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Social Network Powered Information Sharing 1st Edition
Joe Greek Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Joe Greek
ISBN(s): 9781477716854, 1477716858
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 10.83 MB
Year: 2013
Language: english
Published in 2014 by The Rosen Publishing Group, Inc.
29 East 21st Street, New York, NY 10010

Copyright © 2014 by The Rosen Publishing Group, Inc.

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a
reviewer.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Greek, Joe.
Social network–powered information sharing/Joe Greek.
pages cm—(A teen’s guide to the power of social
networking)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4777-1681-6 (library binding)—
ISBN 978-1-4777-1915-2 (pbk.)—
ISBN 978-1-4777-1916-9 (6-pack)
1. Online social networks. 2. Information society—Social aspects.
3. Information technology—Social aspects. I. Title.
HM742.G74 2013
006.7'54—dc23
2013013757

Manufactured in Malaysia

CPSIA Compliance Information: Batch #W14YA: For further information, contact Rosen Publishing, New York, New York, at
1-800-237-9932.
Introduction 4

Chapter 1
The Social Information Age 8

Chapter 2
Tracking the Local Scene 19

Chapter 3
Information Sharing’s Impact upon
Journalism, Public Health, and
Public Debates 33

Chapter 4
The Global Town Square 44

Chapter 5
Safe Information Sharing Today
and Tomorrow 57

Glossary 69
For More Information 71
For Further Reading 73
Bibliography 75
Index 78
B y the end of 2012, the number of people with a Facebook
account surpassed the one billion mark. An estimated
618 million of those individuals visited the social networking
Web site on a daily basis. According to projections by the
U.S. Census Bureau, the world population for the same year
topped seven billion. In other words, close to one in seven
people on the planet were potentially connected to the world’s
most popular social network in 2012.
With an increasing number of people using social networks
such as Facebook, Google +, and Twitter, it’s easier for people to
stay connected with each other throughout the day. New tech-
nologies such as smartphones and tablets enable users to share
photos, thoughts, and news articles with others instantaneously.
Social media has revolutionized the ways in which we interact
and share information with our peers, communities, colleagues,
and the rest of the world.

4
 For many people, social networks are simply thought of as
Web sites that allow them to stay in touch with friends and
family. But they go far beyond “likes” and retweets. Social
networks make it possible for us to stay informed about what
is happening in the lives of friends, family members, acquain-
tances, and classmates or colleagues. In the past, distances
between people made it difficult to stay in touch on a regu-
lar basis. Today, social networks make it possible for us to
maintain regular, active relationships with the people we care
about. Instead of having to wait months for a family reunion
to meet a newborn cousin or an aunt’s new husband, for ex-
ample, people are able to view, comment on, and share family
photos and announcements much sooner.
It’s not only our personal relationships and the way that
we are able to stay connected that have been changed by social
networks. Because of the ease and speed that information

5
Social Network-Powered Information Sharing

now travels through these channels, we are also able to stay

informed about events occurring in our country and around
the world before traditional news outlets, such as newspapers
or television programs, are able to reach us. For instance, the
2012 London Olympics were often referred to as the “Twit-
ter Olympics.” This was because the results of many competi-
tions spread through the microblogging Web site before they
even aired on American and Canadian television channels.
Many businesses are taking notice of the potential benefits
of using social networks as a way to market their services and

Japanese athlete Miyuki Maeda uses her smartphone during a badmin-

ton match at the 2012 London Olympics. News and match results were
often spread through social networks before traditional media could
reach audiences.

6
 Introduction

goods to consumers. As a result, companies are now relying

more and more on employees who are Web savvy and have a
good understanding of how to reach out to people through
online interaction.
With all of the benefits of staying informed and con-
nected online, however, it is also important to understand
that there are potential downsides to using social networks.
It is imperative to realize that how we interact on social
networks today may affect us in the future, negatively or
positively. How well social networks serve us depends upon
how ethically, intelligently, and safely we conduct ourselves
online.

7
 The Social
Information
Age

I t is now hard to imagine living in a time before the Inter-

net. For better or worse, the Web—and social networks
in particular—have changed the way we communicate with
each other and how we gather information about the world
around us. Critics often argue that social networks have
caused people to become withdrawn from one another in
the offline world, creating a dependence upon technology to
communicate and develop relationships. Proponents, how-
ever, might argue that social networks enable us to create and
maintain relationships more easily. In addition, they provide
us with access to an almost infinite amount of information
that previous generations could nothave possibly imagined.
Social networks, in many aspects, are still in a period of
infancy. Society is still figuring out how to adapt to a tech-
nology that has opened a door to new opportunities for
reaching out to each other. At the same time, that technology
has closed the door on traditional methods of spreading and
sharing information.
To gain a better idea of how social networks are chang-
ing the way we interact and spread and share information,

8
 The Social Information Age

we need to first understand how they have evolved into the

communication tools we now use on a daily basis.

S ocial N et working ' s

G rowing P ains
In 2002, computer programmer Jonathan Abrams founded
Friendster, one of the first dedicated social networking sites
to become successful. Members of the site were able to cus-
tomize profiles to showcase photos, interests, and personal
information such as birth dates and hometowns. However, it
was the ease of being able to find and connect to friends and
other users that helped the network obtain more than three
million users within its first few months of going live.
Friendster’s success, however, was short-lived. Competi-
tion from rival social networks such as Yahoo! 360, Windows
Live Spaces, and MySpace gained larger audiences. This was
because they provided users with more freedom to create and
customize flashier profiles. These next-generation profiles in-
cluded features such as music players and top friends lists.
Still, while these earlier social networks successfully
figured out how to attract large numbers of users, they failed
to encourage interaction between those members. As a re-
sult, their initial popularity faded over time. “Crafting a great
profile can be fun, even satisfying,” says PCMag.com writer
Peter Pachal, “but it’s really just another game. And like all
games, it eventually bores you.”
The early social networks created a space where people
could find each other online. But further experimentation

9
Social Network–Powered Information Sharing

Jonathan Abrams became an early innovator of social networks

when he launched Friendster in 2002. Despite a quick rise to
popularity, Friendster eventually failed to compete against
rivals MySpace and Facebook.

and learning from the failures of sites such as Friendster

were required before developers could build sites that people
would keep coming back to again and again.
To the initial dismay of many of its members, Facebook
introduced a feature in 2006 called News Feed. Seen by many
as a turning point in social networks, the new feature was a

10
 The Social Information Age

complete makeover of the Facebook homepage, which up

until that point had been a customizable version of the user’s
profile. Upon logging into the social network, members were
now shown a continually updating list of friends’ activity on
the site—a stream of information relating directly to the user
and his or her friends. Facebook users now had a snapshot of
what was currently happening in the lives of their network
connections without necessarily having to visit their profiles
individually. This made it possible for more people to engage
in timelier discussions about information that was being
shared.

T he T op T hree
I nformation H ubs
The majority of people who use social networks regularly can
be found on Facebook, Twitter, and Google +. These three
networks appeal to broader audiences because they do not
focus on a particular niche interest, as does a social network-
ing site like HR.com, for example. HR.com is an online
community for professionals in the human resources industry.
Because they offer a common outlet for individuals with an
extremely wide range of interests, the three leading social
networks also provide the widest variety of information that
is shared on social networks.
Google + and Facebook offer their members many similar
features, such as private messaging, the ability for members
to tag each other in posts and photos, and the ability to cre-
ate groups. Since so many people use these two networks,

11
Social Network–Powered Information Sharing

Information Sharing
or Loss of Privacy?

