University of Virginia Library

11. OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE,
AND THE FINE ARTS.

We now come to a class of street-folk wholly
distinct from any before treated of. As yet we
have been dealing principally with the uneducated
portion of the street-people — men whom, for the
most part, are allowed to remain in nearly the
same primitive and brutish state as the savage
— creatures with nothing but their appetites,
instincts, and passions to move them, and made
up of the same crude combination of virtue and
vice — the same generosity combined with the
same predatory tendencies as the Bedouins of
the desert — the same love of revenge and dis-
regard of pain, and often the same gratitude
and susceptibility to kindness as the Red
Indian — and, furthermore, the same insensi-
bility to female honour and abuse of female
weakness, and the same utter ignorance of the
Divine nature of the Godhead as marks either
Bosjesman, Carib, or Thug.

The costers and many other of the street-
sellers before described, however, are bad — not
so much from their own perversity as from our
selfishness. That they partake of the natural
evil of human nature is not their fault but ours,
— who would be like them if we had not been
taught by others better than ourselves to con-
troul the bad and cherish the good principles of
our hearts.

The street-sellers of stationery, literature, and
the fine arts, however, differ from all before
treated of in the general, though far from uni-
versal, education of the sect. They constitute
principally the class of street-orators, known in
these days as "patterers," and formerly termed
"mountebanks," — people who, in the words of
Strutt, strive to "help off their wares by pomp-
ous speeches, in which little regard is paid
either to truth or propriety." To patter, is a
slang term, meaning to speak. To indulge in
this kind of oral puffery, of course, requires a
certain exercise of the intellect, and it is the
consciousness of their mental superiority which
makes the patterers look down upon the coster-
mongers as an inferior body, with whom they
object either to be classed or to associate. The
scorn of some of the "patterers" for the mere
costers is as profound as the contempt of the
pickpocket for the pure beggar. Those who
have not witnessed this pride of class among
even the most degraded, can form no adequate
idea of the arrogance with which the skilled
man, no matter how base the art, looks upon
the unskilled. "We are the haristocracy of the
streets," was said to me by one of the street-
folks, who told penny fortunes with a bottle.
"People don't pay us for what we gives 'em,
but only to hear us talk. We live like yourself,
sir, by the hexercise of our hintellects — we by
talking, and you by writing."

But notwithstanding the self-esteem of the
patterers, I am inclined to think that they are
less impressionable and less susceptible of kind-
ness than the costers whom they despise. Dr.
Conolly has told us that, even among the insane,
the educated classes are the most difficult to
move and govern through their affections. They
are invariably suspicious, attributing unworthy
motives to every benefit conferred, and conse-
quently incapable of being touched by any
sympathy on the part of those who may be
affected by their distress. So far as my ex-
perience goes it is the same with the street-pat-
terers. Any attempt to befriend them is almost
sure to be met with distrust. Nor does their
mode of life serve in any way to lessen their mis-
givings. Conscious how much their own live-
lihood depends upon assumption and trickery,
they naturally consider that others have some
"dodge," as they call it, or some latent object
in view when any good is sought to be done
them. The impulsive costermonger, however,
approximating more closely to the primitive
man, moved solely by his feelings, is as easily
humanized by any kindness as he is brutified by
any injury.

The patterers, again, though certainly more
intellectual, are scarcely less immoral than the
costers. Their superior cleverness gives them
the power of justifying and speciously glossing
their evil practices, but serves in no way to
restrain them; thus affording the social philoso-
pher another melancholy instance of the evil of
developing the intellect without the conscience —
of teaching people to know what is morally
beautiful and ugly, without teaching them at
the same time to feel and delight in the one and
abhor the other — or, in other words, of quicken-
ing the cunning and checking the emotions of
the individual.

Among the patterers marriage is as little
frequent as among the costermongers; with the
exception of the older class, who "were per-
haps married before they took to the streets."
Hardly one of the patterers, however, has been
bred to a street life; and this constitutes another
line of demarcation between them and the cos-
termongers.

The costers, we have seen, are mostly here-
ditary wanderers — having been as it were born
to frequent the public thoroughfares; some
few of the itinerant dealers in fish, fruit, and
vegetables, have it is true been driven by want
of employment to adopt street-selling as a
means of living, but these are, so to speak, the
aliens rather than the natives of the streets.
The patterers, on the other hand, have for the
most part neither been born and bred nor
driven to a street life — but have rather taken to it from a natural love of what they call
"roving." This propensity to lapse from a
civilized into a nomad state — to pass from a
settler into a wanderer — is a peculiar charac-

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teristic of the pattering tribe. The tendency
however is by no means extraordinary; for
ethnology teaches us, that whereas many aban-
don the habits of civilized life to adopt those
of a nomadic state of existence, but few of the
wandering tribes give up vagabondising and
betake themselves to settled occupations. The
innate "love of a roving life," which many of
the street-people themselves speak of as the
cause of their originally taking to the streets,
appears to be accompanied by several peculiar
characteristics; among the most marked of
these are an indomitable "self-will" or hatred
of the least restraint or controul — an innate
aversion to every species of law or government,
whether political, moral, or domestic — a stub-
born, contradictory nature — an incapability of
continuous labour, or remaining long in the
same place occupied with the same object,
or attending to the same subject — an unusual
predilection for amusements, and especially for
what partakes of the ludicrous — together with
a great relish of all that is ingenious, and so
finding extreme delight in tricks and frauds of
every kind. There are two patterers now in
the streets (brothers) — well-educated and re-
spectably connected — who candidly confess
they prefer that kind of life to any other, and
would not leave it if they could.

Nor are the patterers less remarkable than the
costermongers for their utter absence of all reli-
gious feeling. There is, however, this distinc-
tion between the two classes — that whereas the
creedlessness of the one is but the consequence
of brutish ignorance, that of the other is the
result of natural perversity and educated scepti-
cism — as the street-patterers include many men
of respectable connections, and even classical
attainments. Among them, may be found the
son of a military officer, a clergyman, a man
brought up to the profession of medicine, two
Grecians of the Blue-coat School, clerks, shop-
men, and a class who have been educated to no
especial calling — some of the latter being the
natural sons of gentlemen and noblemen — and
who, when deprived of the support of their
parents or friends, have taken to the streets for
bread. Many of the younger and smarter men,
I am assured, reside with women of the town,
though they may not be dependent for their
livelihood on the wages got by the infamy of
these women. Not a few of the patterers, too,
in their dress and appearance, present but little
difference to that of the "gent." Some wear a
moustache, while others indulge in a Henri-
Quatre beard. The patterers are, moreover, as
a body, not distinguished by that good and
friendly feeling one to another which is remark-
able among costermongers. If an absence of
heartiness and good fellowship be characteristic
of an aristocracy — as some political philosophers
contend — then the patterers may indeed be said
to be the aristocrats of the streets.

