“Faith, none,” rejoined Frank, “unless you deem such the curious specimens of division of labour which have been displayed here lately by the beggars and trampers. In former times, it was thought that one man might sell, if not make, many bundles of matches. Now, it is no uncommon thing for two men to be occupied in the sale of one bundle; in the same way, generally speaking, there are two to hawk one boot lace, and always two to buy a hare skin or a rabbit skin. Then, again, there are always two sailors, who have been ship-wrecked together, and saved together, and who have preserved from the wreck precisely the same things, viz. a very clean white shirt and white pair of trowsers, and for whom therefore one story serves when they ask your charity. I never in my life saw such a number of these vagabonds as now, and they beg in a tone which, in a bye-place, can hardly fail to alarm women, if not men. Seriously speaking, Gerald, though it may to you sound foolish to say so, I do not know what to make of these fellows; I cannot understand how they all exist, unless they have some secret mode of obtaining a livelihood, different from the ostensible one. I don’t half like them, and I do not think my better genius, Nanny Rudd, is more pleased with them than I am.” “Who the devil is Nanny Rudd, Frank?” said Henry. “Not to know Nanny,” continued Frank, “argues yourself unknown. She is the most important personage in the town, in the eyes at least of all the little boys and girls who play about its public walks. She is the queen of heart-cakes, and bulls-eyes, _et l’objet de mes plus tendres amours_. Do not be frightened, Gerald—she is a dear blind old Irish beggar-woman, the widow of a man of the name of Rudd, whose brother keeps that little ale-house, the Rose and Crown, as you enter the town by the London road. “Rudd was a private in the Guards, and went with them to Egypt under Abercromby, where he was wounded and died. She accompanied him thither, and nursed him till his death. She afterwards herself unfortunately caught the ophthalmia, and lost both her eyes. The officers and men, with whom she was a great favourite, brought her carefully to England, and by her own wish settled her in this place among her husband’s relations. She lives now on a small pension with her brother-in-law, who is very kind to her, and she ekes out her little modicum by the sale of her cakes.” “But what can a blind old woman know of the state of the country, or how does it happen that she is a friend of yours?” interrupted Henry.