When Facebook first introduced the News Feed, the

company experienced a heavy backlash from members
who felt that it had resulted in an invasion of their online
privacy. Just about anything members posted, commented
on, liked, or shared from other members could be seen by
all of their connections. Subsequently, several online peti-
tions and groups were formed, calling for the company to
remove the new feature.
In an open letter to members, Facebook founder
Mark Zuckerberg conceded that the company had failed
to provide users with adequate privacy controls, saying:
“We really messed this one up. When we launched News
Feed and Mini-Feed, we were trying to provide you with a
stream of information about your social world. Instead, we
did a bad job of explaining what the new features were and
an even worse job of giving you control of them.”
As a result of the overwhelming criticism and irate
complaints that the company received, privacy controls
were added that gave users the option to limit the per-
sonal activity on the network that could be viewed by
others. Over time, additional privacy settings have also

Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg discusses the introduction of the

social network’s Time Line feature. Over the years, the company has
regularly faced criticism regarding user privacy.

12
 The Social Information Age

been introduced, including the ability to allow or prevent

certain groups of connections from seeing the activity of a
user. Still, Facebook is often accused of not taking enough
steps to protect members’ privacy and making it overly
complicated to adjust privacy settings.

13
Social Network–Powered Information Sharing

they are prime communities within which to connect and

share information with different groups of people.
Twitter has become one of the most popular social net-
works due to its relative ease of use, which can be attributed
to its limited features. Adding to its appeal, many celebrities
also have accounts, including singer Lady Gaga, who had
more than thirty-five million followers by March 2013.
According to the network’s CEO Dick Costolo, Twitter users
sent more than five hundred million tweets per day in 2012.

Pinterest is a highly popular social network where members

can submit and share images. Users, known as “Pinners,” often
create themed collections of photos and digital artwork that
other members can “Like” or “Repin” to their own account.

14
 The Social Information Age

Even political leaders utilize social networks to connect

with their constituents as a way to promote themselves, their
causes, and the current issues to which they want to draw
attention. Though he didn’t have as many followers as Lady
Gaga, President Barack Obama made social networking histo-
ry after his 2012 reelection. Once he was declared the winner,
he tweeted a photo of himself hugging First Lady Michelle
Obama, along with the simple caption, “Four more years.” His
short message quickly became the most shared tweet, with
more than eight hundred thousand retweets to date.

N iche N et works
One of the downsides of the more popular social networks is
that they are not tailored to specific interest groups. There-
fore, there is a good chance that if you are trying to get infor-
mation across to like-minded individuals, the message may
become buried in all the completely unrelated social chatter.
To fill this gap, there are numerous social networks that cater
to specific audiences.
Many of these niche networks offer the same functional-
ities as their major counterparts do, including the ability to
leave messages on someone’s profile, create and share photo
albums, and engage in group discussions. The site deviantArt,
for example, is a popular online community for artists that
allows them to network, build portfolios, and showcase their
work. This site allows artists to engage in discussions with
fellow artists, art dealers and buyers, and art enthusiasts. By
spreading their work among a community with a similar

15
Social Network–Powered Information Sharing

interest, members are able to increase the likelihood that

their art could be noticed by gallery owners, potential buyers,
and the art world press.

S ocial M edia S ites

Whereas social networks function to connect people and
generate interaction, social media Web sites offer a common
space for users to find and share digital media. Pinterest, for
instance, focuses solely on the sharing of images that mem-

Mobile devices, such as Apple’s iPad, make it possible for people

to access the Web while on the go. Social network and media
sites, such as YouTube, often create applications specifically for
tablets and smartphones.

16
 The Social Information Age

bers submit or post from around the Web. Pinners create

and share photo boards that range in subject matter from
wedding planning ideas and dinner recipes to vintage vinyl
records and comic books.
The popular video-sharing site YouTube allows people to
publically and privately post and discuss videos that can then
be shared on social networks, blogs, and Web sites. According
to the Web research company Alexa, YouTube was the third
most visited site on the Internet in 2012, giving the video
submissions of its users access to a large global audience.
Because of its popularity and the ability of some videos to
go viral, several musicians and bands, who might have gone
unnoticed otherwise, have gained large fan bases thanks to
YouTube. These musicians and bands have even been signed
to major record labels after having popular videos on the site.
Justin Bieber, for instance, became an international success
after his mom posted videos of his performances in 2007 that
later caught the eye of R&B singer Usher. YouTube is simi-
larly credited for the success of Carly Rae Jepsen, Gotye, OK
Go, Psy, and Rebecca Black.

A C onnected W eb of
S hared I nformation
In many cases, the sharing and spreading of information
through social networks no longer requires an individual to
be signed in at the site. Many Web sites now feature “sharing
buttons” that allow visitors to post links to pages or articles
directly onto their social networks with just one click of the

17
Social Network–Powered Information Sharing

mouse. The buttons, which are usually smaller versions of the

social networks’ logos, can be easily embedded into Web sites,
including personal blogs. This inclusion of social network
buttons on Web sites has become standard practice for indi-
viduals and organizations that want their content or message
to be capable of being easily spread and seen by more people.
As the adoption of features such as sharing buttons
works its way into the structure of Web sites, our ability
to spread information across multiple social networks and
to different audiences will become easier. This process of
sharing pages and information to our social networks from
across the Web also increases our potential to engage with
others and generate discussions. For example, when someone
clicks a Facebook “Like” button that is embedded in a page
on a site such as CNN.com, other users in that individual’s
Facebook network will then be able to see the particular
article the person has just viewed. They can then comment
on, like, and even share the article among their own connec-
tions. These friends will then share the content with their
other friends, and so on and so on. On a very large scale,
this is how a piece of content—a photo, an article, a song, a
video—can go viral.
To better illustrate how intertwined social networks have
become with the rest of the Web in recent years and the
enormous amount of information that is being spread and
shared, consider the Google + button. It can be found on
millions of Web pages and was used five billion times a day
in 2012.

18
 Tracking
the Local
Scene

W ith the increased 24/7 access to online technologies

and users’ ability to get their information on the Web
and through social networks, many traditional, local news-
papers have been forced to shut down the printing presses
for good. Even morning talk shows on the radio and evening
news broadcasts on television are being increasingly tuned
out and turned off. Once-loyal listeners and viewers can now
pick from a wide variety of podcasts that they can quickly
download or stream through iPods and smartphones. We
are in the midst of a changing world for the local citizen—
one where information about upcoming events, city council
meetings, job ads, and local news stories is increasingly being
gathered online.
Through social networks, you have the opportunity to
become a model citizen in your own community. There are
numerous ways in which you can harness your know-how
and skills in spreading information through social networks
to keep others informed about and actively involved in what
really matters in your community.

