the most ragged man I had ever set eyes on,
with his matted hair a foot long. "Did you meet a gentleman on your
way?" he asked. "I did," said I; "and what of that?" "That man,"
said this ragged tramp, "was a thoroughbred. He saw me sitting here
and, without a word from either of us, he emptied his pocket into my
hand"--saying which he withdrew his fingers from the palm of his hand
and disclosed to my view three pennies. Now, here was a workhouse
tramp--for he was no other, or he would at once have stepped into
the road and accosted the gentleman--receiving unsolicited alms;
and I, who earned my living by the use of my tongue, must suffer in
consequence.

But the worst charge to be made against this class of vagrant is that
he does, by reason of his workhouse experience, look on common bread
as a luxury, and receives it with so many thanks, from the various
people on whom he calls, that these people soon become impressed
with the notion that dry bread can be applied with satisfaction as
a poultice in every case. In this way he spoils the road for good
beggars who, not going into workhouses, need coppers for their beds,
and who always make use of that indefinite term "something to eat,"
but would not, on any account, remind their hearers of "a crust of
dry bread."

Again, he spoils true beggars by his lack of system. A workhouse
tramp has not that energy and concentration which is required for
success. Sometimes he knocks at the first door in a street, after
which he walks to the next street, where he knocks at the middle
house, or perhaps the last; and, when the true beggar comes after
him, and beholds this timid fool running from side to side of a
street, he knows very well that the street is being spoiled, for
he cannot tell exactly where the other has been. In a case of this
kind it is best for the true, systematic beggar to go at once into
the next street, and it is not unlikely then but what he will soon
recognize the workhouse tramp at its other end. If the true beggar
had no other system than this--running 