London Labour and the London Poor, volume 2

Mayhew, Henry


Of the Street-Sellers of Birds'--Nests.


THE young gypsy-looking lad, who gave me the following account of the sale of birds'--nests in the streets, was peculiarly picturesque in his appearance. He wore a dirty-looking smock-frock with large pockets at the side; he had no shirt; and his long black hair hung in curls about him, contrasting strongly with his bare white neck and chest. The broad-brimmed brown Italian-looking hat, broken in and ragged at the top, threw a dark halfmask- like shadow over the upper part of his face. His feet were bare and black with mud: he carried in hand his basket of nests, dotted with their many-coloured eggs; in the other he held a live snake, that writhed and twisted as its metalliclooking skin glistened in the sun; now over, and now round, the thick knotty bough of a tree that he used for a stick. The portrait of the youth is here given. I have never seen so picturesque a specimen of the English nomade. He said, in answer to my inquiries:—

"I am a seller of birds'--nesties, snakes, slowworms, adders, 'effets'—lizards is their common name—hedgehogs (for killing black beetles); frogs (for the French—they eats'em); snails (for birds); that's all I sell in the summer-time. In the winter I get all kinds of wild flowers and roots, primroses, 'butter-cups' and daisies, and snow-drops, and 'backing' off of trees; ('backing' it's called, because it's used to put at the back of nosegays, it's got off the yew trees, and is the green yew fern. I gather bulrushes in the summer-time, besides what I told you; some buys bulrushes for stuffing; they're the fairy rushes the small ones, and the big ones is bulrushes. The small ones is used for 'stuffing,' that is, for showing off the birds as is stuffed, and make 'em seem as if they was alive in their cases, and among the rushes; I sell them to the bird-stuffers at a dozen. The big rushes the boys buys to play with and beat another—on a Sunday evening mostly. The birds'--nesties I get from to a-piece for. I never have young birds, I can never sell 'em; you see the young things generally dies of the cramp before you can get rid of them. I sell the birds'--nesties in the streets; the threepenny ones has eggs, a half-penny a egg. The linnets has mostly eggs, they're the nest; they're for putting under canaries, and being hatched by them. The thrushes has from to — is the most; they're ; they're merely for cur'osity—glass cases or anything like that. Moor-hens, wot build on the moors, has from to eggs, and is a-piece; they're for hatching underneath a bantam-fowl, the same as partridges. Chaffinches has eggs; they're , and is for cur'osity. Hedge-sparrows, eggs; they're the same price as the other, and is for cur'osity. The Bottletit—the nest and the bough are always put in glass cases; it's a long hanging nest, like a bottle, with a hole about as big as a sixpence, and there's mostly as many as eighteen eggs; they've been known to lay . To the house-sparrow there is eggs; they're The yellow-hammers, with eggs, is The water-wagtails, with eggs, Blackbirds, with eggs, The golden-crest wren, with eggs—it has a very handsome nest—is Bulfinches, eggs, ; they're for hatching, and the bulfinch is a very dear bird. Crows, eggs, Magpies, eggs, Starlings, eggs, The egg-chats, eggs, Goldfinches, eggs, , for hatching. Martins, eggs, The swallow, eggs, ; it's so dear because the nest is such a cur'osity, they build up again the house. The butcher-birds—hedgemur- derers some calls them, for the number of birds they kills— eggs, The cuckoo—they never has a nest, but lays in the hedge-sparrow's; there's only egg (it's very rare you see the , they has been got, but that's seldom) that is , the egg is such a cur'osity. The greenfinches has or eggs, and is The sparrer-hawk has eggs, and they're The reed-sparrow— they builds in the reeds close where the bulrushes grow; they has eggs, and is The wood-pigeon has eggs, and they're The horned owl, eggs; they're The woodpecker—I never see no more nor —they're the ; they're a great cur'osity, very seldom found. The kingfishers has eggs, and is That's all I know of.