19
Other documents randomly have
different content
youths belonging to these callings to live with their parents and give
them the amount of their earnings.
The sewer-hunters are again distinct, and a far more intelligent and
adventurous class; but they work in gangs. They must be familiar
with the course of the tides, or they might be drowned at high
water. They must have quick eyes too, not merely to descry the
objects of their search, but to mark the points and bearings of the
subterraneous roads they traverse; in a word, “to know their way
underground.” There is, moreover, some spirit of daring in venturing
into a dark, solitary sewer, the chart being only in the memory, and
in braving the possibility of noxious vapours, and the by no means
insignificant dangers of the rats infesting these places.
The dredgermen, the finders of the water, are again distinct, as
being watermen, and working in boats. In some foreign parts, in
Naples, for instance, men carrying on similar pursuits are also divers
for anything lost in the bay or its confluent waters. One of these
men, known some years ago as “the Fish,” could remain (at least, so
say those whom there is no reason to doubt) three hours under the
water without rising to the surface to take breath. He was, it is said,
web-footed, naturally, and partially web-fingered. The King of the
Two Sicilies once threw a silver cup into the sea for “the Fish” to
bring up and retain as a reward, but the poor diver was never seen
again. It was believed that he got entangled among the weeds on
the rocks, and so perished. The dredgermen are necessarily well
acquainted with the sets of the tide and the course of the currents in
the Thames. Every one of these men works on his own account,
being as it were a “small master,” which, indeed, is one of the great
attractions of open-air pursuits. The dredgermen also depend for
their maintenance upon the sale of what they find, or the rewards
they receive.
It is otherwise, however, as was before observed, with the third class
of the street-finders, or rather collectors. In all the capacities of
dustmen, nightmen, scavengers, and sweeps, the employers of the
men are paid to do the work, the proceeds of the street-collection
forming only a portion of the employer’s remuneration. The sweep
has the soot in addition to his 6d. or 1s.; the master scavenger has a
payment from the parish funds to sweep the streets, though the
clearance of the cesspools, &c., in private houses, may be an
individual bargain. The whole refuse of the streets belongs to the
contractor to make the best of, but it must be cleared away, and so
must the contents of a dust-bin; for if a mass of dirt become
offensive, the householder may be indicted for a nuisance, and
municipal by-laws require its removal. It is thus made a matter of
compulsion that the dust be removed from a private house; but it is
otherwise with the soot. Why a man should be permitted to let soot
accumulate in his chimney—perhaps exposing himself, his family, his
lodgers, and his neighbours to the dangers of fire, it may not be
easy to account for, especially when we bear in mind that the same
man may not accumulate cabbage-leaves and fish-tails in his yard.
The dustmen are of the plodding class of labourers, mere labourers,
who require only bodily power, and possess little or no mental
development. Many of the agricultural labourers are of this order,
and the dustman often seems to be the stolid ploughman, modified
by a residence in a city, and engaged in a peculiar calling. They are
generally uninformed, and no few of them are dustmen because
their fathers were. The same may be said of nightmen and
scavengers. At one time it was a popular, or rather a vulgar notion
that many dustmen had become possessed of large sums, from the
plate, coins, and valuables they found in clearing the dust-bins—a
manifest absurdity; but I was told by a marine-store dealer that he
had known a young woman, a dustman’s daughter, sell silver spoons
to a neighbouring marine-store man, who was “not very particular.”
The circumstances and character of the chimney-sweeps have, since
Parliament “put down” the climbing boys, undergone considerable
change. The sufferings of many of the climbing boys were very
great. They were often ill-lodged, ill-fed, barely-clad, forced to
ascend hot and narrow flues, and subject to diseases—such as the
chimney-sweep’s cancer—peculiar to their calling. The child hated
his trade, and was easily tempted to be a thief, for prison was an
asylum; or he grew up a morose tyrannical fellow as journeyman or
master. Some of the young sweeps became very bold thieves and
house-breakers, and the most remarkable, as far as personal daring
is concerned: the boldest feat of escape from Newgate was
performed by a youth who had been brought up a chimney-sweep.
He climbed up the two bare rugged walls of a corner of the interior
of the prison, in the open air, to the height of some 60 feet. He had
only the use of his hands, knees, and feet, and a single slip, from
fear or pain, would have been death; he surmounted a parapet after
this climbing, and gained the roof, but was recaptured before he
could get clear away. He was, moreover, a sickly, and reputed a
cowardly, young man, and ended his career in this country by being
transported.
A master sweep, now in middle age, and a man “well to do,” told me
that when a mere child he had been apprenticed out of the
workhouse to a sweep, such being at that time a common
occurrence. He had undergone, he said, great hardships while
learning his business, and was long, from the indifferent character of
his class, ashamed of being a sweep, both as journeyman and
master; but the sweeps were so much improved in character now,
that he no longer felt himself disgraced in his calling.
The sweeps are more intelligent than the mere ordinary labourers I
have written of under this head, but they are, of course, far from
being an educated body.
The further and more minute characteristics of the curious class of
street-finders or collectors will be found in the particular details and
statements.
Among the finders there is perhaps the greatest poverty existing,
they being the very lowest class of all the street-people. Many of the
very old live on the hard dirty crusts they pick up out of the roads in
the course of their rounds, washing them and steeping them in
water before they eat them. Probably that vacuity of mind which is a
distinguishing feature of the class is the mere atony or emaciation of
the mental faculties proceeding from—though often producing in the
want of energy that it necessarily begets—the extreme
wretchedness of the class. But even their liberty and a crust—as it
frequently literally is—appears preferable to these people to the
restrictions of the workhouse. Those who are unable to comprehend
the inertia of both body and mind begotten by the despair of long-
continued misfortune are referred to page 357 of the first volume of
this work, where it will be found that a tinman, in speaking of the
misery connected with the early part of his street-career, describes
the effect of extreme want as producing not only an absence of all
hope, but even of a desire to better the condition. Those, however,
who have studied the mysterious connection between body and
mind, and observed what different creatures they themselves are
before and after dinner, can well understand that a long-continued
deficiency of food must have the same weakening effect on the
muscles of the mind and energy of the thoughts and will, as it has
on the limbs themselves.
Occasionally it will be found that the utter abjectness of the bone-
grubbers has arisen from the want of energy begotten by
intemperate habits. The workman has nothing but this same energy
to live upon, and the permanent effect of stimulating liquors is to
produce an amount of depression corresponding to the excitement
momentarily caused by them in the frame. The operative, therefore,
who spends his earnings on “drink,” not only squanders them on a
brutalising luxury, but deprives himself of the power, and
consequently of the disposition, to work for more, and hence that
idleness, carelessness, and neglect which are the distinctive qualities
of the drunkard, and sooner or later compass his ruin.
For the poor wretched children who are reared to this the lowest
trade of all, surely even the most insensible and unimaginative must
feel the acutest pity. There is, however, this consolation: I have
heard of none, with the exception of the more prosperous sewer-
hunters and dredgermen, who have remained all their lives at street-
finding. Still there remains much to be done by all those who are
impressed with a sense of the trust that has been confided to them,
in the possession of those endowments which render their lot in this
world so much more easy than that of the less lucky street-finders.

Bone-Grubbers and Rag-Gatherers.

The habits of the bone-grubbers and rag-gatherers, the “pure,” or
dogs’-dung collectors, and the cigar-end finders, are necessarily
similar. All lead a wandering, unsettled sort of life, being compelled
to be continually on foot, and to travel many miles every day in
search of the articles in which they deal. They seldom have any fixed
place of abode, and are mostly to be found at night in one or other
of the low lodging-houses throughout London. The majority are,
moreover, persons who have been brought up to other
employments, but who from some failing or mishap have been
reduced to such a state of distress that they were obliged to take to
their present occupation, and have never after been able to get
away from it.
Of the whole class it is considered that there are from 800 to 1000
resident in London, one-half of whom, at the least, sleep in the
cheap lodging-houses. The Government returns estimate the
number of mendicants’ lodging-houses in London to be upwards of
200. Allowing two bone-grubbers and pure-finders to frequent each
of these lodging-houses, there will be upwards of 400 availing
themselves of such nightly shelters. As many more, I am told, live in
garrets and ill-furnished rooms in the lowest neighbourhoods. There
is no instance on record of any of the class renting even the smallest
house for himself.
Moreover there are in London during the winter a number of persons
called “trampers,” who employ themselves at that season in street-
finding. These people are in the summer country labourers of some
sort, but as soon as the harvest and potato-getting and hop-picking
are over, and they can find nothing else to do in the country, they
come back to London to avail themselves of the shelter of the night
asylums or refuges for the destitute (usually called “straw-yards” by
the poor), for if they remained in the provinces at that period of the
year they would be forced to have recourse to the unions, and as
they can only stay one night in each place they would be obliged to
travel from ten to fifteen miles per day, to which in the winter they
have a strong objection. They come up to London in the winter, not
to look for any regular work or employment, but because they know
that they can have a nightly shelter, and bread night and morning
for nothing, during that season, and can during the day collect
bones, rags, &c. As soon as the “straw-yards” close, which is
generally about the beginning of April, the “trampers” again start off
to the country in small bands of two or three, and without any fixed
residence keep wandering about all the summer, sometimes begging
their way through the villages and sleeping in the casual wards of
the unions, and sometimes, when hard driven, working at hay-
making or any other light labour.
 THE BONE-GRUBBER.
[From a Daguerreotype by Beard.]

