University of Virginia Library

OF A BLIND FEMALE SELLER OF "SMALL-WARES."

I now give an account of the street-trade, the
feelings, and the life of a poor blind woman, who
may be seen nearly every fine day, selling what
is technically termed "small-ware," in Leather-
lane, Holborn. The street "small-wares" are now
understood to be cotton-tapes, pins, and sewing
cotton; sometimes with the addition of boot and
stay-laces, and shirt-buttons.

I saw the blind small-ware seller enter her own
apartment, which was on the first floor of a small
house in a court contiguous to her "pitch." The
entrance into the court was low and narrow; a
tall man would be compelled to stoop as he entered
the passage leading into the court. Here were
unmistakeable signs of the poverty of the inhabi-
tants. Soapsuds stood in the choked gutter, old
clothes were hung out to dry across the court, one
side being a dead wall, and the windows were
patched with paper, sometimes itself patched with
other paper. In front of one window, however,
was a rude gate-work, behind which stood a root
of lavender, and a campanula, thriving not at all,
but yet, with all their dinginess, presenting a relief
to the eye.

The room of the blind woman is reached by a
very narrow staircase, on which two slim persons
could not pass each other, and up old and worn
stairs. Her apartment may be about ten feet
square. The window had both small and large
panes, with abundance of putty plastering. The
furniture consisted of a small round deal table (on
which lay the poor woman's stock of black and
white tapes, of shirt-buttons, &c.), and of four
broken or patched chairs. There were a few
motley-looking "pot" ornaments on the mantel-
shelf, in the middle of which stood a doctor's
bottle. The bust of a female was also conspicuous,
as was a tobacco-pipe. Above the mantel-piece
hung some pictureless frames, while a pair of spec-
tacles were suspended above a little looking-glass.
Over a cupboard was a picture of the Ethiopian
serenaders, and on the uncoloured walls were
engravings of animals apparently from some work
on natural history. There were two thin beds, on
one of which was stowed a few costermonger's old
baskets and old clothes (women's and boys'), as if
stowed away there to make room to stir about.
All the furniture was dilapidated. An iron rod
for a poker, a pair of old tongs, and a sheet-iron
shovel, were by the grate, in which glimmered a
mere handful of fire. All showed poverty. The
rent was 1s. a week (it had been 1s. 9d.), and the
blind woman and a lodger (paying 6d. of the rent)
slept in one bed, while a boy occupied the other.
A wiry-haired dog, neither handsome nor fat,
received a stranger (for the blind woman, and her
guide and lodger, left their street trade at my
request for their own room) with a few querulous
yelps, which subsided into a sort of whining wel-
come to me, when the animal saw his mistress
was at ease. The pleasure with which this poor
woman received and returned the caresses of her
dog was expressed in her face. I may add that
owing to a change of street names in that neigh-
bourhood, I had some difficulty in finding the
small-ware seller, and heard her poor neighbours
speak well of her as I inquired her abode; usually
a good sign among the poor.

The blind tape-seller is a tall and somewhat
strongly-formed woman, with a good-humoured
and not a melancholy expression of face, though
her manner was exceedingly quiet and subdued
and her voice low. Her age is about 50. She
wore, what I understand is called a "half-widow's
cap;" this was very clean, as indeed was her
attire generally, though worn and old.

I have already given an account of a female
small-ware seller (which account formerly appeared
in one of my letters in the Morning Chronicle)
strongly illustrating the vicissitudes of a street
life. It was the statement, however, of one who
is no longer in the streets, and the account given
by the blind tape and pin seller is further interest-
ing as furnishing other habitudes or idiosyncracies
of the blind (or of an individual blind woman), in
addition to those before detailed; more especially
in its narrative of the feelings of a perhaps not
very sensitive woman who became "dark" (as she
always called it) in mature age.

"It's five years, sir," she said, "since I have
been quite dark, but for two years before that I
had lost the sight of one eye. Oh, yes, I had
doctors but they couldn't save my eyesight. I
lost it after illnesses and rheumatics, and from want
and being miserable. I felt very miserable when
I first found myself quite dark, as if everything
was lost to me. I felt as if I'd no more place in
the world; but one gets reconciled to most things,
thank God, in time; but I'm often low and sad
now. Living poorly and having a sickly boy to
care about may be one reason, as well as my
blindness and being so bad off.