The patterers or oratorical street-sellers in-
clude among their class many itinerant traders,
other than the wandering "paper-workers" —
as those vending the several varieties of street-
literature are generally denominated. The
Cheap Jacks, or oratorical hucksters of hard-
ware at fairs and other places, are among the
most celebrated and humorous of this class.
The commercial arts and jests of some of these
people, display considerable cleverness. Many
of their jokes, it is true, are traditional — and
as purely a matter of parrotry as the witticisms
of the "funny gentlemen" on the stage, but
their ready adaptation of accidental circum-
stances to the purposes of their business,
betrays a modicum of wit far beyond that
which falls to the share of ordinary "low
comedians." The street-vendors of cough
drops — infallible cures for the toothache and
other ailments — also belong to the pattering
class. These are, as was before stated, the
remains of the obsolete mountebanks of Eng-
land and the saltinbanque of France — a class
of al fresco orators who derived their names
from the bench — the street pulpit, rostrum, or
platform — that they ascended, in order the better
to deliver their harangues. The street jugglers,
actors, and showmen, as well as the street-sellers
of grease-removing compositions, corn-salve,
razor-paste, plating-balls, waterproof blacking,
rat poisons, sovereigns sold for wagers, and a
multiplicity of similar street-trickeries — such as
oratorical begging — are other ingenious and
wordy members of the same chattering, jabber-
ing, or "plattering" fraternity. These will all
be spoken of under the head of the different
things they respectively sell or do. For the pre-
sent we have only to deal with that portion of
the "pattering" body who are engaged in the
street sale of literature — or the "paper-workers"
as they call themselves. The latter include the
"running patterers," or "death-hunters;" being
men (no women) engaged in vending last dying
speeches and confessions — in hawking "se-cond
edi-tions" of newspapers — or else in "working,"
that is to say, in getting rid of what are techni-
cally termed "cocks;" which, in polite language,
means accounts of fabulous duels between ladies
of fashion — of apochryphal elopements, or ficti-
tious love-letters of sporting noblemen and cer-
tain young milliners not a hundred miles from
the spot — "cooked" assassinations and sudden
deaths of eminent individuals — pretended jealous
affrays between Her Majesty and the Prince
Consort (but these papers are now never worked)
— or awful tragedies, including mendacious
murders, impossible robberies, and delusive
suicides.

The sellers of these choice articles, however,
belong more particularly to that order or species
of the pattering genus known as "running pat-
terers," or "flying stationers," from the fact of
their being continually on the move while de-
scribing the attractions of the "papers" they
have to sell. Contradistinguished from them,
however, are the "standing patterers," or those
for whose less startling announcements a crowd
is necessary, in order that the audience may have
time to swallow the many marvels worked by

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their wares. The standing patterers require,
therefore, what they term a "pitch," that is to
say a fixed locality, where they can hold forth
to a gaping multitude for, at least, some few
minutes continuously. They are mainly such
street-sellers as deal in nostrums and the dif-
ferent kinds of street "wonders." Occasionally,
however, the running patterer (who is especially
literary) transmigrates into a standing one, be-
taking himself to "board work," as it is termed
in street technology, and stopping at the corners
of thoroughfares with a large pictorial placard
raised upon a pole, and glowing with a highly-
coloured exaggeration of the interesting terrors
of the pamphlet he has for sale. This is either
"The Life of Calcraft, the Hangman," "The
Diabolical Practices of Dr. — on his Pa-
tients when in a state of Mesmerism," or "The
Secret Doings at the White House, Soho," and
other similar attractively-repulsive details. Akin
to this "board work" is the practice of what
is called "strawing," or selling straws in the
street, and giving away with them something
that is either really or fictionally forbidden to be
sold, — as indecent papers, political songs, and
the like. This practice, however, is now seldom
resorted to, while the sale of "secret papers" is
rarely carried on in public. It is true, there
are three or four patterers who live chiefly by
professing to dispose of "sealed packets" of
obscene drawings and cards for gentlemen; but
this is generally a trick adopted to extort money
from old debauchees, young libertines, and people
of degraded or diseased tastes; for the packets,
on being opened, seldom contain anything but
an odd number of some defunct periodical. There
is, however, a large traffic in such secret papers
carried on in what is called "the public-house
trade," that is to say, by itinerant "paper-
workers" (mostly women), who never make their
appearance in the streets, but obtain a livelihood
by "busking," as it is technically termed, or, in
other words, by offering their goods for sale only
at the bars and in the tap-rooms and parlours
of taverns. The excessive indulgence of one
appetite is often accompanied by the disease
of a second; the drunkard, of course, is super-
eminently a sensualist, and is therefore easily
taken by anything that tends to stimulate his
exhausted desires: so sure is it that one form
of bestiality is a necessary concomitant of ano-
ther. There is another species of patterer, who,
though usually included among the standing
patterers, belongs rather to an intermediate
class, viz., those who neither stand nor "run,"
as they descant upon what they sell; but those
walk at so slow a rate that, though never sta-
tionary, they can hardly be said to move.
These are the reciters of dialogues, litanies,
and the various street "squibs" upon passing
events; they also include the public pro-
pounders of conundrums, and the "hundred
and fifty popular song" enumerators — such as
are represented in the engraving here given.
Closely connected with them are the "chaunters,"
or those who do not cry, but (if one may so far
stretch the English language) sing the contents
of the "papers" they vend.

These traffickers constitute the principal
street-sellers of literature, or "paper-workers,"
of the "pattering" class. In addition to them
there are many others vending "papers" in
the public thoroughfares, who are mere traders
resorting to no other acts for the disposal of their
goods than a simple cry or exposition of them;
and many of these are but poor, humble, strug-
gling, and inoffensive dealers. They do not puff
or represent what they have to sell as what it is
not — (allowing them a fair commercial latitude).
They are not of the "enterprising" class of
street tradesmen. Among these are the street-
sellers of stationery — such as note-paper, en-
velopes, pens, ink, pencils, sealing-wax, and
wafers. Belonging to the same class, too, are
the street-vendors of almanacs, pocket-books,
memorandum and account-books. Then there
are the sellers of odd numbers of periodicals
and broadsheets, and those who vend either
playing cards, conversation cards, stenographic
cards, and (at Epsom, Ascot, &c.) racing cards.
Besides these, again, there are the vendors of
illustrated cards, such as those embellished with
engravings of the Cyrstal Palace, Views of the
Houses of Parliament, as well as the gelatine
poetry cards — all of whom, with the exception
of the racing-card sellers (who belong generally
to the pattering tribe), partake of the usual
characteristics of the street-selling class.

After these may be enumerated the vendors
of old engravings out of inverted umbrellas, and
the hawkers of coloured pictures in frames.
Then there are the old book-stalls and barrows,
and "the pinners-up," as they are termed, or
sellers of old songs pinned against the wall, as
well as the vendors of manuscript music. More-
over, appertaining to the same class, there are
the vendors of playbills and "books of the per-
formance" outside the theatre; and lastly, the
pretended sellers of tracts — such as the Lascars
and others, who use this kind of street traffic as
a cloak for the more profitable trade of begging.
The street-sellers of images, although strictly
comprised within those who vend fine art pro-
ductions in the public thoroughfares will be
treated of under the head of The Street Ita-
lians, to which class they mostly belong.

OF THE FORMER AND PRESENT STREET-
PATTERERS.

Of the street-patterers the running (or flying)
trader announces the contents of the paper he is
offering for sale, as he proceeds on his mission.
It is usually the detail of some "barbarious and
horrible murder," or of some extraordinary occur-
rence — such as the attack on Marshal Haynau —
which has roused public attention; or the paper
announced as descriptive of a murder, or of
some exciting event, may in reality be some
odd number of a defunct periodical. "It's
astonishing," said one patterer to me, "how few
people ever complain of having been took in. It
hurts their feelings to lose a halfpenny, but it

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hurts their pride too much, when they're had, to
grumble in public about it." On this head,
then, I need give no further general explanation.