Those among the bone-grubbers who do not belong to the regular

“trampers” have been either navvies, or men who have not been
able to obtain employment at their own business, and have been
driven to it by necessity as a means of obtaining a little bread for the
time being, and without any intention of pursuing the calling
regularly; but, as I have said, when once in the business they cannot
leave it, for at least they make certain of getting a few halfpence by
it, and their present necessity does not allow them time to look after
other employment. There are many of the street-finders who are old
men and women, and many very young children who have no other
means of living. Since the famine in Ireland vast numbers of that
unfortunate people, particularly boys and girls, have been engaged
in gathering bones and rags in the streets.
The bone-picker and rag-gatherer may be known at once by the
greasy bag which he carries on his back. Usually he has a stick in his
hand, and this is armed with a spike or hook, for the purpose of
more easily turning over the heaps of ashes or dirt that are thrown
out of the houses, and discovering whether they contain anything
that is saleable at the rag-and-bottle or marine-store shop. The
bone-grubber generally seeks out the narrow back streets, where
dust and refuse are cast, or where any dust-bins are accessible. The
articles for which he chiefly searches are rags and bones—rags he
prefers—but waste metal, such as bits of lead, pewter, copper, brass,
or old iron, he prizes above all. Whatever he meets with that he
knows to be in any way saleable he puts into the bag at his back. He
often finds large lumps of bread which have been thrown out as
waste by the servants, and occasionally the housekeepers will give
him some bones on which there is a little meat remaining; these
constitute the morning meal of most of the class. One of my
informants had a large rump of beef bone given to him a few days
previous to my seeing him, on which “there was not less than a
pound of meat.”
The bone-pickers and rag-gatherers are all early risers. They have all
their separate beats or districts, and it is most important to them
that they should reach their district before any one else of the same
class can go over the ground. Some of the beats lie as far as
Peckham, Clapham, Hammersmith, Hampstead, Bow, Stratford, and
indeed all parts within about five miles of London. In summer time
they rise at two in the morning, and sometimes earlier. It is not quite
light at this hour—but bones and rags can be discovered before
daybreak. The “grubbers” scour all quarters of London, but abound
more particularly in the suburbs. In the neighbourhood of Petticoat-
lane and Ragfair, however, they are the most numerous on account
of the greater quantity of rags which the Jews have to throw out. It
usually takes the bone-picker from seven to nine hours to go over
his rounds, during which time he travels from 20 to 30 miles with a
quarter to a half hundredweight on his back. In the summer he
usually reaches home about eleven of the day, and in the winter
about one or two. On his return home he proceeds to sort the
contents of his bag. He separates the rags from the bones, and
these again from the old metal (if he be lucky enough to have found
any). He divides the rags into various lots, according as they are
white or coloured; and if he have picked up any pieces of canvas or
sacking, he makes these also into a separate parcel. When he has
finished the sorting he takes his several lots to the rag-shop or the
marine-store dealer, and realizes upon them whatever they may be
worth. For the white rags he gets from 2d. to 3d. per pound,
according as they are clean or soiled. The white rags are very
difficult to be found; they are mostly very dirty, and are therefore
sold with the coloured ones at the rate of about 5 lbs. for 2d. The
bones are usually sold with the coloured rags at one and the same
price. For fragments of canvas or sacking the grubber gets about
three-farthings a pound; and old brass, copper, and pewter about
4d. (the marine-store keepers say 5d.), and old iron one farthing per
pound, or six pounds for 1d. The bone-grubber thinks he has done
an excellent day’s work if he can earn 8d.; and some of them,
especially the very old and the very young, do not earn more than
from 2d. to 3d. a day. To make 10d. a day, at the present price of
rags and bones, a man must be remarkably active and strong,—“ay!
and lucky, too,” adds my informant. The average amount of
earnings, I am told, varies from about 6d. to 8d. per day, or from 3s.
to 4s. a week; and the highest amount that a man, the most brisk
and persevering at the business, can by any possibility earn in one
week is about 5s., but this can only be accomplished by great good
fortune and industry—the usual weekly gains are about half that
sum. In bad weather the bone-grubber cannot do so well, because
the rags are wet, and then they cannot sell them. The majority pick
up bones only in wet weather; those who do gather rags during or
after rain are obliged to wash and dry them before they can sell
them. The state of the shoes of the rag and bone-picker is a very
important matter to him; for if he be well shod he can get quickly
over the ground; but he is frequently lamed, and unable to make
any progress from the blisters and gashes on his feet, occasioned by
the want of proper shoes.
Sometimes the bone-grubbers will pick up a stray sixpence or a
shilling that has been dropped in the street. “The handkerchief I
have round my neck,” said one whom I saw, “I picked up with 1s. in
the corner. The greatest prize I ever found was the brass cap of the
nave of a coach-wheel; and I did once find a quarter of a pound of
tobacco in Sun-street, Bishopsgate. The best bit of luck of all that I
ever had was finding a cheque for 12l. 15s. lying in the gateway of
the mourning-coach yard in Titchborne-street, Haymarket. I was
going to light my pipe with it, indeed I picked it up for that purpose,
and then saw it was a cheque. It was on the London and County
Bank, 21, Lombard-street. I took it there, and got 10s. for finding it.
I went there in my rags, as I am now, and the cashier stared a bit at
me. The cheque was drawn by a Mr. Knibb, and payable to a Mr.
Cox. I did think I should have got the odd 15s. though.”
It has been stated that the average amount of the earnings of the
bone-pickers is 6d. per day, or 3s. per week, being 7l. 16s. per
annum for each person. It has also been shown that the number of
persons engaged in the business may be estimated at about 800;
hence the earnings of the entire number will amount to the sum of
20l. per day, or 120l. per week, which gives 6240l. as the annual
earnings of the bone-pickers and rag-gatherers of London. It may
also be computed that each of the grubbers gathers on an average
20 lbs. weight of bone and rags; and reckoning the bones to
constitute three-fourths of the entire weight, we thus find that the
gross quantity of these articles gathered by the street-finders in the
course of the year, amounts to 3,744,000 lbs. of bones, and
1,240,000 lbs. of rags.
Between the London and St. Katherine’s Docks and Rosemary Lane,
there is a large district inter-laced with narrow lanes, courts, and
alleys ramifying into each other in the most intricate and disorderly
manner, insomuch that it would be no easy matter for a stranger to
work his way through the interminable confusion without the aid of a
guide, resident in and well conversant with the locality. The houses
are of the poorest description, and seem as if they tumbled into their
places at random. Foul channels, huge dust-heaps, and a variety of
other unsightly objects, occupy every open space, and dabbling
among these are crowds of ragged dirty children who grub and
wallow, as if in their native element. None reside in these places but
the poorest and most wretched of the population, and, as might
almost be expected, this, the cheapest and filthiest locality of
London, is the head-quarters of the bone-grubbers and other street-
finders. I have ascertained on the best authority, that from the
centre of this place, within a circle of a mile in diameter, there dwell
not less than 200 persons of this class. In this quarter I found a
bone-grubber who gave me the following account of himself:—
“I was born in Liverpool, and when about 14 years of age, my father
died. He used to work about the Docks, and I used to run on
errands for any person who wanted me. I managed to live by this
after my father’s death for three or four years. I had a brother older
than myself, who went to France to work on the railroads, and when
I was about 18 he sent for me, and got me to work with himself on
the Paris and Rouen Railway, under McKenzie and Brassy, who had
the contract. I worked on the railroads in France for four years, till
the disturbance broke out, and then we all got notice to leave the
country. I lodged at that time with a countryman, and had 12l.,
which I had saved out of my earnings. This sum I gave to my
countryman to keep for me till we got to London, as I did not like to
have it about me, for fear I’d lose it. The French people paid our fare
from Rouen to Havre by the railway, and there put us on board a
steamer to Southampton. There was about 50 of us altogether.
When we got to Southampton, we all went before the mayor; we
told him about how we had been driven out of France, and he gave
us a shilling a piece; he sent some one with us, too, to get us a
lodging, and told us to come again the next day. In the morning the
mayor gave every one who was able to walk half-a-crown, and for
those who were not able he paid their fare to London on the
railroad. I had a sore leg at the time, and I came up by the train,
and when I gave up my ticket at the station, the gentleman gave me
a shilling more. I couldn’t find the man I had given my money to,
because he had walked up; and I went before the Lord Mayor to ask
his advice; he gave me 2s. 6d. I looked for work everywhere, but
could get nothing to do; and when the 2s. 6d. was all spent, I heard
that the man who had my money was on the London and York
Railway in the country; however, I couldn’t get that far for want of
money then; so I went again before the Lord Mayor, and he gave me
two more, but told me not to trouble him any further. I told the Lord
Mayor about the money, and then he sent an officer with me, who
put me into a carriage on the railway. When I got down to where the
man was at work, he wouldn’t give me a farthing; I had given him
the money without any witness bring present, and he said I could do
