A cheerful blind man, well known to all crossing Waterloo
or Hungerford-bridges, gave me the following account of his
figure-cutting:--
“I had the measles when I was seven, and became blind; but my sight
was restored by Dr. Jeffrey, at old St. George’s Hospital. After that
I had several relapses into total blindness in consequence of colds,
and since 1840 I have been quite blind, excepting that I can partially
distinguish the sun and the gas-lights, and such-like, with the left
eye only. I am now 31, and was brought up to house-painting. When I
was last attacked with blindness I was obliged to go into St. Martin’s
workhouse, where I underwent thirteen operations in two years. When
I came out of the workhouse I played the German flute in the street,
but it was only a noise, not music, sir. Then I sold boot-laces and
tapes in the street, and averaged 5_s._ a-week by it--certainly not
more. Next I made little wooden tobacco-stoppers in the street, in the
shape of legs--they’re called ‘legs.’ The first day I started in that
line--it was in Tottenham-court-road--I was quite elated, for I made
half-a-crown. I next tried it by St. Clement’s-church, but I found that
I cut my hands so with the knives and files, that I had to give it up,
and I then took up with the trade of cutting out profiles of animals
and birds, and grotesque human figures, in card. I established myself
soon after I began this trade by the Victoria-gate, Bayswater; that
was the best pitch I ever had--one day I took 15_s._, and I averaged
30_s._ a-week for six weeks. At last the inspector of police ordered
me off. After that I was shoved about by the police, such crowds
gathered round me, until I at length got leave to carry on my business
by Waterloo-bridge; that’s seven years ago. I remained there till the
opening of Hungerford-bridge, in May 1845. I sit there cold or fine,
winter or summer, every day but Sunday, or if I’m ill. I often hear
odd remarks from people crossing the bridge. In winter time, when
I’ve been cold and hungry, and so poor that I couldn’t get my clothes
properly mended, one has said, ‘Look at that poor blind man there;’ and
another (and oft enough, too) has answered, ‘Poor blind man!--he has
better clothes and more money than you or me; it’s all done to excite
pity!’ I can generally tell a gentleman’s or lady’s voice, if they’re
the real thing. I can tell a purse-proud man’s voice, too. He says, in
a domineering, hectoring way, as an ancient Roman might speak to his
slave, ‘Ah, ha! my good fellow! how do you sell these things?’ Since
January last, I may have averaged 8_s._ a-week--that’s the outside.
The working and the middling classes are my best friends. I know of no
other man in my particular line, and I’ve often inquired concerning
any.”