In times of excitement the running patterer (or
"stationer," as he was and is sometimes called)
has reaped the best harvest. When the Popish
plot agitated England in the reign of Charles II.
the "Narratives" of the design of a handful of
men to assassinate a whole nation, were eagerly
purchased in the streets and taverns. And this
has been the case during the progress of any ab-
sorbing event subsequently. I was told by a very
old gentleman, who had heard it from his grand-
father, that in some of the quiet towns of the
north of England, in Durham and Yorkshire,
there was the greatest eagerness to purchase
from the street-sellers any paper relative to the
progress of the forces under Charles Edward
Stuart, in 1745. This was especially the case
when it became known that the "rebels" had
gained possession of Carlisle, and it was un-
certain what might be their route southward.
About the period of the "affair of the '45,"
and in the autumn following the decisive battle
of Culloden (in April, 1746), the "Northern
Lights" were more than usually brilliant, or
more than usually remarked, and a meteor or
two had been seen. The street-sellers were then
to be found in fairs and markets, vending won-
derful accounts of these wonderful phenomena.

I have already alluded to the character of
the old mountebank, and to his "pompous
orations," having "as little regard to truth as to
propriety." There certainly is little pompous-
ness in the announcements of the patterers,
though in their general disregard of truth they
resemble those of the mountebank. The
mountebank, however, addressed his audience
from a stage, and made his address attractive
by mixing up with it music, dancing, and
tumbling; sometimes, also, equestrianism on
the green of a village; and by having always
the services of a merry-andrew, or clown. The
nostrums of these quacks were all as unequalled
for cheapness as for infallibility, and their im-
pudence and coolness ensured success. Their
practices are as well exposed in some of the
Spectators of 1711-12 as the puppet-playing of
Powel was good-humouredly ridiculed. One
especial instance is cited, where a mountebank,
announcing himself a native of Hammersmith,
where he was holding forth, offered to make a
present of 5s. to every brother native of Ham-
mersmith among his audience. The mounte-
bank then drew from a long bag a handful of
little packets, each of which, he informed the
spectators, was constantly sold for 5s. 6d., but
that out of love to his native hamlet he would
bate the odd 5s. to every inhabitant of the place.
The whole assembly immediately closed with
his generous offer."

There is a scene in Moncrieff's popular farce
of "Rochester," where the hero personates a
mountebank, which may be here cited as afford-
ing a good idea of the "pompous orations" in-
dulged in by the street orators in days of yore:

In his unscrupulousness and boldness in street
announcements, and sometimes in his humour
and satire, we find the patterer of the present
day to be the mountebank of old descended from
his platform into the streets — but without his
music, his clown, or his dress.

There was formerly, also, another class, dif-
fering little from the habits of that variety of
patterers of the present day who "busk" it, or
"work the public-houses."

The resemblance of the modern patterer to
the classes above mentioned will be seen when I
describe the public-house actor and reciter of
the present day, as well as the standing patterer,
who does not differ so much from the running
patterer in the quality of his announcements, as
in his requiring more time to make an impres-
sion, and being indeed a sort of lecturer needing
an audience; also of the present reciters "of
verses and moral speeches." But of these curious
classes I shall proceed to treat separately.

OF THE HABITS, OPINIONS, MORALS, AND
RELIGION OF PATTERERS GENERALLY.

In order that I might omit nothing which will
give the student of that curious phase of London
life in London streets — the condition of the
patterers — a clear understanding of the subject,
I procured the following account from an edu-
cated gentleman (who has been before alluded
to in this work), and as he had been driven to
live among the class he describes, and to sup-
port himself by street-selling, his remarks have
of course all the weight due to personal experi-
ence, as well as to close observation: —

"If there is any truth in phrenology," writes
the gentleman in question, "the patterers — to
a man — are very large in the organ of `self-
esteem,' from which suggestion an enquiry
arises, viz., whether they possess that of which
they may justly pique themselves. To arrive at
truth about the patterers is very difficult, and
indeed the persons with whom they live are
often quite in the dark about the history, or in
some cases the pursuits of their lodgers.

"I think that the patterers may be divided into
three classes. First, — those who were well born
and brought up. Secondly, — those whose
parents have been dissipated and gave them
little education. Thirdly, — those who — what-
ever their early history — will not be or do any-
thing but what is of an itinerant character. I
shall take a glance at the first of these classes,
presupposing that they were cradled in the lap
of indulgence, and trained to science and virtue.

"If these people take to the streets, they be-
come, with here and there an exception, the
most reprobate and the least reclaimable. I was
once the inmate of a lodging-house, in which
there were at one time five University-men,
three surgeons, and several sorts of broken-down
clerks, or of other professional men. Their gene-
ral habits were demoralised to the last degree —
their oaths more horrid, extravagant, and far-
fetched than anything I ever heard: they were
stupid in logic, but very original in obscenity.
Most of them scoffed at the Bible, or perverted
its passages to extenuate fraud, to justify vio-
lence, or eonstruct for themselves excuses for
incontinence and imposition. It will appear
strange that these educated persons, when they
turn out upon the street, generally sell articles
which have no connection with literature, and
very little with art. The two brothers, who sell
that wonder-working paste which removes grease
from the outside of your collar by driving it
further in, were both schoiars of Christ's Hos-
pital. They were second Grecians, and might
have gone to college; but several visits to sub-
urban fairs, and their accompanying scenes of
debauch, gave them a penchant for a vagabond
life, and they will probably never relinquish it.
The very tall man — there are several others —
who sells razors and paste on a red pagoda-look-
ing stall, was apprenticed to a surgeon in Col-
chester, with a premium of 300 guineas; and
the little dark-visaged man, who sells children's
money-boxes and traps to catch vermin, is the
son of a late upholsterer in Bath, who was also
a magistrate of that city. The poor man alluded
to was a law-student, and kept two terms in
Trinity Hall, Cambridge. Many similar cases
might be mentioned — cases founded on real
observation and experience. Some light may be
thrown upon this subject by pointing out the
modus operandi by which a friend of mine got
imitiated into the `art and mystery of patterism.'
`I had lived,' he said, `more than a year among
the tradesmen and tramps, who herd promis-
cuously together in low lodging-houses. One
afternoon I was taking tea at the same table
with a brace of patterers. They eyed me with
suspicion; but, determined to know their pro-
ceedings, I launched out the only cant word I
had then learned. They spoke of going to
Chatham. Of course, I knew the place, and
asked them, "Where do you stall to in the
huey?" which, fairly translated, means, "Where
do you lodge in the town?" Convinced that I
was "fly," one of them said, "We drop the main
toper (go off the main road) and slink into
the crib (house) in the back drum (street)."
After some altercation with the "mot" of the
"ken" (mistress of the lodging-house) about the
cleanliness of a knife or fork, my new acquaint-
ance began to arrange "ground," &c., for the
night's work. I got into their confidence by
degrees; and I give below a vocabulary of their
talk to each other:'

                                     

Word.	Meaning.
Crabshells	Shoes.
Kite	Paper.
Nests	Varieties.
Sticky	Wax.
Toff	Gentleman.
Burerk	Lady.
Camister	Minister.
Crocus	Doctor.
Bluff	An excuse.
Balamy	Insane.
Mill Tag	A shirt.
Smeesh	A shift.
Hay-bag	A woman.
Doxy	A wife.
Flam	A lie.
Teviss	A shilling
Bull	A crown.
Flag	An apron.

