picked up some knowledge of engineering; and he had been "well off
in his day." He now got a few coppers occasionally from the poor
folk about, by grinding knives, and doing little tinkering jobs.
Under the window he had a rude bench, with a few rusty tools upon
it, and in one corner there was a low, miserable bedstead, without
clothing upon it. There was one cratchinly chair in the place, too;
but hardly anything else. He had no fire; be generally went into
neighbours' houses to warm himself. He was not short of such food as
the Relief Committees bestow. There was a piece of bread upon the
bench, left from his morning meal; and the old fellow chirruped
about, and looked as blithe as if he was up to the middle in clover.
He showed us a little thing which he had done "for a bit ov a
prank." The number of his cellar was 8, and he had cut out a large
tin figure of 8, a foot long, and nailed it upon his door, for the
benefit of some of his friends that were getting bad in their
eyesight, and "couldn't read smo' print so low deawn as that."
"Well, John," said my companion, when we went in, "how are you
getting on?" "Oh, bravely," replied he, handing a piece of blue
paper to the inquirer, "bravely; look at that!" Why, this is a
summons," said my companion. "Ay, bigad is't, too," answered the old
man. "Never had sich a thing i' my life afore! Think o' me gettin' a
summons for breakin' windows at seventy year owd. A bonny warlock,
that, isn't it? Why, th' whole street went afore th' magistrates to
get mo off." "Then you did get off, John?" "Get off! Sure, aw did.
It wur noan o' me. It wur a keaw jobber, at did it. . . . Aw'll tell
yo what, for two pins aw'd frame that summons, an' hang it eawt o'
th' window; but it would look so impudent." Old John's wants were
inquired into, and we left him fiddling among his rusty tools. We
next went to a place called Hammond's Row--thirteen poor cottages,
side by side. Twelve of the thirteen were inhabited by people