University of Virginia Library

OF THE SELLER OF THE PENNY SHORT-HAND
CARDS.

All ladies and gentlemen who "take their
walks abroad," must have seen, and of course
heard, a little man in humble attire engaged in
selling at one penny each a small card, contain-
ing a few sentences of letter-press, and fifteen
stenographic characters, with an example, by
which, it is asserted, anybody and everybody
may "learn to write short-hand in a few hours."
With the merits of the production, self-con-
sidered, this is not the place to meddle; suffice
it that it is one of the many ways of getting a
crust common to the great metropolis, and per-
haps the most innocent of all the street perform-
ances. A kind of a street lecture is given by
the vendor, in which the article is sufficiently
puffed off. Of course this lecture is, so to speak,
stereotyped, embracing the same ideas in nearly
the same words over and over and over again.
The exhibitor, however, pleads that the constant
exchange and interchange of passengers, and
his desire to give each and all a fair amount of
information, makes the repetition admissible,
and even necessary. It is here given as a speci-
men of the style of the educated "patterer."

The Lecture.

"Here is an opportunity which has seldom if
ever been offered to the public before, whereby
any person of common intellect may learn to write
short-hand in a few hours, without any aid from
a teacher. The system is entirely my own. It
contains no vowels, no arbitrary characters, no
double consonants, and no terminations; it may
therefore properly be called `stenography,' an
expression which conveys its own meaning; it
is derived from two Greek words; stenos, short,
and grapho, I write, graphi, the verb to write,
and embraces all that is necessary in fifteen
characters. I know that a prejudice obtains to
a great extent against anything and everything
said or done in the street, but I have nothing to

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do with either the majority or minority of
street pretenders. I am an educated man, and
not a mere pretender, and if the justice or
genuineness of a man's pretensions would
always lead him to success I had not been here
to-day. But against the tide of human dis-
appointment, the worthy and the undeserving
are so equally compelled to struggle, and so
equally liable to be overturned by competition,
that till you can prove that wealth is the guage
of character, it may be difficult to determine
the ability or morality of a man from his posi-
tion. I was lately reading an account of the
closing life of that leviathan in literature, Dr.
Johnson, and an anecdote occurred, which I
relate, conceiving that it applies to one of the
points at issue — I mean the ridicule with which
my little publication has sometimes been
treated by passers-by, who have found it easier
to speculate on the texture of my coat, than on
the character of my language. The Doctor
had a niece who had embraced the peculiarities
of Quakerism; after he had scolded her some
time, and in rather unmeasured terms, her
mother interfered and said, `Doctor, don't scold
the girl — you'll meet her in heaven, I hope.' —
`I hope not,' said the Doctor, `for I hate to
meet fools anywhere.' I apply the same obser-
vation to persons who bandy about the expres-
sions `gift of the gab,' `catch-penny,' &c., &c.,
which in my case it is somewhat easier to cir-
culate than to support. At any rate they ought
to be addressed to me and not to the atmosphere.
The man who meets a foe to the face, gives him
an equal chance of defence, and the sword
openly suspended from the belt is a less dan-
gerous, because a less cowardly weapon than
the one which, like that of Harmodius, is con-
cealed under the wreaths of a myrtle.

"If you imagine that professional disappoint-
ment is confined to people out of doors, you are
very much mistaken. Look into some of the
middle-class streets around where we are
standing: you will find here and there,
painted or engraved on a door, the words
`Mr. So-and-so, surgeon.' The man I am
pre-supposing shall be qualified, — qualified
in the technical sense of the expression, a
Member of the College of Surgeons, a Licen-
tiate of Apothecaries' Hall, and a Graduate of
some University. He may possess the talent of
Galen or Hippocrates; or, to come to more
recent date, of Sir Astley Cooper himself, but
he never becomes popular, and dies unrewarded
because unknown: before he dies, he may crawl
out of his concealed starvation into such a
thoroughfare as this, and see Professor Mor-
rison, or Professor Holloway, or the Proprietor
of Parr's Life Pills, or some other quaek, ride
by in their carriage; wealth being brought
them by the same waves that have wafted mis-
fortune to himself; though that wealth has
been procured by one undeviating system of
Hypocrisy and Humbug, of Jesuitism and
Pantomime, such as affords no parallel since
the disgusting period of Oliverian ascendancy.
Believe me, my friends, a man may form his
plans for success with profound sagacity, and
guard with caution against every approach to
extravagance, but neither the boldness of enter-
prise nor the dexterity of stratagem will always
secure the distinction they deserve. Else that
policeman would have been an inspector!