"The cant or slang of the patterer is not the
cant of the constermonger, but a system of their
own. As in the case of the costers, it is so
interlarded with their general remarks, while
their ordinary language is so smothered and
subdued, that unless when they are profession-
ally engaged and talking of their wares, they-
might almost pass for foreigners.

"There can be no doubt," continues my
informant, "that the second class of street-
patterers, to whom nature, or parents, or cir-
cumstances have been unpropitious, are the
most moral, and have a greater sense of right
and wrong, with a quicksightedness about hu-
mane and generous things, to which the `aris-
tocratic' patterer is a stranger. Of the dealers
in useful or harmless wares — although, of course,
they use allowable exaggeration as to the good-
ness of the article — many are devout communi-
cants at church, or members of dissenting bodies;
while others are as careless about religion, and
are still to be found once or twice a week in the
lecture-rooms of the Mechanics' Institute nearest
to their residence. Orchard-street, Westminster,
is a great locality for this sort of patterers.
Three well-known characters, — Bristol George,
Corporal Casey, and Jemmy the Rake, with a
very respectable and highly-informed man called
`Grocer,' from his having been apprenticed to
that business, — have maintained a character for
great integrity among the neighbours for many
years.

"I come now to the third class of patterers, —
those who, whatever their early pursuits and
pleasures, have manifested a predilection for
vagrancy, and neither can nor will settle to any
ordinary calling. There is now on the streets a
man scarcely thirty years old, conspicuous by
the misfortune of a sabre-wound on the cheek.
He is a native of the Isle of Man. His father
was a captain in the Buffs, and himself a com-
missioned officer at seventeen. He left the
army, designing to marry and open a boarding-
school. The young lady to whom he was be-
trothed died, and that event might affect his
mind; at any rate, he has had 38 situations
in a dozen years, and will not keep one a
week. He has a mortal antipathy to good
clothes, and will not keep them one hour.
He sells anything — chiefly needle-cases. He
`patters' very little in a main drag (public
street); but in the little private streets he
preaches an outline of his life, and makes no
secret of his wandering propensity. His aged
mother, who still lives, pays his lodgings in Old
Pye-street.

"From the hasty glance I have taken at the
patterers, any well-constructed mind may de-
duce the following inference: because a great
amount of intelligence sometimes consists with
a great want of principle, that no education, or
mis-education, leaves man, like a reed floating
on the stream of time, to follow every direction
which the current of affairs may give him.

"There is yet another and a larger class, who
are wanderers from choice, — who would rather be
street-orators, and quacks, and performers, than
anything else in the world. In nine cases out
of ten, the street-patterers are persons of intem-
perate habits, no veracity, and destitute of any
desire to improve their condition, even where
they have the chance. One of this crew was
lately engaged at a bazaar; he had 18s. a week,
and his only work was to walk up and down
and extol the articles exhibited. This was too
monotonous a life; I happened to pass him by
as he was taking his wages for the week, and
heard him say, `I shall cut this b — y work; I
can earn more on the streets, and be my own
master.' "

It would be a mistake to suppose that the
patterers, although a vagrant, are a disorganized
class. There is a telegraphic dispatch between
them, through the length and breadth of the
land. If two patterers (previously unac-
quainted) meet in the provinces, the following,
or something like it, will be their conversation:
— "Can you `voker romeny' (can you speak
cant)? What is your `monekeer' (name)?"
— Perhaps it turns out that one is "White-
headed Bob," and the other "Plymouth Ned."
They have a "shant of gatter" (pot of beer) at
the nearest "boozing ken" (ale-house), and
swear eternal friendship to each other. The old
saying, that "When the liquor is in, the wit is
out," is remarkably fulfilled on these occa-
sions, for they betray to the "flatties" (natives)
all their profits and proceedings.

It is to be supposed that, in country districts,
where there are no streets, the patterer is obliged
to call at the houses. As they are mostly
without the hawker's licence, and sometimes
find wet linen before it is lost, the rural districts
are not fond of their visits; and there are gene-
rally two or three persons in a village reported
to be "gammy," that is (unfavourable). If a
patterer has been "crabbed," that is (offended)
at any of the "cribbs" (houses), he mostly
chalks a signal on or near the door. I give one
or two instances:

• ♦ "Bone," meaning good.

• ▿ "Cooper'd," spoiled by the imprudence
  of some other patterer.

• □ "Gammy," likely to have you taken up.

• "Flummut," sure of a month in quod.

In most lodging-houses there is an old man
who is the guide to every "walk" in the
vicinity, and who can tell every house, on every
round, that is "good for a cold 'tater." In
many cases there is over the kitchen mantle-
piece a map of the district, dotted here and
there with memorandums of failure or success.

Patterers are fond of carving their names and
avocations about the houses they visit. The
old jail at Dartford has been some years a
"padding-ken." In one of the rooms appears
the following autographs:

"Jemmy, the Rake, bound to Bristol; bad
beds, but no bugs. Thank God for all things."

"Razor George and his moll slept here the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 219.]

day afore Christmas; just out of `stir' (jail),
for `muzzling a peeler.' "

"Scotch Mary, with `driz' (lace), bound to
Dover and back, please God."

Sometimes these inscriptions are coarse and
obsence; sometimes very well written and
orderly. Nor do they want illustrations.

At the old factory, Lincoln, is a portrait of
the town beadle, formerly a soldier; it is drawn
with different-coloured chalks, and ends with
the following couplet:

Concubinage is very common among pat-
terers, especially on their travels; they have
their regular rounds, and call the peregrination
"going on circuit." For the most part they
are early risers; this gives them a facility for
meeting poor girls who have had a night's
shelter in the union workhouses. They offer
such girls some refreshment, — swear they are
single men, — and promise comforts certainly
superior to the immediate position of their
victims. Consent is generally obtained; per-
haps a girl of 14 or 15, previously virtuous, is
induced to believe in a promise of constant pro-
tection, but finds herself, the next morning,
ruined and deserted; nor is it unlikely that,
within a month or two, she will see her seducer
in the company of a dozen incidental wives. A
gray-headed miscreant called "Culter Tom"
boasts of 500 such exploits; and there is too
great reason to believe that the picture of his
own drawing is not greatly overcharged.

Some of the patterers are married men, but
of this class very few are faithful to the solemn
obligation. I have heard of a renowned pat-
terer of this class who was married to four
women, and had lived in criminal intercourse
with his own sister, and his own daughter by
one of the wives. This sad rule has, however,
I am happy to state, some splendid exceptions.
There is a man called "Andy" — well known as
the companion of "Hopping Ned;" this "Andy"
has a wife of great personal attractions, a splen-
did figure, and teeth without a parallel. She is
a strictly-virtuous woman, a most devoted wife,
and tender mother; very charitable to any one
in want of a meal, and very constant (she is a
Catholic) in her religious duties. Another man
of the same school, whose name has escaped me,
is, with his wife, an exception to the stigma on
almost the whole class; the couple in question
have no children. The wife, whose name is
Maria, has been in every hospital for some com-
plaint in her knees, probably white swelling;
her beauty is the theme of applause, and when-
ever she opens her mouth silence pervades the
"paddin' ken." Her common conversation is
music and mathematics combined, her reading
has been masculine and extensive, and the
whisper of calumny has never yet attacked her
own demeanour or her husband's.