I gets the eggs mostly from Witham and Chelmsford, in Essex; Chelmsford is mile from , and Witham, mile further. I know more about them parts than anywhere else, being used to go after moss for Mr. Butler, of the herb-shop in Covent Garden. Sometimes I go to Shirley Common and Shirley Wood, that's miles from Croydon, and Croydon is from Westminster-bridge. When I'm out bird-nesting I take all the cross country roads across fields and into the woods. I begin bird-nesting in May and leave off about August, and then comes the bulrushing, and they last till Christmas; and after that comes the roots and wild flowers, which serves me up to May again. I go out bird-nesting times a week. I go away at night, and come up on the morning of the day after. I'm away a day and nights. I start between and in the morning and walk all night—for the coolness—you see the weather's so hot you can't


do it in the daytime. When I get down I go to sleep for a couple of hours. I 'skipper it'—turn in under a hedge or anywhere. I get down about in the morning, at Chelmsford, and about if I go to Witham. After I've had my sleep I start off to get my nests and things. I climb the trees, often I go up a dozen in the day, and many a time there's nothing in the nest when I get up. I only fell once; I got on the end of the bough and slipped off. I p'isoned my foot once with the stagnant water going after the bulrushes, —there was horseleeches, and effets, and all kinds of things in the water, and they stung me, I think. I couldn't use my foot hardly for weeks afterwards, and was obliged to have a stick to walk with. I couldn't get about at all for days, and should have starved if it hadn't been that a young man kept me. He was a printer by trade, and almost a stranger to me, only he seed me and took pity on me. When I fell off the bough I wasn't much hurt, nothing to speak of. The house-sparrow is the worst nest of all to take; it's no value either when it got, and is the most difficult of all to get at. You has to get up a sparapet (a parapet) of a house, and either to get permission, or run the risk of going after it without. Partridges' eggs (they has no nest) they gives you months for, if they see you selling them, because it's game, and I haven't no licence; but while you're hawking, that is showing 'em, they can't touch you. The owl is a very difficult nest to get, they builds so high in the trees. The bottle-tit is a hard nest to find; you may go all the year round, and, perhaps, only get . The nest I like best to get is the chaffinch, because they're in the hedge, and is no bother. Oh, you hasn't got the skylark down, sir; they builds on the ground, and has eggs; I sell them for The robin-redbreast has eggs, too, and is The ringdove has eggs, and is The titlark—that's blue eggs, and very rare—I get for them. The jay has eggs, and a flat nest, very wiry, indeed; it's a ground bird; that's —the egg is just like a partridge egg. When I took a kingfisher's nest, I didn't know the name of it, and I kept wondering what it was. I daresay I asked dozen people, and none of them could tell me. At last a birdfancier, the lame man at the Mile-end gate, told me what it was. I likes to get the nesties to sell, but I havn't no fancy for birds. Sometimes I get squirrels' nesties with the young in 'em—about of 'em there mostly is, and they're the only young things I take—the young birds I leaves; they're no good to me. The squirrels brings me from to After I takes a bird's nest, the old bird comes dancing over it, chirupping, and crying, and flying all about. When they lose their nest they wander about, and don't know where to go. Oftentimes I wouldn't take them if it wasn't for the want of the victuals, it seems such a pity to disturb 'em after they've made their little bits of places. Bats I never take myself—I can't get over 'em. If I has an order for 'em, I buys 'em of boys.

I mostly start off into the country on Monday and come up on Wednesday. The most nesties as ever I took is , and I generally get about or . These, if I've an order, I sell directly, or else I may be days, and sometimes longer, hawking them in the street. Directly I've sold them I go off again that night, if it's fine; though I often go in the wet, and then I borrow a tarpaulin of a man in the street where I live. If I've a quick sale I get down and back times in a week, but then I don't go so far as Witham, sometimes only to Rumford; that is miles from . I never got an order from a bird-fancier; they gets all the eggs they want of the countrymen who comes up to market.

