In 1762 he was appointed one of the commissioners for victualling the navy; upon which, finding that an increase of expenditure was authorized by the augmentation of his income, he took a house in Red Lion Square, the principal rooms of which, says his biographer, he furnished and decorated with paintings and emblematical devices in a style peculiar to himself. “I found,” said he, “that my countrymen and women were not _au fait_ in the art of conversation; I have therefore presented them with objects the most attractive that I could imagine, and such as cannot easily be imagined without exciting amusing and instructive discourse; and when that fails there are the cards.” Prince Eugene, who, I suppose, found his companions in much the same predicament, was used to have music during dinner, and, upon being questioned respecting his reasons, replied, “It saves you the trouble of talking.” Among numerous other benevolent schemes of our worthy traveller was one which had for its object the bettering the condition of young chimney-sweepers, who, besides the distresses which are open to general observation, such as the contortion of their limbs and the stunting of their growth, are liable to a disease peculiar to their occupation, known by the name of the “chimney-sweepers’ cancer.” The extent of the benefit conferred on these wretched beings—the very _Pariahs_ of English society—by the exertions of Hanway cannot be exactly estimated; but they certainly were considerable, and serve to show that genuine benevolence can condescend to commiserate the miserable in whatever position they may be placed. During his labours in behalf of these little “fathers of soot,” as an Arab would term them, he addressed a little urchin who had just been sweeping his own chimney:—“Suppose, now, I give you a shilling?”—“God Almighty bless your honour, and thank you!”—“And what if I give you a fine tie-wig to wear on May-day, which is just at hand?”—“Ah! bless your honour; my master won’t let me go out on May-day.”—“No! why not?”—“_He says it’s low life!_” The idea of a young chimney-sweeper, black as if just issued from Pandemonium, in “a fine tie-wig,” could never have suggested itself to any but a man of original genius.