Of patterers who have children, many are
very exemplary; sending them to Day and Sun-
day-schools, causing them to say grace before
and after meals, to attend public worship, and
always to speak the truth: these, instances, how-
ever, stand in fearful contrast with the conduct
of other parents.

"I have seen," proceeds my reverend in-
formant, "fathers and mothers place their boys
and girls in positions of incipient enormity, and
command them to use language and gestures to
each other, which would make an harlot blush,
and almost a heathen tremble. I have hitherto
viewed the patterer as a salesman, — having
something in his hand, on whose merits, real or
pretended, he talks people out of their money.
By slow degrees prosperity rises, but rapid is
the advance of evil. The patterer sometimes
gets `out of stock,' and is obliged, at no great
sacrifice of conscience, to `patter' in another
strain. In every large town sham official docu-
ments, with crests, seals, and signatures, can be
got for half-a-crown. Armed with these, the
patterer becomes a `lurker,' — that is, an im-
postor; his papers certify any and every `ill
that flesh is heir to.' Shipwreck is called a
`shake lurk;' loss by fire is a `glim.' Some-
times the petitioner has had a horse, which has
dropped dead with the mad staggers; or has a
wife ill or dying, and six or seven children at
once sickening of the small-pox. Children are
borrowed to support the appearance; the case
is certified by the minister and churchwardens
of a parish which exists only in imagination;
and as many people dislike the trouble of in-
vestigation, the patterer gets enough to raise a
stock in trade, and divides the spoil between the
swag-shop and the gin-palace. Sometimes they
are detected, and get a `drag' (three months in
prison). They have many narrow escapes: one
occurs to me, of a somewhat ludicrous character.
A patterer and lurker (now dead) known by the
name of `Captain Moody,' unable to get a `fake-
ment' written or printed, was standing almost
naked in the streets of a neighbouring town.
A gentleman stood still and heard his piteous
tale, but having been `done' more than once,
he resolved to examine the affair, and begged the
petitioner to conduct him to his wife and chil-
dren, who were in a garret on a bed of languish-
ing, with neither clothes, food, nor fire, but, it
appeared, with faith enough to expect a supply
from `Him who feedeth the ravens,' and in
whose sacred name even a cold 'tater was im-
plored. The patterer, or half-patterer and half-
beggar, took the gentleman (who promised a
sovereign if every thing was square) through
innumerable and intricate windings, till he came
to an outhouse or sort of stable. He saw the
key outside the door, and begged the gentleman
to enter and wait till he borrowed a light of a
neighbour, to show him up-stairs. The illumi-
nation never arrived, and the poor charitable
man found that the miscreant had locked him
into the stable. The patterer went to the pad-
ding-ken, — told the story with great glee, and
left that locality within an hour of the occur-
rence."

[Concerning the mendicancy and vagrancy of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 220.]

patterers, I shall have more to say when I speak
of vagrancy in general, and when I describe the
general state and characteristics of the low lodg-
ing-houses in London, and those in the country,
which are in intimate connection with the me-
tropolitan abodes of the vagrant. My present
theme is the London patterer, who is also a
street-seller.]

OF THE PUBLISHERS AND AUTHORS OF
STREET-LITERATURE.

The best known, and the most successful printer
and publisher of all who have directed their
industry to supply the "paper" in demand for
street sale, and in every department of street
literature, was the late "Jemmy Catnach," who
is said to have amassed upwards of 10,000l. in
the business. He is reported to have made the
greater part of this sum during the trial of
Queen Caroline, by the sale of whole-sheet
"papers," descriptive of the trial, and embel-
lished with "splendid illustrations." The next
to Catnach stood the late "Tommy Pitt," of the
noted toy and marble-warehouse. These two
parties were the Colburn and Bentley of the
"paper" trade. Catnach retired from business
some years ago, and resided in a country-house
at Barnet, but he did not long survive his retire-
ment. "He was an out and out sort," said one
old paper-worker to me, "and if he knew you —
and he could judge according to the school you
belonged to, if he hadn't known you long — he
was friendly for a bob or two, and sometimes
for a glass. He knew the men that was stickers
though, and there was no glass for them. Why,
some of his customers, sir, would have stuck to
him long enough, if there'd been a chance of
another glass — supposing they'd managed to get
one — and then would have asked him for a coach
home! When I called on him, he used to say,
in his north country way — he wasn't Scotch,
but somewhere north of England — and he was
pleasant with it, `Well, d — you, how are you?'
He got the cream of the pail, sir."

The present street literature printers and pub-
lishers are, Mrs. Ryle (Catnach's niece and
successor), Mr. Birt, and Mr. Paul (formerly
with Catnach), all of the Seven Dials; Mr.
Powell (formerly of Lloyd's), Brick-lane, White-
chapel; and Mr. Good, Aylesbury-street, Clerk-
enwell. Mr. Phairs, of Westminster; Mr. Tay-
lor, of the Waterloo-road; and Mr. Sharp, of
Kent-street, Borough, have discontinued street
printing. One man greatly regretted Mr. Tay-
lor's discontinuing the business; "he was so
handy for the New-cut, when it was the New-
cut." Some classes of patterers, I may here
observe, work in "schools" or "mobs" of two,
three, or four, as I shall afterwards show.

The authors and poets who give its peculiar
literature, alike in prose or rhyme, to the streets,
are now six in number. They are all in some
capacity or other connected with street-patter or
song, and the way in which a narrative or a
"copy of werses" is prepared for press is usually
this: — The leading members of the "schools,"
some of whom refer regularly to the evening
papers, when they hear of any out-of-the-way
occurrence, resort to the printer and desire its
publication in a style proper for the streets.
This is usually done very speedily, the school
(or the majority of them) and the printer agree-
ing upon the author. Sometimes an author
will voluntarily prepare a piece of street litera-
ture and submit it to a publisher, who, as in
the case of other publishers, accepts or declines,
as he believes the production will or will not
prove remunerative. Sometimes the school
carry the manuscript with them to the printer,
and undertake to buy a certain quantity, to
insure publication. The payment to the author
is the same in all cases — a shilling.

Concerning the history and character of our
street and public-house literature, I shall treat
hereafter, when I can comprise the whole,
and after the descriptions of the several classes
engaged in the trade will have paved the way
for the reader's better appreciation of the
curious and important theme. I say, impor-
tant; because the street-ballad and the street-
narrative, like all popular things, have their
influence on masses of the people. Specimens
will be found adduced, as I describe the several
classes, or in the statements of the patterers.

It must be borne in mind that the street
author is closely restricted in the quality of his
effusion. It must be such as the patterers ap-
prove, as the chaunters can chaunt, the ballad-
singers sing, and — above all — such as street-
buyers will buy. One chaunter, who was a great
admirer of the "Song of the Shirt," told me
that if Hood himself had written the "Pitiful
Case of Georgy Sloan and his Wife," it would
not have sold so well as a ballad he handed to
me, from which I extract a verse:

What I have said of the necessity which con-
trols street authorship, may also be said of the
art which is sometimes called in to illustrate it.

