Our precarious means were too small to permit us to rent a house, we
therefore rented one large room, which served us for--
"Parlor and kitchen and all!"
in the uppermost story of a house, containing about a dozen families.
This 'airy' apartment was situated in a narrow alley of great
thoroughfare, in the heart of the great metropolis.
The lower part of this domicile was occupied by one James, who did
'porter's work,' while his wife superintended the trade of a
miscellaneous store, called a green-grocer's; although the stock
comprised, besides a respectable skew of cabbages, carrots, lettuces, and
other things in season, a barrel of small beer, a side of bacon, a few
red herrings, a black looking can of 'new milk,' and those less
perishable articles, Warren's blacking, and Flanders' bricks; while the
window was graced with a few samples of common confectionary, celebrated
under the sweet names of lollypops, Buonaparte's ribs, and bulls'-eyes.
In one pane, by permission, was placed the sign board of my honored
parent, informing the reading public, that
'Repairs were neatly executed!'
In my mind's eye how distinctly do I behold that humble shop in all the
greenness and beauty of its Saturday morning's display.
Nor can I ever forget the kind dumpy motherly Mrs. James, who so often
patted my curly head, and presented me with a welcome slice of bread and
butter and a drink of milk, invariably repeating in her homely phrase, "a
child and a chicken is al'ays a pickin'"--and declaring her belief, that
the 'brat' got scarcely enough to "keep life and soul together"--the real
truth of which my craving stomach inwardly testified.
Talk of the charities of the wealthy, they are as 'airy nothings' in the
scale, compared with the unostentatious sympathy of the poor! The former
only give a portion of their excess, while the latter willingly divide
their humble crust with a fellow sufferer.
The agreeable routine of breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, was unknown
in our frugal establishment; if we obtained one good meal a day, under
any name, we were truly thankful.
To give some idea of our straitened circumstances, I must relate one
solitary instance of display on the maternal side. It was on a Saturday
night, the air and our appetites were equally keen, when my sire, having
unexpectedly touched a small sum, brought home a couple of pound of real
Epping. A scream of delight welcomed the savory morsel.
A fire was kindled, and the meat was presently hissing in the borrowed
frying-pan of our landlady.
I was already in bed, when the unusual sound and savor awoke me. I
rolled out in a twinkling, and squatting on the floor, watched the
culinary operations with greedy eyes.
"Tom," said my mother, addressing her spouse, "set open the door and
vinder, and let the neighbors smell ve has something respectable for
once."