"I was brought up to service, and was sent
before that to St. Andrew's school. I lost my
parents and friends (relatives) when I were young.
I was in my first place eighteen months, and was
eight or nine years in service altogether, mostly as
maid of all work. I saved a little money and
married. My husband was a costermonger, and
we didn't do well. Oh, dear no, sir, because he
was addicted to drinking. We often suffered great
pinching. I can't say as he was unkind to me.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 394.]

He died nine years or more since. After that I
supported myself, and two sons we had, by going
out to wash and `chair.' I did that when my
husband was living. I had tidy work, as I `chaired'
and washed for one family in Clerkenwell for ten
years, and might again if I wasn't dark. My
eldest son's now a soldier and is with his regi-
ment at Dover. He's only eighteen, but he could
get nothing to do as hard as he tried; I couldn't
help him; he knew no trade; and so he 'listed.
Poor fellow! perhaps I shall never see him again.
Oh, see him! That I couldn't if he was sitting
as near me as you are, sir; but perhaps I may
never hear his voice again. Perhaps he'll have
to go abroad and be killed. It's a sad thought
that for a blind widow; I think of it both up and
in bed. Blind people thinks a great deal, I feel
they does. My youngest son — he's now fourteen
— is asthmatical; but he's such a good lad, so
easily satisfied. He likes to read if he can get
hold of a penny book, and has time to read it.
He's at a paper-stainer's and works on fancy
satin paper, which is very obnicious" (the word
she used twice for pernicious or obnoxious) "to
such a delicate boy. He has 5s. a week, but,
oh dear me, it takes all that for his bit of clothes,
and soap for washing, and for shoes, and then he
must carry his dinner with him every day, which
I makes ready, and as he has to work hard,
poor thing, he requires a little meat. I often frets
about his being so weakly; often, as I stands with
my tapes and pins, and thinks, and thinks. But,
thank God, I can still wash for him and myself,
and does so regularly. No, I can't clean my room
myself, but a poor woman who lives by selling
boot-laces in the streets has lodged with me for
many years, and she helps me."

"Lives!" interrupted the poor boot-lace wo-
man, who was present, "starves, you mean; for
all yesterday I only took a farthing. But any-
thing's better than the house. I'll live on 4d. a
day, and pay rent and all, and starve half my
time, rather nor the great house" (the Union).

"Yes, indeed," resumed the blind woman, "for
when I first went dark, I was forced to send to
my parish, and had 6d. twice a week, and a half-
quartern loaf, and that was only allowed for three
weeks, and then there was the house for me. Oh
dear, after that I didn't know what I could do to
get a bit of bread. At first I was so frightened
and nervous, I was afraid of every noise. That
was when I was quite dark; and I am often
frightened at nothing still, and tremble as I stand
in the lane. I was at first greatly distressed, and
in pain, and was very down-hearted. I was so
put about that I felt as if I was a burden to
myself, and to everybody else. If you lose your
sight as I did, sir, when you're not young, it's a
long time before you learns to be blind. [So she
very expressly worded it.] A friend advised me
to sell tapes and cottons, and boot-laces, in the
street, as better than doing nothing; and so I did.
But at first I was sure every minute I should be
run on. The poor woman that lodges with me
bought some things for me where she buys her
own — at Albion-house, in the Borough. O, I
does very badly in my trade, very badly. I now
clear only 2d., 3d., or 4d. a day; no, I think not
more than 1s. 6d. a week; that is all. Why, one
day this week I only sold a ha'porth of pins.
But what I make more than pays my rent, and
it's a sort of employment; something to do, and
make one feel one's not quite idle. I hopes to
make more now that nights are getting long, for I
can then go into the lane (Leather-lane) of an
evening, and make 1d. or 2d. extra. I daren't
go out when it's long dark evenings, for the boys
teases me, and sometimes comes and snatches my
tapes and things out of my hands, and runs away,
and leaves me there robbed of my little stock.
I'm sure I don't know whether it's young thieves
as does it, or for what they calls a lark. I only
knows I loses my tapes. Do I complain to the
police, do you say, sir? I don't know when a
policeman's passing, in such a crowded place. Oh
yes, I could get people to complain for me, but
perhaps it would be no good; and then I'm afraid
of the police; they're so arbitry. [Her word.]
It's not very long since one of them — and I was
told afterwards he was a sergeant, too — ordered
me to move on. `I can't move on, sir,' said I, `I
wish I could, but I must stand still, for I'm blind.'
`I know that,' says he, `but you're begging.'
`No, I'm not,' says I, `I'm only a trying to sell a
few little things, to keep me out of the work 'us.'
`Then what's that thing you have tied over your
breast?' says he. `If you give me any more of
your nonsense, I'll lock you up;' and then he
went away. I'm terrified to think of being taken
to the station."

