himself visible to the eyes of the people. Nay, I verily believe there
are thousands in this great metropolis that never saw a specimen. We see
the effect, but think not of the cause.

He must work at his vocation either at night or at early dawn, before the
world is stirring.

That he is an industrious being, and sticks to business, there cannot be
the shadow of a doubt, for every dead-wall is made lively by his
operations, and every hoard a fund of information--in such type, too,
that he who runs may read. What an indefatigable observer he must be;
for there is scarcely a brick or board in city or suburb, however newly
erected, in highway or byeway, but is speedily adorned by his handiwork
--aye, and frequently too in defiance of the threatening--"BILL-STICKERS,
BEWARE!"--staring him in the face. Like nature, he appears to abhor a
vacuum. When we behold the gigantic size of some of the modern arches,
we are almost led to suppose that the bill-sticker carries about his
placards in a four-wheeled waggon, and that his paste-pot is a huge
cauldron! How he contrives to paste and stick such an enormous sheet so
neatly against the rugged side of a house, is really astonishing. Whether
three or four stories high, the same precision is remarkable. We cannot
but wonder at the dexterity of his practised hand: The union is as
perfect as if Dan Hymen, the saffron-robed Joiner, had personally
superintended the performance.

The wind is perhaps the only real enemy he has to fear. How his heart
and his flimsy paper must flutter in the unruly gusts of a March wind! We
only imagine him pasting up a "Sale of Horses," in a retired nook, and
seeing his bill carried away on an eddy!