Sinks of London Laid Open | Page 7

rub against the wall. A little on one side of this forlorn
being, at the head of the table where the landlord sat, was a character

that could hardly escape the notice of the most obtuse observer, a stout
active young man, in the very perfect costume of a cadger. The upper
part of his person was decorated with a piece of a garment that had
once been a coat, and of which there yet remained a sleeve and a half;
the rest was suspended over his shoulders in shreds. A few tatters were
arranged around his nether parts, but they could scarcely be said to
cover his nakedness; and as for shoes, stockings, and shirt, they
doubtless had been neglected, as being of no professional use. A kind
of a hat (which, from a piece of the flap still remaining, showed that it
had once possessed a brim) ornamented as villanous a looking head as
ever sat upon a pair of shoulders--carrotty hair, that had as much
pliancy as a stubble field--a low receding forehead--light grey eyes,
rolling about, with as much roguery in them as if each contained a
thief--a broad, snubby nose--a projecting chin, with a beard of at least a
month's growth--the whole forming no bad resemblance to a rough, red,
wiry-haired, vicious terrier dog, whose face had been half-bitten off by
hard fighting. He was the very type of a hedge ruffian, and a most
proper person to meet any one "by moonlight alone."
----"He looked as if his blood Had crept thro' scoundrels ever since the
flood."
The very sight of this model of his tribe brought vagrancy, with all her
train, before our eyes, mugger's-carts, tinker's wives, bull dogs,
donkeys, creels, kail pots, and all the trumpery of a gipsey's camp. This
elegant individual, we found afterwards, answered to the very proper
appellation of "Cadger Jack." He was leaning over the table, resting his
arms on a bundle of matches, and grumbling heavily about the times,
"Cadging," he said, "was gone to the devil! He had been out ever since
the morning, and had not yet broke his fast; but if he lived till Monday,
he would go to the lord mayor." Here he used some emphatic language,
and swore he would not stir until he got relief.
"You will get three months to the tread-mill," observed a woman,
sitting opposite (the only one in the room, and a happy compound
between the slut and the sot).
He d----d the tread-mill, declared he had played at up and down before

now--and would go--they were compelled to give him something--the
law did not suffer any man to starve, and so on.
He was rattling on in his way, without any one paying the least
attention to what he said, when a lad about fourteen, decently dressed,
came in, carrying a box. He placed himself beside the window, and
began to display the contents of his trunk, offering for sale several
respectable articles of clothing for mere trifles.
"Go home, boy," (said a man who had just come in, with his arms
loaded with good things). "What brought you here? do you want to be
ruined? you have run away, you young rascal, and stole them things."
The younker, who was the very image of a spoiled child and natural
vagabond, replied with all the pertness and insolence of one that had
been over indulged, "that the things were his--he had paid for his
lodgings, and nobody had anything to do with him."
"When did he come here?" enquired the man, (the landlord by this time
had gone out).
"On Thursday," he was answered.
"It is a shame," he said, "to take in so young a boy; he should have a
stick laid across his back, and sent home again."
In defence of the landlord, it was argued, that if he did not take him in,
others would; and that his things were safe here, which might not be the
case elsewhere. This was admitted by our moralizer to be very true.
"Howsomever," observed he, "all I know is this--that if the young dog
is not already a thief, I know that he has come to the right place to
become one."
"Aye, that he has," drawled out a half naked lusty young fellow, raising
himself slowly up from the form where he had been stretched his full
length, laying upon his face, the sluggard's favourite position. Hogarth,
or Joe Lisle, or any other character hunter, might have taken this youth

for the very Son of Idleness. There might alternately be traced in his
heavy features sluggard, loon, fool, and rascal. "Aye, that's very true,"
he observed, "it was coming to St. Giles's that was the ruin of me; and
them there lasses," pointing to a ruddy-faced girl,