nothing, because it was done in another country. I staid down there
more than a week trying to get work on the railroad, but could not. I
had no money and was nearly starved, when two or three took pity
on me, and made up four or five shillings for me, to take me back
again to London. I tried all I could to get something to do, till the
money was nearly gone; and then I took to selling lucifers, and the
fly-papers that they use in the shops, and little things like that; but I
could do no good at this work, there was too many at it before me,
and they knew more about it than I did. At last, I got so bad off I
didn’t know what to do; but seeing a great many about here
gathering bones and rags, I thought I’d do so too—a poor fellow
must do something. I was advised to do so, and I have been at it
ever since. I forgot to tell you that my brother died in France. We
had good wages there, four francs a day, or 3s. 4d. English; I don’t
make more than 3d. or 4d. and sometimes 6d. a day at bone-
picking. I don’t go out before daylight to gather anything, because
the police takes my bag and throws all I’ve gathered about the
street to see if I have anything stolen in it. I never stole anything in
all my life, indeed I’d do anything before I’d steal. Many a night I’ve
slept under an arch of the railway when I hadn’t a penny to pay for
my bed; but whenever the police find me that way, they make me
and the rest get up, and drive us on, and tell us to keep moving. I
don’t go out on wet days, there’s no use in it, as the things won’t be
bought. I can’t wash and dry them, because I’m in a lodging-house.
There’s a great deal more than a 100 bone-pickers about here, men,
women, and children. The Jews in this lane and up in Petticoat-lane
give a good deal of victuals away on the Saturday. They sometimes
call one of us in from the street to light the fire for them, or take off
the kettle, as they must not do anything themselves on the Sabbath;
and then they put some food on the footpath, and throw rags and
bones into the street for us, because they must not hand anything to
us. There are some about here who get a couple of shillings’ worth
of goods, and go on board the ships in the Docks, and exchange
them for bones and bits of old canvas among the sailors; I’d buy and
do so too if I only had the money, but can’t get it. The summer is
the worst time for us, the winter is much better, for there is more
meat used in winter, and then there are more bones.” (Others say
differently.) “I intend to go to the country this season, and try to get
something to do at the hay-making and harvest. I make about 2s.
6d. a week, and the way I manage is this: sometimes I get a piece
of bread about 12 o’clock, and I make my breakfast of that and cold
water; very seldom I have any dinner,—unless I earn 6d. I can’t get
any,—and then I have a basin of nice soup, or a penn’orth of plum-
pudding and a couple of baked ’tatoes. At night I get ¼d. worth of
coffee, ½d. worth of sugar, and 1¼d. worth of bread, and then I
have 2d. a night left for my lodging; I always try to manage that, for
I’d do anything sooner than stop out all night. I’m always happy the
day when I make 4d., for then I know I won’t have to sleep in the
street. The winter before last, there was a straw-yard down in Black
Jack’s-alley, where we used to go after six o’clock in the evening,
and get ½ lb. of bread, and another ½ lb. in the morning, and then
we’d gather what we could in the daytime and buy victuals with
what we got for it. We were well off then, but the straw-yard wasn’t
open at all last winter. There used to be 300 of us in there of a
night, a great many of the dock-labourers and their families were
there, for no work was to be got in the docks; so they weren’t able
to pay rent, and were obliged to go in. I’ve lost my health since I
took to bone-picking, through the wet and cold in the winter, for I’ve
scarcely any clothes, and the wet gets to my feet through the old
shoes; this caused me last winter to be nine weeks in the hospital of
the Whitechapel workhouse.”
The narrator of this tale seemed so dejected and broken in spirit,
that it was with difficulty his story was elicited from him. He was
evidently labouring under incipient consumption. I have every reason
to believe that he made a truthful statement,—indeed, he did not
appear to me to have sufficient intellect to invent a falsehood. It is a
curious fact, indeed, with reference to the London street-finders
generally, that they seem to possess less rational power than any
other class. They appear utterly incapable of trading even in the
most trifling commodities, probably from the fact that buying articles
for the purpose of selling them at a profit, requires an exercise of
the mind to which they feel themselves incapable. Begging, too,
requires some ingenuity or tact, in order to move the sympathies of
the well-to-do, and the street-finders being incompetent for this,
they work on day after day as long as they are able to crawl about in
pursuit of their unprofitable calling. This cannot be fairly said of the
younger members of this class, who are sent into the streets by their
parents, and many of whom are afterwards able to find some more
reputable and more lucrative employment. As a body of people,
however, young and old, they mostly exhibit the same stupid, half-
witted appearance.
To show how bone-grubbers occasionally manage to obtain shelter
during the night, the following incident may not be out of place. A
few mornings past I accidentally encountered one of this class in a
narrow back lane; his ragged coat—the colour of the rubbish among
which he toiled—was greased over, probably with the fat of the
bones he gathered, and being mixed with the dust it seemed as if
the man were covered with bird-lime. His shoes—torn and tied on
his feet with pieces of cord—had doubtlessly been picked out of
some dust-bin, while his greasy bag and stick unmistakably
announced his calling. Desirous of obtaining all the information
possible on this subject, I asked him a few questions, took his
address, which he gave without hesitation, and bade him call on me
in the evening. At the time appointed, however, he did not appear;
on the following day therefore I made way to the address he had
given, and on reaching the spot I was astonished to find the house
in which he had said he lived was uninhabited. A padlock was on the
door, the boards of which were parting with age. There was not a
whole pane of glass in any of the windows, and the frames of many
of them were shattered or demolished. Some persons in the
neighbourhood, noticing me eyeing the place, asked whom I
wanted. On my telling the man’s name, which it appeared he had
not dreamt of disguising, I was informed that he had left the day
before, saying he had met the landlord in the morning (for such it
turned out he had fancied me to be), and that the gentleman had
wanted him to come to his house, but he was afraid to go lest he
should be sent to prison for breaking into the place. I found, on
inspection, that the premises, though locked up, could be entered by
the rear, one of the window-frames having been removed, so that
admission could be obtained through the aperture. Availing myself of
the same mode of ingress, I proceeded to examine the premises.
Nothing could well be more dismal or dreary than the interior. The
floors were rotting with damp and mildew, especially near the
windows, where the wet found easy entrance. The walls were even
slimy and discoloured, and everything bore the appearance of
desolation. In one corner was strewn a bundle of dirty straw, which
doubtlessly had served the bone-grubber for a bed, while scattered
about the floor were pieces of bones, and small fragments of dirty
rags, sufficient to indicate the calling of the late inmate. He had had
but little difficulty in removing his property, seeing that it consisted
solely of his bag and his stick.
The following paragraph concerning the chiffoniers or rag-gatherers
of Paris appeared in the London journals a few weeks since:—
“The fraternal association of rag-gatherers (chiffoniers) gave a grand
banquet on Saturday last (21st of June). It took place at a public-
house called the Pot Tricolore, near the Barrière de Fontainbleau,
which is frequented by the rag-gathering fraternity. In this house
there are three rooms, each of which is specially devoted to the use
of different classes of rag-gatherers: one, the least dirty, is called the
‘Chamber of Peers,’ and is occupied by the first class—that is, those
who possess a basket in a good state, and a crook ornamented with
copper; the second, called the ‘Chamber of Deputies,’ belonging to
the second class, is much less comfortable, and those who attend it
have baskets and crooks not of first-rate quality; the third room is in
a dilapidated condition, and is frequented by the lowest class of rag-
gatherers who have no basket or crook, and who place what they
find in the streets in a piece of sackcloth. They call themselves the
‘Réunion des Vrais Prolétaires.’ The name of each room is written in
chalk above the door; and generally such strict etiquette is observed
among the rag-gatherers that no one goes into the apartment not
occupied by his own class. At Saturday’s banquet, however, all
distinctions of rank were laid aside, and delegates of each class
united fraternally. The president was the oldest rag-gatherer in Paris;
his age is 88, and he is called ‘the Emperor.’ The banquet consisted
of a sort of olla podrida, which the master of the establishment
pompously called gibelotte, though of what animal it was composed
it was impossible to say. It was served up in huge earthen dishes,
and before it was allowed to be touched payment was demanded
and obtained; the other articles were also paid for as soon as they
were brought in; and a deposit was exacted as a security for the
plates, knives, and forks. The wine, or what did duty as such, was
contained in an earthen pot called the Petit Père Noir, and was filled
from a gigantic vessel named Le Moricaud. The dinner was
concluded by each guest taking a small glass of brandy. Business
was then proceeded to. It consisted in the reading and adoption of
the statutes of the association, followed by the drinking of numerous
toasts to the president, to the prosperity of rag-gathering, to the
union of rag-gatherers, &c. A collection amounting to 6f. 75c. was
raised for sick members of the fraternity. The guests then dispersed;
but several of them remained at the counter until they had
consumed in brandy the amount deposited as security for the
crockery, knives, and forks.”

