London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1

" I have taken my 5s. a day (said my infor-
mant); but `paper' selling now isn't half so good
as it used to be. People haven't got the money
to lay out; for it all depends with the working
man. The least we take in a day is, upon an
average, sixpence; but taking the good and bad
together, I should say we take about 10s. a week.
I know there's some get more than that, but
then there's many take less. Lately, I know,
I haven't taken 9s. a week myself, and people
reckon me one of the best patterers in the trade.
I'm reckoned to have the gift — that is, the gift
of the gab. I never works a last dying speech
on any other than the day of execution — all the
edge is taken off of it after that. The last dying
speeches and executions are all printed the day
before. They're always done on the Sunday, if
the murderers are to be hung on the Monday.
I've been and got them myself on the Sunday
night, over and over again. The flying sta-
tioners goes with the papers in their pockets,
and stand under the drop, and as soon as ever it
falls, and long before the breath is out of the
body, they begin bawling out." [Here my in-
formant gave a further account of the flying
stationers under the gallows, similar to what I
have given. He averred that they " invented
every lie likely to go down."] " ` Here you
have also an exact likeness,' they say, ` of the
murderer, taken at the bar of the Old Bailey!'
when all the time it is an old wood-cut that's
been used for every criminal for the last forty
years. I know the likeness that was given of
Hocker was the one that was given for Fauntle-
roy; and the wood-cut of Tawell was one that
was given for the Quaker that had been hanged
for forgery twenty years before. Thurtell's
likeness was done expressly for the ` papers;'
and so was the Mannings' and Rush's like-
nesses too. The murders are bought by men,
women, and children. Many of the tradespeople
bought a great many of the affair of the Man-
nings. I went down to Deptford with mine,
and did uncommonly well. I sold all off.
Gentlefolks won't have anything to do with
murders sold in the street; they've got other
ways of seeing all about it. We lay on the
horrors, and picture them in the highest colours
we can. We don't care what's in the ` papers'
in our hands. All we want to do is to sell 'em;
and the more horrible we makes the affairs, the
more sale we have. We do very well with `love-
letters.' They are ` cocks;' that is, they are all
fictitious. We give it out that they are from a
tradesman in the neighbourhood, not a hundred
yards from where we are a-standing. Some-
times we say it's a well-known sporting butcher;
sometimes it's a highly respectable publican —
just as it will suit the tastes of the neighbour-
hood. I got my living round Cornwall for one
twelvemonth with nothing else than a love-
letter. It was headed, ` A curious and laughable
love-letter and puzzle, sent by a sporting gentle-
man to Miss H — s — m, in this neighbourhood;'
that suits any place that I may chance to be in;
but I always patter the name of the street or
village where I may be. This letter, I say, is
so worded, that had it fallen into the hands of
her mamma or papa, they could not have told
what it meant; but the young lady, having so
much wit, found out its true meaning, and sent
him an answer in the same manner. You have
here, we say, the number of the house, the name
of the place where she lives (there is nothing of
the kind, of course), and the initials of all the
parties concerned. We dare not give the real
names in full, we tell them; indeed, we do all
we can to get up the people's curiosity. I did
very well with the ` Burning of the House of
Commons.' I happened by accident to put my
pipe into my pocket amongst some of my papers,
and burnt them. Then, not knowing how to
get rid of them, I got a few straws. I told the
people that my burnt papers were parliament-
ary documents that had been rescued from the
flames, and that, as I dare not sell them, I
would let them have a straw for a penny, and
give them one of the papers. By this trick I got
rid of my stock twice as fast, and got double the
price that I should have done. The papers had
nothing at all to do with the House of Commons.
Some was ` Death and the Lady,' and ` Death
and the Gentleman,' and others were the ` Poli-
tical Catechism,' and 365 lies, Scotch, English,
and Irish, and each lie as big round as St. Paul's.
I remember a party named Jack Straw, who laid
a wager, half-a-gallon of beer, that he'd bring
home the money for two dozen blank papers in one
hour's time. He went out into the Old-street-
road, and began a patter about the political affairs
of the nation, and Sir Robert Peel, and the Duke
of Wellington, telling the public that he dared
not sell his papers, they were treasonable; so he
gave them with a straw — that he sold for one
penny. In less than the hour he was sold clean
out, and returned and drank the beer. The

