The Sun.
London, England, 1868-12-04 00:00:00

BEHIND THE SCENES

There is a very amusing sketch in the New York TributW,
chewing how neatly beggars know how to " swindle"—
we can use no milder word—the benevolent out of theie
money:—" Some benevolent personswill perhaps recoiled
a poor miserable-looking man, who, with a placard, I.
am. Blind,' hanging on his breast, stood shivering in the
cold on Wednesday last under the windows of the
building on Broadway lately known as the Southern
Hotel. His eyes, one mass of inflamed sores, appeared
to suffer terribly from the piercing cold wind, and
attracted a good deal of pecuniary sympathy from the
pasrs by. Further down the Broadway, on the kerb-
stone near Canal-street, a poor woman was seated, soliciting
pennies from the charitable. She, too, had a placard
over her bosom announcing her blindness. At this
moment a drunken sailer came up, and saying, Come,
get up, old horse,' deliberately kicked the poor creature in
the side. Och, yer repthile yer ; how dar yer illthrate a
poor hould widdy, what's got seven chiller a stharvin at
home ?' moaned she, and began to cry piteously. A
reporter of the Tribune, who happened to be passing,
joined the bystanders in comforting the poor widdy,
who reaped a rich harvest from their contributions.
Now comes the strange part of the story. Our
reporter, who had a visit to pay in the Brandreth
House, close by, was astonished to witness on leaving pre-
cisely the same scene that occurred on his entrance an hour
before. Suspecting that all was not right, he lit a cigar,
bought a newspaper, and set himself to watch any further
proceedings. In three-quarters of an hour the farce was
played again, a little lower down the street, the same bru-
tality, the same Celtic remonstrances, and more stamps
from the bystanders. Determined to see more of this, he
repaired to the spot again about half-past five o'clock, and
found the poor blind widdy' preparing to go home, help-
lessly led by a little girl, who was most careful of her.
Following at a short distance, our reporter saw them
separate at the corner of Water-street, the woman tucking
her placard of blindness under her arm, and getting on
first-rate alone. She turned up one of_ the lone, narrow
places out of Water-street, and entered one of the lowest
class liqour stores in which that neighbourhood abounds,
wishing the landlord, a rosy-faced, sharp-eyed, tubby
little Dutchman, good evening' as she went in. Can
I have a glass of lager?' inquired her pursuer. Yah,
vark in,' replied the Dutchman. The reporter entered
boldly, and he found himself in a low, ill-lighted room,
filled with a nice selection from the habitues of the neigh-
bourhood. Judge, then, of his astonishment OA seeing at
the further end of the room his ' sore-eyed' friend from
under the windows of the Southern Hotel, his eyes look-
ing marvellously well, evidently cured by the action of a
basin of cold water and a piece of yellow soap, with a
glass of the crather ' steaming by his side, and dis-
cussing something out of the five o'clock edition of
the Daily News, with no less a person than the drunken
sailor.' What luck the day ?" Biddy, inquired
Sore eyes." Purty good, purty good, eh,
Mike ?' responded the poor victim of brutality, as she
knowingly leered at the drunken sailor,' and then
they all three laughed heartily, the little Dutch landlord,
who was evidently up to the job,' joining in. Thinking
discretion the better part of valour, our reporter paid for
his lager and walked out, deeming it imprudent to open
out in such a place. Of course, he now regrets that he did

not at the time call the attention of the police to the
woman, but be was anxious to see the little game played
out. He says the widdy ' must have realised the best part
of a dollar for every brutal kick.'"