The matter which called forth the officer's
wrath, was a large card, tied from the poor
woman's shoulders, on which was printed, in
large letters, "PLEASE TO BUY OF THE
POOR BLIND." "Ay," said the blind wo-
man's companion, with a bitterness not uncom-
mon on the part of street-sellers on such occasions,
"and any shopkeeper can put what notice he likes
in his window, that he can, if it's ever such a lie,
and nothing's said if he collects a crowd; oh dear,
no. But we mus'n't say our lives is our own."

"Yes, sir," said the blind woman, as I ques-
tioned her further, "there I stands, and often feels
as if I was half asleep, or half dreaming; and I
sometimes hardly knows when I dreams, and
what I thinks; and I think what it was like
when I had my eyesight and was among them,
and what it would be like if I had my eyesight
again; all those people making all that noise, and
trying to earn a penny, seems so queer. And I
often thinks if people suffered ever so much, they
had something to be thankful for, if they had
their eyesight. If I'd been dark from a child, I
think I shouldn't have felt it so much. It wouldn't
have been like all that lost, and I should be
handier, though I'm not bad that way as it is,
but I'm afraid to go out by myself. Where I
lives there's so many brokers about, I should
run against their furniture. I'm sometimes not
spoken to for an hour and more. Many a
day I've only took 1d. Then I thinks and
mopes about what will become of me, and thinks

[Description: 915EAF. Page 395.]

about my children. I don't know who buys of
me, but I'm sure I'm very thankful to all as
does. They takes the things out of my hands,
and puts the money into them. I think they're
working-people as buys of me, but I can't be sure.
Some speaks to me very kind and pleasant. I
don't think they're ladies that speaks kind. My
husband used to say that if ladies went to places
like the Lane, it was on the sly, to get something
cheap, and they did'nt want to be seen there, or
they might be counted low. I'm sure he was
right. And it ain't such as them as buys of a poor
blind woman out of kindness. No, sir, it's very
seldom indeed that I get more than the regular
price. A halfpenny a knot for my tapes; and a
halfpenny and a farthing for pins; and a half-
penny and a penny a dozen for shirt-buttons;
and three a penny when I sells boot-laces; and a
halfpenny a piece when I has stay-laces. I sells
good things, I know, for the friend as gets them
wouldn't deceive me, and I never has no com-
plaints of them.

"I don't know any other blind woman in the
trade besides myself. No, I don't associate with
blind people. I wasn't brought up, like, to such a
thing, but am in it by accident. I can't say how
many blind women there may be in my line in the
streets. I haven't the least notion. I took little
notice of them, God forgive me, when I had my
eyesight, and I haven't been thrown among them
since. Whether there's many of them or not,
they're all to be pitied.

"On a Sunday I never stirs out, except to
chapel, with my lodger or my son. No, sir, not a
Roman Catholic chapel, but a Protestant. When
it's not very fine weather we goes to the nearest,
but you hears nothing but what's good in any of
them. Oh dear, no.

"I lives on tea and bread and butter all the
week — yes, I can make it ready myself — except
on Sundays, when my son has his dinner here,
and we has a bit of cheap meat; not often fish;
it's troublesome. If bread and things wasn't
cheap I couldn't live at all, and it's hardly living
as it is. What can any one do on all that I can
earn? There's so many in the streets, I'm told,
in my line, and distress drives more and more
every week — everybody says so, and wages is so
bad, and there's such under-selling, that I don't
know whatever things will come to. I've no
'spectation of anything better in the time that
has to come, nothing but misery, God help me.
But I'm sure I should soon fret to death in a
work'us."

The poor woman lodging with the blind street-
seller is herself in the same trade, but doing most
in boot and stay-laces. She has a sharp and
pinched outline of countenance, as if from poverty
of diet, and is indeed wretchedly poor, earning
only about 6d. a day, if so much. She is about
the same age as her landlady, or somewhat younger,
and has apparently been good-looking, and has
still an intelligent expression. She lodged with
the blind woman during her husband's lifetime,
when he rented two rooms, letting her one, and
she had lived with the present widow in this way
about fourteen years. She speaks cheerfully and
seems an excellent companion for a blind person.
On my remarking that they could neither of them
be very cross-tempered to have lived so long to-
gether, the lodger said, laughingly, "O, we have a
little tiff now and then, sir, as women will, you
know; but it's not often, and we soon are all
right again. Poor people like us has something
else to think of than tiffs and gossipping."