It's gentlemen I gets my orders of, and then mostly they tells me to bring 'em nest of every kind I can get hold of, and that will often last me months in the summer. There's gentleman as I sells to is a wholesale dealer in windowglass—and he has a hobby for them. He puts 'em into glass cases, and makes presents of 'em to his friends. He has been of my best customers. I've sold him a nesties, I'm sure. There's a doctor at Dalston I sell a great number to—he's taking of every kind of me now. The most of my customers is stray ones in the streets. They're generally boys. I sells a nest now and then to a lady with a child; but the boys of to years of age is my best friends. They buy 'em only for cur'osity. I sold partridges' eggs yesterday to a gentlemen, and he said he would put them under a bantam he'd got, and hatch 'em.

The snakes, and adders, and slow-worms I get from where there's moss or a deal of grass. Sunny weather's the best for them, they won't come out when it's cold; then I go to a dungheap, and turn it over. Sometimes, I find or there, but never so large as the I had to-day, that's a yard and inches long, and -quarters of a pound weight. Snakes is a pound. I sell all I can get to Mr. Butler, of Covent-garden. He keeps 'em alive, for they're no good dead. I think it's for the skin they're kept. Some buys 'em to dissect: a gentleman in Theobalds-road does so, and so he does hedgehogs. Some buys 'em for stuffing, and others for cur'osities. Adders is the same price as snakes, a pound after they comes in, when they're Adders is wanted dead; it's only the fat and skin that's of any value; the fat is used for curing p'isoned wounds, and the skin is used for any as has cut their heads. Farmers buys the fat, and rubs it into the wound when they gets bitten or stung by anything p'isonous. I kill the adders with a stick, or, when I has shoes, I jumps on 'em. Some fine days I get or snakes at a time; but then they're mostly small, and won't weigh above half a pound. I don't get many adders—they don't weigh many ounces, adders don't—and I mostly has a-piece for each I gets. I sells to Mr. Butler as well.

The hedgehogs is each; I gets them mostly in Essex. I've took hedgehog with


young ones, and sold the lot for People in the streets bought them of me—they're wanted to kill the black-beetles; they're fed on bread and milk, and they'll suck a cow quite dry in their wild state. They eat adders, and can't be p'isoned, at least it says so in a book I've got about 'em at home.

The effets I gets orders for in the streets. Gentlemen gives me their cards, and tells me to bring them ; they're apiece. I get them at Hampstead and Highgate, from the ponds. They're wanted for cur'osity.

The snails and frogs I sell to Frenchmen. I don't know what part they eat of the frog, but I know they buy them, and the dandelion root. The frogs is and a dozen. They like the yellow-bellied ones, the others they're afraid is toads. They always pick out the yellow-bellied ; I don't know how to feed 'em, or else I might fatten them. Many people swallows young frogs, they're reckoned very good things to clear the inside. The frogs I catch in ponds and ditches up at Hampstead and Highgate, but I only get them when I've a order. I've had a order for as many as dozen, but that was for the French hotel in ; but I sold dozen a week to man, a Frenchman, as keeps a cigar shop in R—r's-court.

The snails I sell by the pailful—at the pail. There is some hundreds in a pail. The wet weather is the best times for catching 'em; the French people eats 'em. They boils 'em to get 'em out of the shell and get rid of the green froth; then they boils them again, and after that in vinegar. They eats 'em hot, but some of the foreigners likes 'em cold. They say they're better, if possible, than whelks. I used to sell a great many to a lady and gentleman in , and to many of the French I sell 's worth, that's about or quarts. Some persons buys snails for birds, and some to strengthen a sickly child's back; they rub the back all over with the snails, and a very good thing they tell me it is. I used to take 's worth a week to woman; it's the green froth that does the greatest good. There are more birds'--nest sellers besides myself, they don't do as many as me the of 'em. They're very naked, their things is all to ribbins; they only go into the country once in a fortnight. They was never nothing, no trade—they never was in place—from what I've heard—either of them. I reckon I sell about nesties a week take week with another, and that I do for months in the year. (This altogether makes nests.) Yes, I should say, I do sell about birds'--nests every year, and the other , I'm sure, don't sell half that. Indeed they don't want to sell; they does better by what they gets give to them. I can't say what they takes, they're Irish, and I never was in conversation with them. I get about to for the nests, that's between and apiece. I sell about a couple of snakes every week, and for some of them I get , and for the big ones ; but them I seldom find. I've only had hedgehogs this season, and I've done a little in snails and frogs, perhaps about The many foreigners in London this season hasn't done me no good. I haven't been to lately, or perhaps I might have got a large order or for frogs."

