some on 'em's
bad places. I've heer'd they was jolly. I has no
amusements. Last year I helped a man one day,
and he did so well on fruit, he did so, for he got
such a early start, and so cheap, that he gave me
3d. hextra to go to the play with. I didn't go.
I'd rather go to bed at seven every night than
anywhere else. I'm fond of sleep. I never wakes
all night. I dreams now and then, but I never
remembers a dream. I can't read or write; I
wish I could, if it would help me on. I'm
making 3s. 6d. a week now, I think. Some weeks
in winter I didn't make 2s."

This boy, although an orphan at a tender age,
was yet assisted to the commencement of a busi-
ness by a friend. I met with another lad who
was left under somewhat similar circumstances.
The persons in the house where his mother had
died were about to take him to the parish officers,
and there seemed to be no other course to be
pursued to save the child, then nearly twelve,
from starvation. The lad knew this and ran away.
It was summer time, about three years ago, and
the little runaway slept in the open air whenever
he could find a quiet place. Want drove him
to beg, and several days he subsisted on one penny
which he begged. One day he did not find any
one to give him even a halfpenny, and towards
the evening of the second he became bold, or even
desperate, from hunger. As if by a sudden im-
pulse he went up to an old gentleman, walking
slowly in Hyde-park, and said to him, "Sir, I've
lived three weeks by begging, and I'm hungering
now; give me sixpence, or I'll go and steal." The
gentleman stopped and looked at the boy, in whose
tones there must have been truthfulness, and in
whose face was no doubt starvation, for without
uttering a word he gave the young applicant a
shilling. The boy began a street-seller's life on
lucifer-matches. I had to see him for another
purpose a little while ago, and in the course of
some conversation he told me of his start in the
streets. I have no doubt he told the truth, and I
should have given a more detailed account of him,
but when I inquired for him, I found that he had

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gone to Epsom races to sell cards, and had not re-
turned, having probably left London on a country
tour. But for the old gentleman's bounty he
would have stolen something, he declared, had it
been only for the shelter of a prison.