The paper now published for the streets is
classed as quarter sheets, which cost (wholesale)
1s. a gross; half sheets, which cost 2s.; and
whole or broad sheets (such as for executions),
which cost 3s. 6d.; a gross the first day, and 3s. the next day or two, and afterwards, but only if
a ream be taken, 5s. 6d.; a ream contains forty
dozen. When "illustrated," the charge is from
3d. to 1s. per ream extra. The books, for such
cases as the Sloanes, or the murder of Jael
Denny, are given in books — which are best
adapted for the suburban and country trade,
when London is "worked" sufficiently — are the
"whole sheet" printed so as to fold into eight
pages, each side of the paper being then, of
course, printed upon. A book is charged from
6d. to 1s. extra (to a whole sheet) per gross, and
afterwards the same extra per ream.

OF LONG SONG-SELLERS.

I have this week given a daguerreotype of a
well-known long-song seller, and have preferred
to give it as the trade, especially as regards
London, has all but disappeared, and it was
curious enough. "Long songs" first appeared
between nine and ten years ago.

The long-song sellers did not depend upon
patter — though some of them pattered a little —
to attract customers, but on the veritable cheap-
ness and novel form in which they vended
popular songs, printed on paper rather wider
than this page, "three songs abreast," and the
paper was about a yard long, which con-
stituted the "three" yards of song. Some-
times three slips were pasted together. The
vendors paraded the streets with their "three
yards of new and popular songs" for a penny.
The songs are, or were, generally fixed to the
top of a long pole, and the vendor "cried"
the different titles as he went along. This
branch of "the profession" is confined solely
to the summer; the hands in winter usually
taking to the sale of song-books, it being im-
possible to exhibit "the three yards" in wet or
foggy weather. The paper songs, as they flut-
tered from a pole, looked at a little distance
like huge much-soiled white ribbons, used as
streamers to celebrate some auspicious news.
The cry of one man, in a sort of recitative, or,
as I heard it called by street-patterers, "sing-
song," was, "Three yards a penny! Three yards
a penny! Beautiful songs! Newest songs!
Popular Songs! Three yards a penny! Song,
song, songs!" Others, however, were gene-
rally content to announce merely "Three yards
a penny!" One cried "Two under fifty a fardy!"
As if two hundred and fifty songs were to be sold
for a farthing. The whole number of songs was
about 45. They were afterwards sold at a
halfpenny, but were shorter and fewer. It is
probable that at the best had the songs been
subjected to the admeasurement of a jury, the
result might have been as little satisfactory as
to some tradesmen who, however, after having
been detected in attempts to cheat the poor in
weights and scales, and to cheat them hourly,
are still "good men and true" enough to
be jurymen and parliamentary electors. The
songs, I am informed, were often about 2½ yards,
(not as to paper but as to admeasurement of
type); 3 yards, occasionally, at first, and not
often less than 2 yards.

The crying of the titles was not done with
any other design than that of expressing the
great number of songs purchasable for "the
small charge of one penny." Some of the
patterers I conversed with would have made it
sufficiently droll. One man told me that he
had cried the following songs in his three yards,
and he believed in something like the following
order, but he had cried penny song books,
among other things, lately, and might confound
his more ancient and recent cries:

"I sometimes began," he said, "with sing-
ing, or trying to sing, for I'm no vocalist, the
first few words of any song, and them quite
loud. I'd begin

`Buffalo gals, come out to-night;' `Death of
Nelson;' The gay cavalier;' `Jim along
Josey;' `There's a good time coming;'
`Drink to me only;' `Kate Kearney;'
`Chuckaroo-choo, choo-choo-choot-lah;'
`Chockala-roony-ninkaping-nang;' `Paga-
daway-dusty-kanty-key;' `Hottypie-gunnypo-
china-coo' (that's a Chinese song, sir); `I
dreamed that I dwelt in marble halls;' `The
standard bearer;' `Just like love;' `Whistle
o'er the lave o't;' `Widow Mackree;' `I've
been roaming;' `Oh! that kiss;' `The old
English gentleman,' &c., &c. &c. I dares say
they was all in the three yards, or was once, and
if they wasn't there was others as good."

The chief purchasers of the "long songs"
were boys and girls, but mostly boys, who ex-
pended 1d. or ½d. for the curiosity and novelty
of the thing, as the songs were not in the most
readable form. A few working people bought
them for their children, and some women of the
town, who often buy anything fantastic, were
also customers.

When "the three yards was at their best,"
the number selling them was about 170; the
wholesale charge is from 3d. to 5d. a dozen,
according to size. The profit of the vendors in
the first instance was about 8d. a dozen. When
the trade had all the attractions of novelty,
some men sold ten dozen on fine days, and for
three or four of the summer months; so clear-
ing between 6s. and 7s. a day. This, however,
was not an average, but an average might be
at first 21s. a week profit. I am assured that
if twenty persons were selling long songs in the
street last summer it was "the outside," as
long songs are now "for fairs and races and
country work." Calculating that each cleared
9s. in a week, and to clear that took 15s., the
profit being smaller than it used to be, as
many must be sold at ½d. each — we find 120l. expended in long songs in the streets. The
character of the vendor is that of a patterer of
inferior genius.

The stock-money required is 1s. to 2s.; which
with 2d. for a pole, and ½d. for paste, is all
the capital needed. Very few were sold in
the public-houses, as the vendors scrupled to
expose them there, "for drunken fellows would
snatch them, and make belts of them for a
lark."

OF RUNNING PATTERERS.

Few of the residents in London — but chiefly
those in the quieter streets — have not been
aroused, and most frequently in the evening, by
a hurly-burly on each side of the street. An
attentive listening will not lead any one to an
accurate knowledge of what the clamour is
about. It is from a "mob" or "school" of
the running patterers (for both those words are

[Description: 915EAF. Page 222.]

used), and consists of two, three, or four men.
All these men state that the greater the noise
they make, the better is the chance of sale, and
better still when the noise is on each side of a
street, for it appears as if the vendors were
proclaiming such interesting or important intel-
ligence, that they were vieing with one another
who should supply the demand which must
ensue. It is not possible to ascertain with any
certitude what the patterers are so anxious to
sell, for only a few leading words are audible.
One of the cleverest of running patterers re-
peated to me, in a subdued tone, his announce-
ments of murders. The words "Murder,"
"Horrible," "Barbarous," "Love," "Mys-
terious," "Former Crimes," and the like,
could only be caught by the ear, but there
was no announcement of anything like "par-
ticulars." If, however, the "paper" relate
to any well-known criminal, such as Rush,
the name is given distinctly enough, and so
is any new or pretended fact. The running
patterers describe, or profess to describe, the
contents of their papers as they go rapidly
along, and they seldom or ever stand still.
They usually deal in murders, seductions,
crim.-cons., explosions, alarming accidents,
"assassinations," deaths of public characters,
duels, and love-letters. But popular, or noto-
rious, murders are the "great goes." The
running patterer cares less than other street-
sellers for bad weather, for if he "work" on
a wet and gloomy evening, and if the work be
"a cock," which is a fictitious statement or
even a pretended fictitious statement, there is
the less chance of any one detecting the ruse. But of late years no new "cocks" have
been printed, excepting for temporary pur-
poses, such as I have specified as under its
appropriate head in my account of "Death
and Fire-Hunters." Among the old stereo-
typed "cocks" are love-letters. One is well
known as "The Husband caught in a Trap,"
and being in an epistolary form subserves any
purpose: whether it be the patterer's aim to
sell the "Love Letters" of any well-known
person, such as Lola Montes, or to fit them
for a local (pretended) scandal, as the "Let-
ters from a Lady in this neighbourhood to a
Gentleman not 100 miles off."