Of the “Pure”-Finders.
Dogs’-dung is called “Pure,” from its cleansing and purifying
properties.
The name of “Pure-finders,” however, has been applied to the men
engaged in collecting dogs’-dung from the public streets only, within
the last 20 or 30 years. Previous to this period there appears to have
been no men engaged in the business, old women alone gathered
the substance, and they were known by the name of “bunters,”
which signifies properly gatherers of rags; and thus plainly intimates
that the rag-gatherers originally added the collecting of “Pure” to
their original and proper vocation. Hence it appears that the bone-
grubbers, rag-gatherers, and pure-finders, constituted formerly but
one class of people, and even now they have, as I have stated,
kindred characteristics.
The pure-finders meet with a ready market for all the dogs’-dung
they are able to collect, at the numerous tanyards in Bermondsey,
where they sell it by the stable-bucket full, and get from 8d. to 10d.
per bucket, and sometimes 1s. and 1s. 2d. for it, according to its
quality. The “dry limy-looking sort” fetches the highest price at some
yards, as it is found to possess more of the alkaline, or purifying
properties; but others are found to prefer the dark moist quality.
Strange as it may appear, the preference for a particular kind has
suggested to the finders of Pure the idea of adulterating it to a very
considerable extent; this is effected by means of mortar broken
away from old walls, and mixed up with the whole mass, which it
closely resembles; in some cases, however, the mortar is rolled into
small balls similar to those found. Hence it would appear, that there
is no business or trade, however insignificant or contemptible,
without its own peculiar and appropriate tricks.
The pure-finders are in their habits and mode of proceeding nearly
similar to the bone-grubbers. Many of the pure-finders are, however,
better in circumstances, the men especially, as they earn more
money. They are also, to a certain extent, a better educated class.
Some of the regular collectors of this substance have been
mechanics, and others small tradesmen, who have been reduced.
Those pure-finders who have “a good connection,” and have been
granted permission to cleanse some kennels, obtain a very fair living
at the business, earning from 10s. to 15s. a week. These, however,
are very few; the majority have to seek the article in the streets, and
by such means they can obtain only from 6s. to 10s. a week. The
average weekly earnings of this class are thought to be about 7s.
6d.
From all the inquiries I have made on this subject, I have found that
there cannot be less than from 200 to 300 persons constantly
engaged solely in this business. There are about 30 tanyards large
and small in Bermondsey, and these all have their regular Pure
collectors from whom they obtain the article. Leomont and Roberts’s,
Bavingtons’, Beech’s, Murrell’s, Cheeseman’s, Powell’s, Jones’s,
Jourdans’, Kent’s, Moorcroft’s, and Davis’s, are among the largest
establishments, and some idea of the amount of business done in
some of these yards may be formed from the fact, that the
proprietors severally employ from 300 to 500 tanners. At Leomont
and Roberts’s there are 23 regular street-finders, who supply them
with pure, but this is a large establishment, and the number
supplying them is considered far beyond the average quantity;
moreover, Messrs. Leomont and Roberts do more business in the
particular branch of tanning in which the article is principally used,
viz., in dressing the leather for book-covers, kid-gloves, and a variety
of other articles. Some of the other tanyards, especially the smaller
ones, take the substance only as they happen to want it, and others
again employ but a limited number of hands. If, therefore, we strike
an average, and reduce the number supplying each of the several
yards to eight, we shall have 240 persons regularly engaged in the
business: besides these, it may be said that numbers of the starving
and destitute Irish have taken to picking up the material, but not
knowing where to sell it, or how to dispose of it, they part with it for
2d. or 3d. the pail-full to the regular purveyors of it to the tanyards,
who of course make a considerable profit by the transaction. The
children of the poor Irish are usually employed in this manner, but
they also pick up rags and bones, and anything else which may fall
in their way.
I have stated that some of the pure-finders, especially the men, earn
a considerable sum of money per week; their gains are sometimes
as much as 15s.; indeed I am assured that seven years ago, when
they got from 3s. to 4s. per pail for the pure, that many of them
would not exchange their position with that of the best paid
mechanic in London. Now, however, the case is altered, for there are
twenty now at the business for every one who followed it then;
hence each collects so much the less in quantity, and, moreover,
from the competition gets so much less for the article. Some of the
collectors at present do not earn 3s. per week, but these are mostly
old women who are feeble and unable to get over the ground
quickly; others make 5s. and 6s. in the course of the week, while the
most active and those who clean out the kennels of the dog fanciers
may occasionally make 9s. and 10s. and even 15s. a week still, but
this is of very rare occurrence. Allowing the finders, one with the
other, to earn on an average 5s. per week, it would give the annual
earnings of each to be 13l., while the income of the whole 200
would amount to 50l. a week, or 2600l. per annum. The kennel
“pure” is not much valued, indeed many of the tanners will not even
buy it, the reason is that the dogs of the “fanciers” are fed on almost
anything, to save expense; the kennel cleaners consequently take
the precaution of mixing it with what is found in the street, previous
to offering it for sale.
The pure-finder may at once be distinguished from the bone-grubber
and rag-gatherer; the latter, as I have before mentioned, carries a
bag, and usually a stick armed with a spike, while he is most
frequently to be met with in back streets, narrow lanes, yards and
other places, where dust and rubbish are likely to be thrown out
from the adjacent houses. The pure-finder, on the contrary, is often
found in the open streets, as dogs wander where they like. The
pure-finders always carry a handle basket, generally with a cover, to
hide the contents, and have their right hand covered with a black
leather glove; many of them, however, dispense with the glove, as
they say it is much easier to wash their hands than to keep the glove
fit for use. The women generally have a large pocket for the
reception of such rags as they may chance to fall in with, but they
pick up those only of the very best quality, and will not go out of
their way to search even for them. Thus equipped they may be seen
pursuing their avocation in almost every street in and about London,
excepting such streets as are now cleansed by the “street orderlies,”
of whom the pure-finders grievously complain, as being an
unwarrantable interference with the privileges of their class.
The pure collected is used by leather-dressers and tanners, and
more especially by those engaged in the manufacture of morocco
and kid leather from the skins of old and young goats, of which skins
great numbers are imported, and of the roans and lambskins which
are the sham morocco and kids of the “slop” leather trade, and are
used by the better class of shoemakers, bookbinders, and glovers,
for the inferior requirements of their business. Pure is also used by
tanners, as is pigeon’s dung, for the tanning of the thinner kinds of
leather, such as calf-skins, for which purpose it is placed in pits with
an admixture of lime and bark.
In the manufacture of moroccos and roans the pure is rubbed by the
hands of the workman into the skin he is dressing. This is done to
“purify” the leather, I was told by an intelligent leather-dresser, and
from that term the word “pure” has originated. The dung has
astringent as well as highly alkaline, or, to use the expression of my
informant, “scouring,” qualities. When the pure has been rubbed into
the flesh and grain of the skin (the “flesh” being originally the
interior, and the “grain” the exterior part of the cuticle), and the
skin, thus purified, has been hung up to be dried, the dung removes,
as it were, all such moisture as, if allowed to remain, would tend to
make the leather unsound or imperfectly dressed. This imperfect
dressing, moreover, gives a disagreeable smell to the leather—and
leather-buyers often use both nose and tongue in making their
purchases—and would consequently prevent that agreeable odour
being imparted to the skin which is found in some kinds of morocco
and kid. The peculiar odour of the Russia leather, so agreeable in the
libraries of the rich, is derived from the bark of young birch trees. It
is now manufactured in Bermondsey.
Among the morocco manufacturers, especially among the old
operatives, there is often a scarcity of employment, and they then
dress a few roans, which they hawk to the cheap warehouses, or sell
to the wholesale shoemakers on their own account. These men
usually reside in small garrets in the poorer parts of Bermondsey,
and carry on their trade in their own rooms, using and keeping the
pure there; hence the “homes” of these poor men are peculiarly
uncomfortable, if not unhealthy. Some of these poor fellows or their
wives collect the pure themselves, often starting at daylight for the
purpose; they more frequently, however, buy it of a regular finder.
The number of pure-finders I heard estimated, by a man well
acquainted with the tanning and other departments of the leather
trade, at from 200 to 250. The finders, I was informed by the same
person, collected about a pail-full a day, clearing 6s. a week in the
summer—1s. and 1s. 2d. being the charge for a pail-full; in the short
days of winter, however, and in bad weather, they could not collect
five pail-fulls in a week.
In the wretched locality already referred to as lying between the
Docks and Rosemary-lane, redolent of filth and pregnant with
pestilential diseases, and whither all the outcasts of the metropolitan
population seem to be drawn, either in the hope of finding fitting
associates and companions in their wretchedness (for there is
doubtlessly something attractive and agreeable to them in such