"I have sometimes been told, that if I pos-
sessed the facilities I professedly exhibit, I
might turn them to greater personal advan-
tage: in coarse, unfettered, Saxon English,
`That's a lie;' for on the authority of a
distinguished writer, there are 2,000 educated
men in London and its suburbs, who rise every
morning totally ignorant where to find a break-
fast. Now I am not quite so bad as that, so
that it appears I am an exception to the rule,
and not the rule open to exception. However,
it is beyond all controversy, that the best way
to keep the fleas from biting you in bed is to
`get out of bed;' and by a parity of reasoning,
the best way for you to sympathize with me for
being on the street is to take me off, as an
evidence of your sympathy. I remember that,
some twenty years ago, a poor man of foreign
name, but a native of this metropolis, made his
appearance in Edinburgh, and advertised that
he would lecture on mnemonics, or the art of
memory. As he was poor, he had recourse to
an humble lecture-room, situated up a dirty
court. Its eligibility may be determined by
the fact that sweeps' concerts were held in it,
at ½d. per head, and the handbill mostly ended
with the memorable words: `N. B. — No gentle-
man admitted without shoes and stockings.' At
the close of his first lecture (the admission to
which was 2d.), he was addressed by a scientific
man, who gave him 5s. — (it will relieve the mo-
notony of the present address if some of you fol-
low his example) — and advised him to print and
issue some cards about his design, which he did.
I saw one of them — the ink on it scarcely dry —
as he had got it back at the house of a phy-
sician, and on it was inscribed: `Old birds are
not caught with chaff. From Dr. M — , an
old bird.' The suspicious doctor, however, was
advised to hear the poor man's twopenny lec-
ture, and was able, at the end of it, to display a
great feat of memory himself. What was the
result? The poor man no longer lectured for
2d. But it is tedious to follow him through a
series of years. He was gradually patronised
throughout the kingdom, and a few months ago
he was lecturing in the Hanover-square Rooms,
with the Earl of Harrowby in the chair. Was
he not as clever a man when he lectured in the
sweeps' concert-room? Yes; but he had not
been brought under the shadow of a great name.
Sometimes that `great name' comes too late.
You are familiar with the case of Chatterton.
He had existed, rather than lived, three days
on a penny loaf; then he committed suicide,
and was charitably buried by strangers. Fifty
years or more had elapsed, when people found
out how clever he had been, and collected
money for the erection of that monument which

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now stands to his memory by St. Mary Redcliff
Church, in Bristol. Now, if you have any idea
of doing that for me, please to collect some of
it while I am alive!"

On occasions when the audience is not very
liberal, the lecturer treats them to the following
hint:

"When in my golden days — or at the least
they were silver ones compared to these — I was
in the habit of lecturing on scientific subjects, I
always gave the introductory lecture free. I
suppose this is an `introductory lecture,' for it
yields very little money at present. I have
often thought, that if everybody a little richer
than myself was half as conscientious, I should
either make a rapid fortune, or have nobody to
listen to me at all; for I never sanction long
with my company anything I don't believe.
Now, if what I say is untrue or grossly impro-
bable, it does not deserve the sanction of an
audience; if otherwise, it must be meritorious,
and deserve more efficient sanction. As to any
insults I receive, Christinity has taught me to
forgive, and philosophy to despise them."

These very curious, and perhaps unique, spe-
cimens of street elocution are of course inter-
rupted by the occasional sale of a card, and
perhaps some conversation with the purchaser.
The stenographic card-seller states that he has
sometimes been advised to use more common-
place language. His reply is germane to the
matter. He says that a street audience, like
some other audiences, is best pleased with what
they least understand, and that the way to
appear sublime is to be incomprehensible. He
can occasionally be a little sarcastic. A gentle-
man informed me that he passed him at Bag-
nigge-wells on one occasion, when he was inter-
rupted by a "gent." fearfully disfigured by the
small-pox, who exclaimed: "It's a complete
humbug." "No, sir," retorted Mr. Shorthand,
"but if any of the ladies present were to call you
handsome, that would be a humbug." On another
occasion a man (half-drunk) had been annoy-
ing him some time, and getting tired of the joke,
said: "Well — I see you are a learned man, you
must pity my ignorance." "No," was the
reply, "but I pity your father." "Pity my
father! — why?" was the response. "Because
Solomon says, `He that begetteth a fool shall
have sorrow of him.' " This little jeu-d'ésprit, I was told, brought forth loud acclamations from
the crowd, and a crown-piece from a lady who
had been some minutes a listener. These state-
ments are among the most curious revelations
of the history of the streets.