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chief things that I work are quarter-sheets of
recitations and dialogues. One is ` Good Advice
to Young Men on Choosing their Wives.' I have
done exceedingly well with that — it's a good
moral thing. Another is the ` Drunkard's Cate-
chism;' another is `The Rent Day; or, the
Landlord gathering his Rents.' This is a dia-
logue between the landlord and his tenant, be-
ginning with ` Good morning, Mrs. Longface;
have you got my rent ready, ma'am?' The
next one is `The Adventures of Larry O' Flinn.'
It's a comic story, and a very good got-up
thing. Another is ` A Hint to Husbands and
Wives;' and ` A Pack of Cards turned into a
Bible, a Prayer-book, and an Almanack.' These
cards belonged to Richard Middleton, of the
60th regiment of foot, who was taken a prisoner
for playing at cards in church during divine
service. But the best I do is ` The Remark-
able Dream of a Young Man of loose character,
who had made an agreement to break into
a gentleman's house at twelve at night on
Whitsum Monday, but, owing to a little drink
that he took, he had a remarkable dream,
and dreamed he was in hell. The dream had
such influence on his mind that he refused to
meet his comrade. His comrade was taken up
for the burglary, found guilty, and executed
for it. This made such an impression on the
young man's mind that he became a reformed
character.' There is a very beautiful description
of hell in this paper," said my informant, " that
makes it sell very well among the old women
and the apprentice lads, for the young man was
an apprentice himself. It's all in very pretty
poetry, and a regular ` cock.' The papers that
I work chiefly are what are called ` the standing
patters;' they're all of 'em stereotype, and
some of them a hundred years old. We con-
sider the ` death hunters' are the lowest grade
in the trade. We can make most money of
the murders while they last, but they don't
last, and they merely want a good pair of lungs
to get them off. But it's not every one, sir,
that can work the standing patters. Many
persons I've seen try at it and fail. One old
man I knew tried the ` Drunkard's Catechism'
and the ` Soldier's Prayer-book and Bible.' He
could manage to patter these because they'll
almost work themselves; but ` Old Mother
Clifton' he broke down in. I heard him do it
in Sun-street and in the Blackfriars-road; but
it was such a dreadful failure — he couldn't
humour it a bit — that, thinks I to myself, you'll
soon have to give up, and sure enough he's
never been to the printer's since. He'd a very
poor audience, chiefly boys and girls, and they
were laughing at him because he made so many
blunders in it. A man that's never been to school
an hour can go and patter a dying speech or
` A Battle between Two Ladies of Fortune.' They
require no scholarship. All you want is to stick
a picture on your hat, to attract attention, and to
make all the noise you can. It's all the same
when they does an ` Assassination of Louis
Philippe,' or a ` Diabolical Attempt on the Life
of the Queen' — a good stout pair of lungs and
plenty of impudence is all that is required. But
to patter ` Bounce, the Workhouse Beadle, and
the Examination of the Paupers before the Poor-
law Commissioners,' takes a good head-piece
and great gift of the gab, let me tell you. It's
just the same as a play-actor. I can assure you
I often feel very nervous. I begin it, and walk
miles before I can get confidence in myself to
make the attempt. I got rid of two quire last
night. I was up among the gentlemen's servants
in Crawford-street, Baker-street, and I had a
very good haul out of the grown-up people.
I cleared 1s. 8d. altogether. I did that from
seven till nine in the evening. It's all chance-
work. If it's fine, and I can get a crowd of
grown-up people round me, I can do very well,
but I can't do anything amongst the boys.
There's very little to be done in the day-time.
I begin at ten in the day, and stop out till one.
After that I starts off again at five, and leaves
off about ten at night. Marylebone, Padding-
ton, and Westminster I find the best places.
The West-end is very good the early part of the
week, for any thing that's genteel, such as the
` Rich Man and his Wife quarrelling because
they have no Family.' Our customers there are
principally the footmen, the grooms, and the maid-
servants. The east end of the town is the best
on Friday and Saturday evenings. I very often
go to Limehouse on Friday evening. Most part
of the dock-men are paid then, and anything
comic goes off well among them. On Saturdays
I go to the New-cut, Ratcliff-highway, the Brill,
and such places. I make mostly 2s. clear on a
Saturday night. After nineteen years' experi-
ence of the patter and paper line in the streets,
I find that a foolish nonsensical thing will sell
twice as fast as a good moral sentimental one;
and, while it lasts, a good murder will cut out
the whole of them. It's the best selling thing
of any. I used at one time to patter religious
tracts in the street, but I found no encourage-
ment. I did the ` Infidel Blacksmith' — that
would not sell. `What is Happiness? a Dia-
logue between Ellen and Mary' — that was no
go. No more was the ` Sorrows of Seduction.'
So I was driven into the comic standing patters."

The more recent " experiences" of standing
patterers, as they were detailed to me, differ so
little in subject, or anything else, from what I
have given concerning running patterers, that to
cite them would be a repetition.

From the best information to be obtained, I
have no doubt that there are always at least 20
standing patterers — sometimes they are called
" boardmen" — at work in London. Some of
them " run" occasionally, but an equal number
or more, of the regular " runners" resort now
and then to the standing patter, so the sum is
generally kept up.

Notwithstanding the drawbacks of bad wea-
ther, which affects the standing, and does not
affect the running, patterer; and notwithstand-
ing the more frequent interruptions of the police,
I am of opinion that the standing patterer earns

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on an average 1s. a week more than his running
brother. His earnings too are often all his
own; whereas the runners are a ` school,' and,
their gains divided. More running patterers
become, on favourable occasions, stationery,
with boards, perhaps in the proportion of five to
four, than the stationary become itinerant. One
standing patterer told me, that, during the ex-
citement about the Sloanes, he cleared full 3s. a
day for more than a week; but at other times
he had cleared only 1s. 6d. in a whole week,
and he had taken nothing when the weather
was too wet for the standing work, and there
was nothing up to " run" with.

If, then, 20 standing patterers clear 10s. weekly, each, the year through — " taking" 15s. weekly — we find that 780l. is yearly expended
in the standing patter of London streets.

The capital required for the start of the
standing is greater than that needed by the
running patterer. The painting for a board
costs 3s. 6d.; the board and pole, with feet, to
which it is attached, 5s. 6d.; and stock-money,
2s.; in all, 11s.

University of Virginia Library

EXPERIENCE OF A STANDING PATTERER.