Lancaster daily intelligencer. [volume] (Lancaster, Pa.) 1864-1928, 1881-08-16
Stump Pickers.
Shooting the Gutter Sn!pe.

Shooting the Gutter SD!pe.
New York Herald.
Swafthy of face, with a tangle of black
hair over hanging the sharp, bright eyes,
his garments uncoutb and ragged and his
equipments an old tin can, such is the fig
ure Of which humanitarian influence is try
ing to rid the city's thOroughfares. lie is
only child in years, but the pinched face
and the frightened timorous expression it
wears show he has tasted little of the
sweets of life and passes his days drudge,
with the dread Of blow ever before him.
Go about the markets where the refuse of
the stalls is scattered and you see the little
figure Gelving amoug the rubbish and
gathering carefully such fragments of
meats or fruits rs are least tainted and in-
pure. In retiring back streets and modest
lanes to which the big hotels extend from
the thoroughfares they front ON, he is vis-
ible at times sorting the contents of the
barrels into which slops of the kitchen are
empticd.
the later hours Of the evening that the lit
tie drudge performs his chief duties.
There he is about on the thoroughfares
themselves. ragged as before and bearing
his inevitable tin can, but he does pause
Or lounge about now. His way is over the
pavement and through the cutters, now
circling about the doorway of some sump-
tuous saloon, and again whipping into the
middle of the street among the hoofs Of
the horses and whirl and rumble of the
wheels. His eyes are always On the ground.
They only stray from it to guard against
his being trodden down. What he is in
quest of is there too, for by fits ::and starts
he pounces on some unsishtly fragment,
half hidden among the stones or almost
covered out of sight by tie dust and slush.
He picks up others from the saw dust of
liquor stores, from the garbage of tho
boxes, from the mud of the very cutters,
and all find their way into his tin can. A
glance into this vessel reveals brOwnish
unsavory mass, sprinkled with ashes and
mixed with dirt, ill Of odor and nauseous
to look upOn-nOthing more nor less than
decaying cigar stumps.
They have come from every quarter and
in every shape. There are bulky Reina
Victorias lying cheek by .jowl with weeds
born and bred in New Jersey cabbage
fields {; Henry Clays are there, with and
without the wrappers, sandwiched be-
tween the residue Of some plebeisn
scheroO:s weeds of every brand are inter-
mingled and intcrtwined, and all in
grea;cr or less stages of decomposition.
These are the treasures the ragged street
plOdder gathers, and his is tho calling
which, years ago, in the slang of the
streets. was dubbed butt picking" To
the ordinary resident of the city, familiar
with the argot Of the Gay, I" butt picking"
suggests only the act of the prematurely
prccOcions boy who asp:res to the use of
tho weed, eagerly utilizes the remnants of
more mature smokers cigars, and goes
putting about rs proud as a lord if he he
suffering from nausea.
But the little fellow with the tin can
does not gather the stumps for amusement.
1t is his regular occupation. He is en-
gagged in it daily, and upon the guam
tity lie collects depends the treatment
he will receive from his taskmastcr. When
music playing and begging were forbidden
by law the Italians who had children of
their own OF other peoples engaged with
harp Or violin or begging on the corners
turned their services to recount as stump
pickers.
"But what would they do with the
stumps?" is asked. Make cigarettes of
them, turn them into snuff, devote them
to score of kindred uses. The thought |
is not pleasant for smokers to indulge in,
but such reporter learned was the Gus !