The short-hand card-seller, as has partly
appeared in a report I gave of a meeting of
street-folk, makes no secret of having been
fined for obstructing a thoroughfare, — having
been bound down to keep the peace, and several
times imprisoned as a defaulter. He tells me
that he once "got a month" in one of the metro-
politan jails. It was the custom of the chap-
lain of the prison in which he was confined,
to question the prisoners every Wednesday,
from box to box (as they were arranged before
him) on some portion of Holy Writ, and they
were expected, if able, to answer. On one
occasion, the subject being the Excellence of
Prayer, the chaplain, remarked that, "even
among the healthen, every author, without ex-
ception, had commended prayer to a real or sup-
posed Deity." The card-seller, I am told,
cried out "Question!" "Who is that?" said
the chaplain. The turnkey pointed out the
questioner. "Yes," said the card-seller, "you
know what Seneca says: — `Quid opus votis?
Fac teipsum felicem, vel bonum.' `What
need of prayer? Make thou thyself happy
and virtuous.' Does that recommend prayer?"
The prisoners laughed, and to prevent a mutiny,
the classical querist was locked up, and the
chaplain closed the proceedings. It is but
justice, however, to the worthy minister to state,
his querist came out of durance vile better
clothed than he went in.

The stenographic trade, of which the inform-
ant in question is the sole pursuer, was com-
menced eleven years ago. At that time 300
cards were sold in a day; but the average is
now 24, and about 50 on a Saturday night.
The card-seller tells me that he is more fre-
quently than ever interrupted by the police,
and his health being delicate, wet days are
"nuisances" to him. He makes an annual visit
to the country, he tells me, to see his children,
who have been provided for by some kind
friends. About two years ago he was returning
to London and passed through Oxford. He was
"hard up," he says, having left his coat for
his previous night's lodging. He attended
prayers (without a coat) at St. Mary's church,
and when he came out, seated himself on the
pavement beside the church, and wrote with
chalk inside an oval border.

." — Lucam xv. 17.

"I perish with hunger."

He was not long unnoticed, he tells me, by
the scholars; some of whom "rigged him out,"
and he left Oxford with 6l. 10s. in his pocket.

"Let us indulge the hope," writes one who
knows this man well, "that whatever indiscre-
tions may have brought a scholar, whom few
behold without pity, or converse with without
respect for his acquirements, to be a street-
seller, nevertheless his last days will be his best
days, and that, as his talents are beyond dispute
and his habits strictly temperate, he may yet
arise out of his degradation."

Of this gentleman's history I give an account
derived from the only authentic source. It is,
indeed, given in the words of the writer from
whom it was received. —

"The Reverend Mr. Shorthand" [his real
name is of no consequence — indeed, it would be
contrary to the rule of this work to print it]
"was born at Hackney, in the county of Mid-
dlesex, on Good Friday, the 15th of April, 1808;
he is, therefore, now in his 43rd year. Of his
parents very little is known; he was brought up

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by guardians, who were `well to do,' and who
gave him every indulgence and every good in-
struction and example. From the earliest dawn
of reason he manifested a strong predilection for
the church; and, before he was seven years old,
he had preached to an infant audience, read
prayers over a dead animal, and performed cer-
tain mimic ceremonies of the church among his
schoolfellows.

"The directors of his youthful mind were
strong Dissenters, of Antinomian sentiments.
With half-a-dozen of the same denomination he
went, before he was thirteen, to the anniversary
meeting of the Countess of Huntingdon's College,
at Cheshunt. Here, with a congregation of
about forty persons, composed of the students
and a few strangers, he adjourned, while the
parsons were dining at the `Green Dragon,' to
the College Chapel, where, with closed doors, the
future proprietor of the `penny short-hand'
delivered his first public sermon.

"Before he was quite fourteen, the stenogra-
phic card-seller was apprenticed to a draper in
or near Smithfield. In this position he remained
only a few months, when the indentures were
cancelled by mutual consent, and he resumed
his studies, first at his native place, and after-
wards as a day-scholar at the Charterhouse. He
was now sixteen, and it was deemed high time
for him to settle to some useful calling. He
became a junior clerk in the office of a stock-
broker, and afterwards amanuensis to an `M.D.,'
who encouraged his thirst for learning, and gave
him much leisure and many opportunities for
improvement. While in this position he ob-
tained two small prizes in the state lottery, gave
up his situation, and went to Cambridge with
a private tutor. As economy was never any
part of his character, he there `overrun the
constable,' and to prevent," he says, "any con-
stable running after him. He decamped in the
middle of the night, and came to London by a
waggon — all his property consisting of a Greek
Prayer-book, Dodd's Beauties of Shakspere, two
shirts, and two half-crowns.