companionship), or else for the purpose of hiding themselves and
their shifts and struggles for existence from the world,—in this
dismal quarter, and branching from one of the many narrow lanes
which interlace it, there is a little court with about half-a-dozen
houses of the very smallest dimensions, consisting of merely two
rooms, one over the other. Here in one of the upper rooms (the
lower one of the same house being occupied by another family and
apparently filled with little ragged children), I discerned, after
considerable difficulty, an old woman, a Pure-finder. When I opened
the door the little light that struggled through the small window, the
many broken panes of which were stuffed with old rags, was not
sufficient to enable me to perceive who or what was in the room.
After a short time, however, I began to make out an old chair
standing near the fire-place, and then to discover a poor old woman
resembling a bundle of rags and filth stretched on some dirty straw
in the corner of the apartment. The place was bare and almost
naked. There was nothing in it except a couple of old tin kettles and
a basket, and some broken crockeryware in the recess of the
window. To my astonishment I found this wretched creature to be,
to a certain extent, a “superior” woman; she could read and write
well, spoke correctly, and appeared to have been a person of natural
good sense, though broken up with age, want, and infirmity, so that
she was characterized by all that dull and hardened stupidity of
manner which I have noticed in the class. She made the following
statement:—
“I am about 60 years of age. My father was a milkman, and very
well off; he had a barn and a great many cows. I was kept at school
till I was thirteen or fourteen years of age; about that time my father
died, and then I was taken home to help my mother in the business.
After a while things went wrong; the cows began to die, and mother,
alleging she could not manage the business herself, married again. I
soon found out the difference. Glad to get away, anywhere out of
the house, I married a sailor, and was very comfortable with him for
some years; as he made short voyages, and was often at home, and
always left me half his pay. At last he was pressed, when at home
with me, and sent away; I forget now where he was sent to, but I
never saw him from that day to this. The only thing I know is that
some sailors came to me four or five years after, and told me that he
deserted from the ship in which he had gone out, and got on board
the Neptune, East Indiaman, bound for Bombay, where he acted as
boatswain’s mate; some little time afterwards, he had got intoxicated
while the ship was lying in harbour, and, going down the side to get
into a bumboat, and buy more drink, he had fallen overboard and
was drowned. I got some money that was due to him from the India
House, and, after that was all gone, I went into service, in the Mile-
end Road. There I stayed for several years, till I met my second
husband, who was bred to the water, too, but as a waterman on the
river. We did very well together for a long time, till he lost his health.
He became paralyzed like, and was deprived of the use of all one
side, and nearly lost the sight of one of his eyes; this was not very
conspicuous at first, but when we came to get pinched, and to be
badly off, then any one might have seen that there was something
the matter with his eye. Then we parted with everything we had in
the world; and, at last, when we had no other means of living left,
we were advised to take to gathering ‘Pure.’ At first I couldn’t endure
the business; I couldn’t bear to eat a morsel, and I was obliged to
discontinue it for a long time. My husband kept at it though, for he
could do that well enough, only he couldn’t walk as fast as he ought.
He couldn’t lift his hands as high as his head, but he managed to
work under him, and so put the Pure in the basket. When I saw that
he, poor fellow, couldn’t make enough to keep us both, I took heart
and went out again, and used to gather more than he did; that’s
fifteen years ago now; the times were good then, and we used to do
very well. If we only gathered a pail-full in the day, we could live
very well; but we could do much more than that, for there wasn’t
near so many at the business then, and the Pure was easier to be
had. For my part I can’t tell where all the poor creatures have come
from of late years; the world seems growing worse and worse every
day. They have pulled down the price of Pure, that’s certain; but the
poor things must do something, they can’t starve while there’s
anything to be got. Why, no later than six or seven years ago, it was
as high as 3s. 6d. and 4s. a pail-full, and a ready sale for as much of
it as you could get; but now you can only get 1s. and in some places
1s. 2d. a pail-full; and, as I said before, there are so many at it, that
there is not much left for a poor old creature like me to find. The
men that are strong and smart get the most, of course, and some of
them do very well, at least they manage to live. Six years ago, my
husband complained that he was ill, in the evening, and lay down in
the bed—we lived in Whitechapel then—he took a fit of coughing,
and was smothered in his own blood. O dear” (the poor old soul
here ejaculated), “what troubles I have gone through! I had eight
children at one time, and there is not one of them alive now. My
daughter lived to 30 years of age, and then she died in childbirth,
and, since then, I have had nobody in the wide world to care for me
—none but myself, all alone as I am. After my husband’s death I
couldn’t do much, and all my things went away, one by one, until
I’ve nothing but bare walls, and that’s the reason why I was vexed
at first at your coming in, sir. I was yesterday out all day, and went
round Aldgate, Whitechapel, St. George’s East, Stepney, Bow, and
Bromley, and then came home; after that, I went over to
Bermondsey, and there I got only 6d. for my pains. To-day I wasn’t
out at all; I wasn’t well; I had a bad headache, and I’m so much
afraid of the fevers that are all about here—though I don’t know why
I should be afraid of them—I was lying down, when you came, to
get rid of my pains. There’s such a dizziness in my head now, I feel
as if it didn’t belong to me. No, I have earned no money to-day. I
have had a piece of dried bread that I steeped in water to eat. I
haven’t eat anything else to-day; but, pray, sir, don’t tell anybody of
it. I could never bear the thought of going into the ‘great house’
[workhouse]; I’m so used to the air, that I’d sooner die in the street,
as many I know have done. I’ve known several of our people, who
have sat down in the street with their basket alongside them, and
died. I knew one not long ago, who took ill just as she was stooping
down to gather up the Pure, and fell on her face; she was taken to
the London Hospital, and died at three o’clock in the morning. I’d
sooner die like them than be deprived of my liberty, and be
prevented from going about where I liked. No, I’ll never go into the
workhouse; my master is kind to me” [the tanner whom she
supplies]. “When I’m ill, he sometimes gives me a sixpence; but
there’s one gentleman has done us great harm, by forcing so many
into the business. He’s a poor-law guardian, and when any poor
person applies for relief, he tells them to go and gather Pure, and
that he’ll buy it of them (for he’s in the line), and so the parish, you
see, don’t have to give anything, and that’s one way that so many
have come into the trade of late, that the likes of me can do little or
no good at it. Almost every one I’ve ever known engaged at Pure-
finding were people who were better off once. I knew a man who
went by the name of Brown, who picked up Pure for years before I
went to it; he was a very quiet man; he used to lodge in Blue
Anchor-yard, and seldom used to speak to anybody. We two used to
talk together sometimes, but never much. One morning he was
found dead in his bed; it was of a Tuesday morning, and he was
buried about 12 o’clock on the Friday following. About 6 o’clock on
that afternoon, three or four gentlemen came searching all through
this place, looking for a man named Brown, and offering a reward to
any who would find him out; there was a whole crowd about them
when I came up. One of the gentlemen said that the man they
wanted had lost the first finger of his right hand, and then I knew
that it was the man that had been buried only that morning. Would
you believe it, Mr. Brown was a real gentleman all the time, and had
a large estate, of I don’t know how many thousand pounds, just left
him, and the lawyers had advertised and searched everywhere for
him, but never found him, you may say, till he was dead. We
discovered that his name was not Brown; he had only taken that
name to hide his real one, which, of course, he did not want any one
to know. I’ve often thought of him, poor man, and all the misery he
might have been spared, if the good news had only come a year or
two sooner.”
Another informant, a Pure-collector, was originally in the Manchester
cotton trade, and held a lucrative situation in a large country
establishment. His salary one year exceeded 250l., and his regular
income was 150l. “This,” he says, “I lost through drink and neglect.
My master was exceedingly kind to me, and has even assisted me
since I left his employ. He bore with me patiently for many years,
but the love of drink was so strong upon me that it was impossible
for him to keep me any longer.” He has often been drunk, he tells
me, for three months together; and he is now so reduced that he is
ashamed to be seen. When at his master’s it was his duty to carve
and help the other assistants belonging to the establishment, and his
hand used to shake so violently that he has been ashamed to lift the
gravy spoon.
At breakfast he has frequently waited till all the young men had left
the table before he ventured to taste his tea; and immediately, when
he was alone, he has bent his head down to his cup to drink, being
utterly incapable of raising it to his lips. He says he is a living
example of the degrading influence of drink. All his friends have
deserted him. He has suffered enough, he tells me, to make him
give it up. He earned the week before I saw him 5s. 2d.; and the
week before that, 6s.
Before leaving me I prevailed upon the man to “take the pledge.”
This is now eighteen months ago, and I have not seen him since.

