The Bummer is simply one who detests work, and who manages to live in some degree of comfort without earning the means of doing so. There are many such in the city. The genuine Bummer is more of a beggar than a thief, though he will steal if he has an opportunity. Nothing will induce him to go to work, not even the prospect of starvation. He has a sublime confidence in his ability to get through life easily and lazily, and his greatest horror is the probability of falling into the hands of the police, and being sent to Blackwell’s Island as a vagrant. All that he desires is money enough to gratify a few actual wants, food enough to eat, clothing to cover his nakedness, and a place where he can enjoy the warmth of a fire in the winter. He has great faith in the charitableness of New York, and thinks that any of the necessities of life may be had here for the asking, and he does not hesitate to ask for them. You would wound him deeply by calling him a beggar. He never begs, he only asks. He asks bread of the baker, or from the housekeepers of the city, and obtains his clothing in the same way. If he wants a little pocket money, he does not hesitate to ask for it from the passers-by on the streets. He never spends money on food. Such a use of “the needful” is a deadly sin in his eyes. Money was made to furnish him with cheap whiskey and bad tobacco. It is too easy to obtain food by asking for it to think of buying it. If he does not receive enough to satisfy his hunger at one house, he goes to another, and repeats his efforts until he is satisfied. One hates to refuse food to any human being who claims to have need of it, and the Bummer knows this. Some of these people keep lists of various householders, with a memorandum attached to each name, showing the best hours for calling, and the nature of the articles that will probably be given. They assist each other by information as to the charitably disposed, and should any householder display any degree of liberality toward them, he is sure to be overrun by a host of seedy and hungry Bummers.

A few years ago, the City Hall Park, which was then shaded by noble old trees, and the Battery, were the favorite resorts of this class in fair weather. They would sit on the benches of the park, and doze, or, when very sleepy, would lie at full length upon them, until aroused by a blow from a policeman’s club upon the soles of their shoes. They were not allowed to sleep in the park, and when caught in the act were compelled to join the throng of promenaders in Broadway, and “move on.” At the Battery they were rarely disturbed. That locality was then a mere receptacle for trash, and the Bummer was at home there. The dirt heaps were softer than the stones, and the breeze that came in from the bay was highly favorable to slumber. Now, all has been changed. The massive edifice of the New Post-office covers the old resort of the Bummer, and the Battery has been made so spruce and trim that it needs not the gruff voice of the gray-coated guardian of the place to make the Bummer feel that it is lost to him forever.

During the day, the Bummer roams about the city, resting where he can, and occasionally dropping into a bar-room to fill himself with five-cent whiskey. He is not averse to receiving a treat, and it should be mentioned to his credit that he is always ready to treat his friends to his favorite drink when he is in funds. When hungry, he “asks” for food. He is fond of visiting the second-rate theatres at the expense of somebody else, and hangs around them, hoping some one will give him a check before the performance is over. In mild weather, he will sleep almost anywhere, in or around a market house, or in an empty wagon. The hay-barges in North River afford comfortable beds, and many Bummers occupy them. In wet or cold weather, the Bummer patronizes the cheap lodging-houses, or the cellars, and as a last resort applies for shelter at the station house. He is diffident about asking assistance at the last place, however, for he has a vague idea that the police would be only too glad to get him safely lodged on the Island. One of his favorite amusements is attendance upon the police courts. This affords him a few hours of rest in a comfortable place, and furnishes him with material for thought.

In begging, the Bummer never asks boldly for aid. He always prefaces his request with a pitiful story of misfortune, and expresses his sense of shame at being an able-bodied man and yet compelled to “ask” for assistance. He is an adept at deceiving good-hearted people, and very clever at assuming the air of innocent misfortune. Thus he supplies his wants.

In his confidential moments, he readily admits that “Bumming” is a hard life, but he is confident that it is better than working for a living. You cannot induce him to accept any species of employment, however light. Vagrancy has a strange fascination for him, and he will be nothing but what he is until five-cent whiskey sinks him to a grade still lower. Sometimes he sees his doom afar off, and anticipates it by seeking the cold waters of the East River. At the best, suicide is the happiest end he can hope for, and it does not require much exertion to drown oneself. Should he allow events to take their natural course, there is but one prospect before him—a pauper’s death and the dissecting-table.

Some of these men have had fair starts in life. Some of them are well educated, and could have risen to eminence in some useful calling. A fondness for liquor and a disinclination to work have been their ruin.