"At this crisis a famous and worthy clergyman,
forty years resident in Hackney (the Rev. H. H.
N — , lately deceased), had issued from the press
certain strictures against the Society for promot-
ing Christianity among the Jews. The short-hand
seller wrote an appendix to this work, under the
title of the `Church in Danger.' He took it to
Mr. N — , who praised the performance and
submitted to the publication. The impression
cast off was limited, and the result unprofitable.
It had, however, one favourable issue; it led to
the engagement of its author as private and tra-
velling tutor to the children of the celebrated
Lady S — , who, though (for adultery) sepa-
rated from her husband, retained the exclusive
custody of her offspring. While in this employ-
ment, my informant resided chiefly at Clifton,
sometimes in Bath, and sometimes on her lady-
ship's family property in Derbyshire. While
here, he took deacon's orders, and became a
popular preacher. In whatever virtues he might
be deficient, his charities, at least, were un-
bounded. This profusion ill suited a limited
income, and a forgery was the first step to sus-
pension, disgrace, and poverty. In 1832 he
married; the union was not felicitous.

"About this date my informant relates, that
under disguise and change of name he supplied
the pulpits of several episcopal chapels in Scot-
land with that which was most acceptable to
them. Unable to maintain a locus standi in
connexion with the Protestant church, he made
a virtue of necessity, and avowed himself a
seceder. In this new disguise he travelled and
lectured, proving to a demonstration (always
pecuniary) that `the Church of England was
the hospital of Incurables.'

"Always in delicate health, he found continued
journeys inconvenient. The oversight of a home
missionary station, comprising five or six vil-
lages, was advertised; the card-seller was the
successful candidate, and for several years per-
formed Divine service four times every Sunday,
and opened and taught gratuitously a school for
the children of the poor. Here report says he
was much beloved, and here he ought to have
remained; but with that restlessness of spirit
which is so marked a characteristic of the class
to which he now belongs, he thought otherwise,
and removed to a similar sphere of labour near
Edinburgh. The town, containing a population
of 14,000, was visited to a dreadful extent with
the pestilence of cholera. The future street-
seller (to his honour be it spoken) was the only
one among eight or ten ministers who was not
afraid of the contagion. He visited many hun-
dreds of cases, and, it is credibly asserted, added
medicine, food, and nursing to his spiritual con-
solations. The people of his charge here em-
braced the Irving heresy; and unable, as he
says, to determine the sense of `the unknown
tongues,' he resigned his charge, and returned
to London in 1837. After living some time
upon his money, books, and clothes, till all was
expended, he tried his hand at the `begging-
letter trade.' About this time, the card-seller
declares that a man, also from Scotland, and
of similar history and personal appearance,
lodged with him at a house in the Mint, and
stole his coat, and with it his official and other
papers. This person had been either a city
missionary or scripture-reader, having been
dismissed for intemperance. The street card-
seller states that he has `suffered much perse-
cution from the officers of the Mendicity So-
ciety, and in the opinion of the public, by the
blending of his own history with that of the
man who robbed him.' Be the truth as it may,
or let his past faults have been ever so glaring,
still it furnishes no present reason why he should
be maltreated in the streets, where he is now striving for an honest living. Since the card-
seller's return to London, he has been five times
elected and re-elected to a temporary engage-
ment in the Hebrew School, Goodman's-fields;
so that, at the worst, his habits of life cannot be
very outrageous."

The "pomps and vanities of this wicked
world," have, according to his own account,
had very little share in the experience of the
short-hand parson. He states, and there is no
reason for doubting him, that he never witnessed
any sort of public amusement in his life; that he
was a hard student when he was young, and
now keeps no company, living much in retire-
ment. He "attends the ministry," he says, "of
the Rev. Robert Montgomery, — reads the daily
lessons at home, and receives the communion
twice every month at the early service in West-
minster Abbey."

Of course these are matters that appear
utterly inconsistent with his present mode of
life. One well-known peculiarity of this extra-
ordinary character is his almost idolatrous love
of children, to whom, if he "makes a good
Saturday night," he is very liberal on his way
home. This is, perhaps, his "ruling passion"
(an acquaintance of his, without knowing why
I inquired, fully confirmed this account); and
it displays itself sometimes in strong emo-
tion, of which the following anecdote may be
cited as an instance: — One of his favourite spots
for stenographic demonstration is the corner of
Playhouse-yard, close to the Times office. Di-
rectly opposite lives a tobacconist, who has a
young family. One of his little girls used to
stand and listen to him; to her he was so
strongly attached, when he heard of her
death (he had missed her several weeks), he
went home much affected, and did not return to
the spot for many months. At the death of
the notorious Dr. Dillon, the card-seller offered
himself to the congregation as a successor; they,
however, declined the overture.