I am years of age. My father was a dyer, and I was brought up to the same trade. My father lived at Arundel, in Sussex, and kept a shop there. He had a good business as dyer, scourer, calico glazer, and furniture cleaner. I have heard mother say his business in Arundel brought him in a year at least. He had men in his employ, and none under a week. I had brothers and sister, but of my brothers is since dead. Mother died years ago in the Consumption Hospital, at , just after it was built. I was very young indeed when father died; I can hardly remember him. He died in : he had abscesses all over him; there were sixand- at the time of his death. I've heard mother say many times that she thinked it was through exerting himself too much at his business that he fell ill. The ruin of father was owing to his house being burnt down; the fire broke out at in the morning; he wasn't insured: I don't remember the fire; I've only heerd mother talk about it. It was the ruin of us all she used to tell me; father had so much work belonging to other people; a deal of moreen curtains, or yards. It was of no use his trying to start again; he lost all his glazing machines and tubs, and his drugs and 'punches.' From what I've heerd from mother they was worth some hundreds. The Duke of Norfolk, after the fire, gave a good lot of money to the poor people whose things father had to clean, and father himself came up to London. I wasn't year old when that happened. We all come up with father, and he opened a shop in London and bought all new things. He had got a bit of money left, and mother's uncle lent him We lived doors from the stage door of the Queen's Theatre, in , , ; but father didn't do much in London; he had a new connection to make, and when he died his things was sold for the rent of the house. There was only money enough to bury him. I don't know how long ago that was, but I think it was about years after our coming to London, for I've heerd mother say I was years old when father died. After father's death mother borrowed some more money of her uncle, who was well to do. He was perfumer to her Majesty: he's dead now, and left the business to his foreman. The business was worth His wife, my mother's aunt, is alive still, and though she's a woman of large property, she won't so much as look at me. She keeps her carriage and footmen; her address is, Mrs. Lewis, No. , Porchesterter- race, Bayswater. I have been in her drawing-room or times. I used to take letters to her from mother: she was very kind to me then, and give me several half-crowns. She


knows the state I am in now. A young man wrote a letter to her, saying I had no clothes to look after work in, and that I was near starving, but she sent no answer to it. The last time I called at her house she sent me down nothing, and bid the servant tell me not to come any more. Ever since I've wanted it I've never had nothing from her, but before that she used to give me something whenever I took a letter from mother to her. The last half-crown I got at her house was from the cook, who gave it me out of her own money because she'd known my mother.

I've got a grandmother living in Woburnplace; she's in service there, and been in the family for years. The gentleman died lately and left her half his property. He was a foreigner and had no relations here. My grandmother used to be very good to me, and when I got out of work she always gave me something when I called, and had me down in her room. She was housekeeper then. She never offered to get me a situation, but only gave me a meal of victuals and a shilling or eighteen-pence whenever I called. I was tidy in my dress then. At last a new footman came, and he told me as I wasn't to call again; he said, the family didn't allow no followers. I've never seen my grandmother since that time but once, and then I was passing with my basket of birds' nests in my hand just as she was coming out of the door. I was dressed about the same then as you seed me yesterday. I was without a shirt to my back. I don't think she saw me, and I was ashamed to let her see me as I was. She was kind enough to me, that is, she wouldn't mind about giving me a shilling or so at a time, but she never would do nothing else for me, and yet she had got plenty of money in the bank, and a gold watch, and all, at her side.