Of the Cigar-end Finders.

There are, strictly speaking, none who make a living by picking up
the ends of cigars thrown away as useless by the smokers in the
streets, but there are very many who employ themselves from time
to time in collecting them. Almost all the street-finders, when they
meet with such things, pick them up, and keep them in a pocket set
apart for that purpose. The men allow the ends to accumulate till
they amount to two or three pounds weight, and then some dispose
of them to a person residing in the neighbourhood of Rosemary-
lane, who buys them all up at from 6d. to 10d. per pound, according
to their length and quality. The long ends are considered the best, as
I am told there is more sound tobacco in them, uninjured by the
moisture of the mouth. The children of the poor Irish, in particular,
scour Ratcliff-highway, the Commercial-road, Mile-end-road, and all
the leading thoroughfares of the East, and every place where cigar
smokers are likely to take an evening’s promenade. The quantity
that each of them collects is very trifling indeed—perhaps not more
than a handful during a morning’s search. I am informed, by an
intelligent man living in the midst of them, that these children go out
in the morning not only to gather cigar-ends, but to pick up out of
dust bins, and from amongst rubbish in the streets, the smallest
scraps and crusts of bread, no matter how hard or filthy they may
be. These they put into a little bag which they carry for the purpose,
and, after they have gone their rounds and collected whatever they
can, they take the cigar-ends to the man who buys them—
sometimes getting not more than a halfpenny or a penny for their
morning’s collection. With this they buy a halfpenny or a pennyworth
of oatmeal, which they mix up with a large quantity of water, and
after washing and steeping the hard and dirty crusts, they put them
into the pot or kettle and boil all together. Of this mass the whole
family partake, and it often constitutes all the food they taste in the
course of the day. I have often seen the bone-grubbers eat the black
and soddened crusts they have picked up out of the gutter.
It would, indeed, be a hopeless task to make any attempt to get at
the number of persons who occasionally or otherwise pick up cigar-
ends with the view of selling them again. For this purpose almost all
who ransack the streets of London for a living may be computed as
belonging to the class; and to these should be added the children of
the thousands of destitute Irish who have inundated the metropolis
within the last few years, and who are to be found huddled together
in all the low neighbourhoods in every suburb of the City. What
quantity is collected, or the amount of money obtained for the ends,
there are no means of ascertaining.
Let us, however, make a conjecture. There are in round numbers
300,000 inhabited houses in the metropolis; and allowing the
married people living in apartments to be equal in number to the
unmarried “housekeepers,” we may compute that the number of
families in London is about the same as the inhabited houses.
Assuming one young or old gentleman in every ten of these families
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