chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers.

Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den in which I used to

lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a squalid beggar

and in the evenings transform myself into a well-dressed man about town. This

fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that my

secret was safe in his possession.


“Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of money. I

do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could earn £ 700 a

year—which is less than my average takings—but I had exceptional

advantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee, which

improved by practice and made me quite a recognised character in the City. All

day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very

bad day in which I failed to take £ 2.


“As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country, and

eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my real occupation.

My dear wife knew that I had business in the City. She little knew what.


“Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room above

the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my horror and

astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with her eyes fixed full

upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and,

rushing to my confidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from

coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that she could not

ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, and put on

my pigments and wig. Even a wife’s eyes could not pierce so complete a

disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might be a search in the room,

and that the clothes might betray me. I threw open the window, reopening by my