early in the morning, and they and the carriers who assist them to unload, generally sleep in the doorways opposite their teams. Among these the bummers frequently creep to rest, and as the police have neither the time nor inclination to pick them out, the black sheep remain with the white until the morning breaks, when they crawl away or skulk around the huckster-stalls to gather refuse fruit. When the weather is cold or rainy, the station-house is taken as a last resort. A description of the lodgings there would lead us away from our subject; it is sufficient to say that only a regular bummer can enjoy a rest in such a place. The life of such a creature is, necessarily, merely an animal existence, and, as a rule, he does not care for any amusement beyond listening to trials in the criminal courts. If with a full stomach he can doze away his time, he is satisfied, and asks nothing more. When, however, he desires any recreation, he patronizes Tony Pastor's Bowery Theatre. At the latter place he is often seen standing near the door, with the hope of having a check given to him by some one who leaves early. Some money he requires to try his luck in policy shops, and especially to pay for his drinks. His methods of 'raising the wind' are only limited by his ingenuity. Simple begging, without an excuse, he seldom tries, as, being able-bodied, his requests would be roughly refused. He frequently sells hats, boots, and articles of clothing that he has begged. When on such a collecting tour, he carefully hides his hat or gives it to a comrade, and then calls in some wholesale hat-store. There he tells a pitiable story of having been compelled to sleep in the street and of having his hat stolen. He goes from place to place and frequently succeeds in collecting quite a number. One of these gentry has been heard to brag that he obtained fifteen different hats, all good, in one day. Boots and shoes he collects by showing his feet bursting out of the covering he has put on them for the occasion. The most singular manner of making money is practiced by a German, who told of it with great pride. Every morning he examines the obituary notices in the German newspapers. He then writes a few lines of something he calls poetry concerning each deceased. This he takes to the afflicted family, and tells them that seeing the death of a 'dear one' in the paper, the following thoughts were suggested, and then gives them his manuscript. On being asked if there is anything to pay, he replies that he is poor and will take anything they choose to give. Most give ten cents, some twenty-five, and he has even received a dollar, probably where the sorrow was very deep. When all other means fail, our subject visits the different ferries, and there asks the persons about to cross for enough to pay his ferriage. In this way he collects a small amount during the day, but as it is tedious and slow work he never undertakes it except as a last resort.