Of running patterers there are now in Lon-
don from 80 to 100. They reside — some in their
own rooms, but the majority in lodging-houses
— in or near Westminster, St. Giles's, White-
chapel, Stratford, Deptford, Wandsworth, and
the Seven Dials. The "Dials," however, is
their chief locality, being the residence of the
longest-established printers, and is the "head
meet" of the fraternity.

It is not easy to specify with exactitude the
number of running or flying patterers at any
one time in London. Some of these men become,
occasionally, standing patterers, chaunters, or
ballad-singers — classes I shall subsequently de-
scribe — and all of them resort at intervals to
country rounds. I heard, also, many complaints
of boys having of late "taken to the running
patter" when anything attractive was before the
public, and of ignorant fellows — that wouldn't
have thought of it at one time — "trying their
hands at it." Waiving these exceptional aug-
mentations of the number, I will take the body
of running patterers, generally employed in their
peculiar craft in London, at 90. To ascertain
their earnings presents about the same difficul-
ties as to ascertain their number; for as all they
earn is spent — no patterer ever saving money —
they themselves are hardly able to tell their
incomes. If any new and exciting fact be before
the public, these men may each clear 20s. a
week; when there is no such fact, they may not
earn 5s. The profit is contingent, moreover, upon
their being able to obtain 1d., or only ½d., for
their paper. Some represented their average
weekly earnings at 12s. 6d. the year through;
some at 10s. 6d.; and others at less than half of
12s. 6d. Reckoning, however, that only 9s. weekly is an average profit per individual, and
that 14s. be taken to realise that profit, we find
3,276l. expended yearly on running patterers in
London; but in that sum the takings of the
chaunters must be included, as they are mem-
bers of the same fraternity, and work with the
patterers.

The capital required to commence as a running
patterer is but the price of a few papers — from
2d. to 1s. The men have no distinctive dress:
"our togs," said one of them, "is in the latest
fashion of Petticoat-lane;" unless on the very
rare occasions, when some character has to be
personated, and then coloured papers and glazed
calicoes are made available. But this is only a
venture of the old hands.

EXPERIENCE OF A RUNNING PATTERER.

From a running patterer, who has been
familiar with the trade for many years, I
received, upwards of a twelvemonth ago, the
following statement. He is well known for his
humour, and is a leading man in his fraternity.
After some conversation about "cocks," the
most popular of which, my informant said, was
the murder at Chigwell-row, he continued:

"That's a trump, to the present day. Why,
I'd go out now, sir, with a dozen of Chigwell-
rows, and earn my supper in half an hour off of
'em. The murder of Sarah Holmes at Lincoln
is good, too — that there has been worked for the
last five year successively every winter. Poor
Sarah Holmes! Bless her! she has saved me
from walking the streets all night many a time.
Some of the best of these have been in work
twenty years — the Scarborough murder has full
twenty years. It's called `The Scarborough
Tragedy.' I've worked it myself. It's about
a noble and rich young naval officer seducing a
poor clergyman's daughter. She is confined in
a ditch, and destroys the child. She is taken up
for it, tried, and executed. This has had a great
run. It sells all round the country places, and
would sell now if they had it out. Mostly all
our customers is females. They are the chief

[Description: 915EAF. Page 223.]

dependence we have. The Scarborough Tra-
gedy is very attractive. It draws tears to the
women's eyes to think that a poor clergyman's
daughter, who is remarkably beautiful, should
murder her own child; it's very touching to
every feeling heart. There's a copy of verses
with it, too. Then there's the Liverpool Tra-
gedy — that's very attractive. It's a mother
murdering her own son, through gold. He had
come from the East Indies, and married a rich
planter's daughter. He came back to England
to see his parents after an absence of thirty
years. They kept a lodging-house in Liverpool
for sailors; the son went there to lodge, and
meant to tell his parents who he was in the
morning. His mother saw the gold he had got
in his boxes, and cut his throat — severed his
head from his body; the old man, upwards of
seventy years of age, holding the candle. They
had put a washing-tub under the bed to catch his
blood. The morning after the murder, the old
man's daughter calls and inquires for a young
man. The old man denies that they have had
any such person in the house. She says he had
a mole on his arm, in the shape of a strawberry.
The old couple go up-stairs to examine the
corpse, and find they have murdered their own
son, and then they both put an end to their
existence. This is a deeper tragedy than the
Scarborough Murder. That suits young people
better; they like to hear about the young woman
being seduced by the naval officer; but the
mothers take more to the Liverpool Tragedy —
it suits them better. Some of the `cocks' were
in existence long before ever I was born or
thought of. The `Great and important battle
between the two ladies of fortune,' is
what we calls `a ripper.' I should like to have
that there put down correct," he added, "'cause
I've taken a tidy lot of money out of it."

My informant, who had been upwards of
20 years in the running patter line, told me
that he commenced his career with the "Last
Dying Speech and Full Confession of Wil-
liam Corder." He was sixteen years of age,
and had run away from his parents. "I
worked that there," he said, "down in the very
town (at Bury) where he was executed. I
got a whole hatful of halfpence at that.
Why, I wouldn't even give 'em seven for six-
pence — no, that I wouldn't. A gentleman's
servant come out and wanted half a dozen
for his master and one for himself in, and I
wouldn't let him have no such thing. We often
sells more than that at once. Why, I sold six
at one go to the railway clerks at Norwich about
the Manning affair, only a fortnight back. But
Steinburgh's little job — you know he murdered
his wife and family, and committed suicide after
— that sold as well as any `die.' Pegsworth
was an out-and-out lot. I did tremendous with
him, because it happened in London, down Rat-
cliff-highway — that's a splendid quarter for
working — there's plenty of feelings — but, bless
you, some places you go to you can't move no
how, they've hearts like paving-stones. They
wouldn't have `the papers' if you'd give them
to 'em — especially when they knows you.
Greenacre didn't sell so well as might have
been expected, for such a diabolical out-and-out
crime as he committed; but you see he came
close after Pegsworth, and that took the beauty
off him. Two murderers together is never no
good to nobody. Why there was Wilson Glee-
son, as great a villain as ever lived — went and
murdered a whole family at noon-day — but
Rush coopered him — and likewise that girl at
Bristol — made it no draw to any one. Daniel
Good, though, was a first-rater; and would
have been much better if it hadn't been for that
there Madam Toosow. You see, she went down to
Roehampton, and guv 2l. for the werry clogs as
he used to wash his master's carriage in; so, in
course, when the harristocracy could go and see
the real things — the werry identical clogs — in
the Chamber of 'Orrors, why the people wouldn't
look at our authentic portraits of the fiend in
human form. Hocker wasn't any particular
great shakes. There was a deal expected from
him, but he didn't turn out well. Courvoisier
was much better; he sold wery well, but nothing
to Blakesley. Why I worked him for six weeks.
The wife of the murdered man kept the King's
Head that he was landlord on open on the morn-
ing of the execution, and the place was like a
fair. I even went and sold papers outside the
door myself. I thought if she war'n't ashamed,
why should I be? After that we had a fine
`fake' — that was the fire of the Tower of Lon-
don — it sold rattling. Why we had about forty
apprehended for that — first we said two soldiers
was taken up that couldn't obtain their dis-
charge, and then we declared it was a well-
known sporting nobleman who did it for a spree.
The boy Jones in the Palace wasn't much
of an affair for the running patterers; the
ballad singers — or street screamers, as we calls
'em — had the pull out of that. The patter
wouldn't take; they had read it all in the news-
papers before. Oxford, and Francis, and Bean
were a little better, but nothing to crack about.
The people doesn't care about such things as
them. There's nothing beats a stunning good
murder, after all. Why there was Rush — I
lived on him for a month or more. When I com-
menced with Rush, I was 14s. in debt for rent,
and in less than fourteen days I astonished the
wise men in the east by paying my landlord all
I owed him. Since Dan'el Good there had
been little or nothing doing in the murder line
— no one could cap him — till Rush turned up a
regular trump for us. Why I went down to
Norwich expressly to work the execution. I
worked my way down there with `a sorrowful
lamentation' of his own composing, which I'd
got written by the blind man expressly for the
occasion. On the morning of the execution we
beat all the regular newspapers out of the field;
for we had the full, true, and particular account
down, you see, by our own express, and that can
beat anything that ever they can publish; for
we gets it printed several days afore it comes off,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 224.]