After father died, as I was saying, mother got some money from her uncle and set up on her own account; she took in glazing for the trade. Father had a few shops that he worked for, and they employed mother after his death. She kept on at this for eighteen months and then she got married again. Before this an uncle of mine, my father's brother, who kept some lime-kilns down in Bury St. Edmunds, consented to take my brother and sister and provide for them, and or year ago he got them both into the Duke of Norfolk's service, and there they are now. They've never seen me since I was a child but once, and that was a few year ago. I've never sent to them to say how badly I was off. They're younger than I am, and can only just take care of theirselves. When mother married again, her husband came to live at the house; he was a dyer. He behaved very well to me. Mother wouldn't send me down to uncle's, she was too fond of me. I was sent to school for about eighteen months, and after that I used to assist in the glazing at home, and so I went on very comfortable for some time. year ago I went to work at a French dyer's, in Rathbone-place. My step-father got me there, and there I stopped year. I lived in the house after the eighteen months of my service. year ago mother fell ill; she had been ailing many years, and she got admitted into the Consumption Hospital, at Brompton. She was there just upon months and was coming out the next day (her term was up), when she died on the over night. After that my step-father altered very much towards me. He didn't want me at home at all. He told me so a fortnight after mother was in her grave. He took to drinking very hearty directly she was gone. He would do anything for me before that. He used to take me with him to every place of amusement what he went to, but when he took to drinking he quite changed; then he got to beat me, and at last he told me I needn't come there any more.

After that, I still kept working in Rathboneplace, and got a lodging of my own; I used to have a week where I was, and I paid a week for my bed, and washing, and mending. I had half a room with a man and his wife; I went on so for about years, and then I was took bad with the scarlet fever and went to Gray's-inn-lane hospital. After I was cured of the scarlet fever, I had the brain fever, and was near my death; I was altogether weeks in the hospital, and when I come out I could get no work where I had been before. The master's nephew had come from Paris, and they had all French hands in the house. He wouldn't employ an English hand at all. He give me a trifle of money, and told me he would pay my lodgings for a week or while I looked for work. I sought all about and couldn't find any; this was about year ago. People wouldn't have me because I didn't know nothing about the English mode of business. I couldn't even tell the names of the English drugs, having been brought up in a French house. At last, my master got tired of paying for my lodging, and I used to try and pick up a few pence in the streets by carrying boxes and holding horses, it was all as I could get to do; I tried all I could to find employment, and they was the only jobs I could get. But I couldn't make enough for my lodging this way, and over and over again I've had to sleep out. Then I used to walk the streets most of the night, or lie about in the markets till morning came in the hopes of getting a job. I'm a very little eater, and perhaps that's the luckiest thing for such as me; half a pound of bread and a few potatoes will do me for the day. If I could afford it, I used to get a ha'porth of coffee and a ha'porth of sugar, and make it do twice. Sometimes I used to have victuals give to me, sometimes I went without altogether; and sometimes I couldn't eat. I can't always.

weeks after I had been knocking about in the streets in the manner I've told you, a man I met in Covent-Garden market told me he was going into the country to get some roots (it was in the winter time and cold indeed; I was dressed about the same as I am now, only I had a pair of boots); and he said if I chose to go with him, he'd give me half of whatever he earned. I went to Croydon and got some primroses; my share came to , and that was quite a God-send to me, after getting nothing. Sometimes before that I'd been days without tasting


anything; and when I got some victuals after that, I couldn't touch them. All I felt was giddy; I wasn't to say hungry, only weak and sicklified. I went with this man after the roots or times; he took me to oblige me, and show me the way how to get a bit of food for myself; after that, when I got to know all about it, I went to get roots on my own account. I never felt a wish to take nothing when I was very hard up. Sometimes when I got cold and was tired, walking about and weak from not having had nothing to eat, I used to think I'd break a window and take something out to get locked up; but I could never make my mind up to it; they never hurt me, I'd say to myself. I do fancy though, if anybody had refused me a bit of bread, I should have done something again them, but I couldn't, do you see, in cold blood like.

