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.
Pugh, the honest and intelligent author of Hanway's life, tells us an anecdote connected with our traveller's history, which I will relate in his words:—"To one of his books written for the use of the poor he prefixed a description of the frontispiece, in which he says to the gentle reader, 'Here you see the grass grow and the sheep feed.' The reviewers fastened on this unfortunate sentence. 'We remember,' said they (I quote from memory after a lapse of several years), 'a miller, who quitted his trade to take a public-house, and sent for a painter to paint him the sign of the mill. "I must have the miller looking out of the window."—"It shall be done," said the painter. "But I was never seen to be idle; you must make him pop his head in if any one looks at him." This also the artist promised, and brought home the sign. "'Tis all well; but where's the
