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He had already traversed a number of streets ascending several flights of steps and descending others when, at the corner of a narrow lane, his eye fell on a squalid-looking beggar who was lustily calling on the passers-by, in the name of all the saints, to preserve him from starvation.
For a long time these vaults have been used as cellars under a row of tall squalid-looking houses built over them between the Via di Marforio and the Vicolo del Ghettarello; and the sense of smell gives convincing proof that where prisoners of state used to be confined, provisions of wine, cheese, and oil have been stored.
They stared curiously at this stalwart-looking, bronzed young Gringo who walked toward them with alert step. Two or three of the children, after the custom of their kind, called out for money. Tom, smiling pleasantly, drew forth a few loose American coins that he had with him and scattered them in the road. Then he hastened on to the telegraph station, a squalid-looking little one-room shanty.
Here the houses are much smaller and squalid-looking: they have no verandahs only a narrow door and tiny, diminutive windows which are not made to open and shut.
It was a squalid-looking personage a professional beggar, half-drunk. He landed upon my island, beneath my awning. "'For charity's sake, give me a match! I cried. "He looked at me 'sized me up, in the technical terminology of his trade. Intelligence began to illumine his countenance. He saw that the opportunity of his life had come. He held out a match.
Of the San Francisco Indians he says: "They are a miserable, squalid-looking set, squatting or lying about the corners of the streets, without occupation. They have now no means of obtaining a living, as their lands are all taken from them; and the Missions for which they labored, and which provided after a sort for many thousands of them, are abolished.
There were a few patches of corn, a few squalid-looking log or frame houses, a tract of horrible dreary blackness; and still more horrible, beyond it was a region of spectres trees white and stripped bare, lifting their dead arms like things blasted. Averil cried out in indignant horror, 'Who has done this? 'We have, answered Mordaunt.
Afterwards he pointed out the squalid-looking cottage he lived in. It was on the estate of a great lady. "Tell me," I said, "is she much liked on the estate?" He pondered the question for a few moments, then replied, "Some likes her and some don't," and not a word more would he say on that subject.
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