When the summer came round a gentleman whom I seed in the market asked me if I'd get him half a dozen nesties—he didn't mind what they was, so long as they was small, and of different kinds—and as I'd come across a many in my trips after the flowers, I told him I would do so—and that put it into my head; and I've been doing that every summer since then. It's poor work, though, at the best. Often and often I have to walk miles out without any victuals to take with me, or money to get any, and miles again back, and bring with me about a dozen nesties; and, perhaps, if I'd no order for them, and was forced to sell them to the boys, I shouldn't get more than a shilling for the lot after all. When the time comes round for it, I go Christmasing and getting holly, but that's more dangerous work than bird-nesting; the farmers don't mind your taking the nesties, as it prevents the young birds from growing up and eating their corn. The greater part of the holly used in London for trimming up the churches and sticking in the puddings, is stolen by such as me, at the risk of getting months for it. The farmers brings a good lot to market, but we is obligated to steal it. Take week with another, I'm sure I don't make above You can tell that to look at me. I don't drink, and I don't gamble; so you can judge how much I get when I've had to pawn my shirt for a meal. All last week I only sold nesties—they was a partridge's and a yellow-hammer's; for I got , and the other , and I had been miles to get them. I got beside that a fourpenny piece for some chickweed which I'd been up to Highgate to gather for a man with a bad leg (it's the best thing there is for a poultice to a wound), and then I earned another by some mash (marsh) mallow leaves (that there was to purify the blood of a poor woman): that, with that a gentleman give to me, was all I got last week; I think it is altogether. I had some victuals give to me in the street, or else I daresay I should have had to go without; but, as it was, I gave the money to the man and his wife I live with. You see they had nothing, and as they're good to me when I want, why, I did what I could for them. I've tried to get out of my present life, but there seems to be an ill luck again me. Sometimes I gets a good turn. A gentleman gives me an order, and then I saves a shilling or eighteenpence, so as to buy something with that I can sell again in the streets; but a wet day is sure to come, and then I'm cracked up, obligated to eat it all away. Once I got to sell fish. A gentleman give me a crown-piece in the street, and I borrowed a barrow at a day, and did pretty well for a time. In weeks I had saved ; then I got an order for a sack of moss from of the flower-sellers, and I went down to Chelmsford, and stopped for the night in Lower , at the sign of "The Queens." I had my money safe in my fob the night before, and a good pair of boots to my feet then; when I woke in the morning my boots was gone, and on feeling in my fob my money was gone too. There was beds in the rooms, feather and flock; the feather ones was , and the flock for a single , and each person for a double . There was people in the room that night, and of 'em was gone before I awoke—he was a cadger—and had took my money with him. I complained to the landlord—they call him George—but it was no good; all I could get was some victuals. So I've been obliged to keep to birds'--nesting ever since.

I've never been in prison but once. I was took up for begging. I was merely leaning again the railings of with my birds'--nesties in my hand, and the policemen took me off to Clerkenwell, but the magistrates, instead of sending me to prison, gave me out of the poors'box. I feel it very much going about without shoes or without shirt, and exposed to all weathers, and often out all night. The doctor at the hospital in Gray's-inn-lane gave me flannels, and told me that whatever I did I was to keep myself wrapped up; but what's the use of saying that to such as me who is obligated to pawn the shirt off our back for food the wet day as comes? If you haven't got money to pay for your bed at a lodging-house, you must take the shirt off your back and leave it with them, or else they'll turn you out. I know many such. Sometimes I go to an artist. I had when I was drawed before the Queen. I wasn't 'xactly drawed before her, but my portrait was shown to her, and I was told that if I'd be there I might receive a trifle. I was drawed as a gipsy fiddler. Mr. Oakley in was the gentleman as did it. I was dressed in some things he got for me. I had an Italian's hat, with a broad brim and a peaked crown, a red plush waistcoat, and a yellow hankercher tied in a good many knots round my neck. I'd a black velveteen Newmarket-cut coat, with very large pearl buttons, and a pair of black knee-breeches tied with fine red strings. Then I'd blue stripe stockings and high-ancle boots with very thin soles. I'd a fiddle in hand and a bow in the other. The gentleman said he drawed me for my head of hair. I've never been a gipsy, but he told me he didn't mind that, for I should make as good a gipsy fiddler as the real thing. The artists


