All the oldest London mendicants find their way, at different hours of the week, up and down the Square.

There is, I believe, no other square in London where musicians are permitted.

On Monday morning there is the blind man with the black patch over one eye; he has an organ (a very old one, with a painted picture of the Battle of Trafalgar on the front of it) and he wears an old black skull-cap.

He wheezes out his old tunes (they are older than other tunes that March Square hears, and so, perhaps, March Square loves them).

He goes despondently, and the tap of his stick sounds all the way round the Square.