mostly give me I've only been times. I only wish I could get away from my present life. Indeed I would do any work if I could get it. I'm sure I could have a good character from my masters in Rathbone-place, for I never done nothing wrong. But if I couldn't get work I might very well, if I'd money enough, get a few flowers to sell. As it is it's more than any can do to save at bird-nesting, and I'm sure I'm as prudent as e'er a in the streets. I never took the pledge, but still I never take no beer nor spirits—I never did. Mother told me never to touch 'em, and I haven't tasted a drop. I've often been in a public-house selling my things, and people has offered me something to drink, but I never touch any. I can't tell why I dislike doing so —but something seems to tell me not to taste such stuff. I don't know whether it's what my mother said to me. I know I was very fond of her, but I don't say it's that altogether as makes me do it. I don't feel to want it. I smoke a good bit, and would sooner have a bit of baccy than a meal at any time. I could get a goodish rigout in the lane for a few shillings. A pair of boots would cost me , and a coat I could get for I go to a ragged school times a week if I can, for I'm but a poor scholar still, and I should like to know how to read; it's always handy you know, sir.

This lad has been supplied with a suit of clothes and sufficient money to start him in some of the better kind of street-trades. It was thought advisable not to put him to any more occupation on account of the vagrant habits he has necessarily acquired during his bird-nesting career. Before doing this he was employed as errand-boy for a week, with the object of testing his trustworthiness, and was found both honest and attentive. He appears a prudent lad, but of course it is difficult, as yet, to speak positively as to his character. He has, however, been assured that if he shows a disposition to follow some more reputable calling he shall at least be put in the way of so doing.

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 Title Page
Of the Street-Sellers of Second-Hand Articles
Of the Street-Sellers of Live Animals
Of the Street-Sellers of Mineral Productions and Natural Curiosities
Of the Street-Buyers
Of the Street-Jews
Of the Street-Finders or Collectors
Of the Streets of London
Of the London Chimney-Sweepers
Of the London Chimney-Sweepers
Of the Sweepers of Old, and the Climbing Boys
Of the Chimney-Sweepers of the Present Day
Of the General Characteristics of the Working Chimney-Sweepers
Sweeping of the Chimneys of Steam-Vessels
Of the 'Ramoneur' Company
Of the Brisk and Slack Seasons, and the Casual Trade among the Chimney- Sweepers
Of the 'Leeks' Among the Chimney-Sweepers
Of the Inferior Chimney-Sweepers -- the 'Knullers' and 'Queriers'
Of the Fires of London
Of the Sewermen and Nightmen of London
Of the Wet House-Refuse of London
Of the Means of Removing the Wet House-Refuse
Of the Quantity of Metropolitan Sewage
Of Ancient Sewers
Of the Kinds and Characteristics of Sewers
Of the Subterranean Character of the Sewers
Of the House-Drainage of the Metropolis as Connected With the Sewers
Of the London Street-Drains
Of the Length of the London Sewers and Drains
Of the Cost of Constructing the Sewers and Drains of the Metropolis
Of the Uses of Sewers as a Means of Subsoil Drainage
Of the City Sewerage
Of the Outlets, Ramifications, Etc., of the Sewers
Of the Qualities, Etc., of the Sewage
Of the New Plan of Sewerage
Of the Management of the Sewers and the Late Commissions
Of the Powers and Authority of the Present Commissions of Sewers
Of the Sewers Rate
Of the Cleansing of the Sewers -- Ventilation
Of 'Flushing' and 'Plonging,' and Other Modes of Washing the Sewers
Of the Working Flushermen
Of the Rats in the Sewers
Of the Cesspoolage and Nightmen of the Metropolis
Of the Cesspool System of London
Of the Cesspool and Sewer System of Paris
Of the Emptying of the London Cesspools by Pump and Hose
Statement of a Cesspool-Sewerman
Of the Present Disposal of the Night-Soil
Of the Working Nightmen and the Mode of Work