and goes and stands with it right under the drop;
and many's the penny I've turned away when
I've been asked for an account of the whole
business before it happened. So you see, for
herly and correct hinformation, we can beat the
Sun — aye, or the moon either, for the matter of
that. Irish Jem, the Ambassador, never goes to
bed but he blesses Rush the farmer; and many's
the time he's told me we should never have such
another windfall as that. But I told him not to
despair; there's good time coming, boys, says
I, and, sure enough, up comes the Bermondsey
tragedy. We might have done very well, indeed,
out of the Mannings, but there was too many
examinations for it to be any great account
to us. I've been away with the Mannings in
the country ever since. I've been through Hert-
fordshire, Cambridgeshire, and Suffolk, along
with George Frederick Manning and his wife —
travelled from 800 to 1,000 miles with 'em, but
I could have done much better if I had stopped
in London. Every day I was anxiously looking
for a confession from Mrs. Manning. All I
wanted was for her to clear her conscience afore
she left this here whale of tears (that's what I
always calls it in the patter), and when I read
in the papers (mind they was none of my own)
that her last words on the brink of heternity
was, `I've nothing to say to you, Mr. Rowe, but
to thank you for your kindness,' I guv her up
entirely — had completely done with her. In
course the public looks to us for the last words
of all monsters in human form, and as for Mrs.
Manning's, they were not worth the printing."

OF THE RECENT EXPERIENCE OF A RUNNING
PATTERER.

From the same man I had the following ac-
count of his vocation up to the present time:

"Well, sir," he said, "I think, take them
altogether, things hasn't been so good this
last year as the year before. But the Pope,
God bless him! he's been the best friend I've
had since Rush, but Rush licked his Holiness.
You see, the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman is a
one-sided affair; of course the Catholics won't
buy anything against the Pope, but all religions
could go for Rush. Our mob once thought of
starting a cardinal's dress, and I thought of
wearing a red hat myself. I did wear a shovel
hat when the Bishop of London was our racket;
but I thought the hat began to feel too hot, so I
shovelled it off. There was plenty of paper
that would have suited to work with a cardinal's
hat. There was one, — `Cardinal Wiseman's
Lament,' — and it was giving his own words
like, and a red hat would have capped it. It
used to make the people roar when it came to
snivelling, and grumbling at little Jack Russell
— by Wiseman, in course; and when it comes
to this part — which alludes to that 'ere thun-
dering letter to the Bishop of Durham — the
people was stunned:

"They shod me, sir. Who's they? Why,
the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman. I call my
clothes after them I earn money by to buy
them with. My shoes I call Pope Pius; my
trowsers and braces, Calcraft; my waistcoat and
shirt, Jael Denny; and my coat, Love Letters.
A man must show a sense of gratitude in the
best way he can. But I didn't start the cardi-
nal's hat; I thought it might prove disagreeable
to Sir Robert Peel's dress lodgers." [What my
informant said further of the Pope, I give under
the head of the Chaunter.] "There was very
little doing," he continued, "for some time
after I gave you an account before; hardly a
slum worth a crust and a pipe of tobacco to us.
A slum's a paper fake, — make a foot-note of
that, sir. I think Adelaide was the first thing
I worked after I told you of my tomfooleries.
Yes it was, — her helegy. She weren't of no
account whatsomever, and Cambridge was no
better nor Adelaide. But there was poor Sir
Robert Peel, — he was some good; indeed, I
think he was as good as 5s. a day to me for
the four or five days when he was freshest.
Browns were thrown out of the windows to us,
and one copper cartridge was sent flying at us
with 13½d. in it, all copper, as if it had been
collected. I worked Sir Robert at the West
End, and in the quiet streets and squares.
Certainly we had a most beautiful helegy.
Well, poor gentleman, what we earned on him
was some set-off to us for his starting his new
regiment of the Blues — the Cook's Own. Not
that they've troubled me much. I was once
before Alderman Kelly, when he was Lord
Mayor, charged with obstructing, or some hum-
bug of that sort. `What are you, my man?'
says he quietly, and like a gentleman. `In the
same line as yourself, my lord,' says I. `How's
that?' says he. `I'm a paper-worker for my
living, my lord,' says I. I was soon discharged;
and there was such fun and laughing, that if
I'd had a few slums in my pocket, I believe I
could have sold them all in the justice-room.

"Haynau was a stunner, and the drayman
came their caper just in the critical time for us,
as things was growing very taper. But I did
best with him in chaunting; and so, as you
want to hear about chaunting, I'll tell you
after. We're forced to change our patter — first
running, then chaunting, and then standing —
oftener than we used to.

"Then Calcraft was pretty tidy browns. He
was up for starving his mother, — and what better
can you expect of a hangman? Me and my
mate worked him down at Hatfield, in Essex,
where his mother lives. It's his native, I believe.
We sold her one. She's a limping old body. I
saw the people look at her, and they told me
arterards who she was. `How much?' says
she. `A penny, marm,' say I. `Sarve him
right,' says she. We worked it, too, in the
street in Hoxton where he lives, and he sent out
for two, which shows he's a sensible sort of
character in some points, after all. Then we
had a `Woice from the Gaol! or the Horrors

[Description: 915EAF. Blank Page.]

[Description: 915EAF. Page 225.]

of the Condemned Cell! Being the Life of
William Calcraft, the present Hangman.' It's
written in the high style, and parts of it will
have astonished the hangman's nerves before
this. Here's a bit of the patter, now:

"Isn't that stunning, sir? Here it is in print
for you. `Mark him for her own!' Then, poor
dear, he's so sorry to hang anybody. Here's
another bit:

"You may believe me, sir, and I can prove
the fact — the author of that beautiful writing
ain't in parliament! Think of the mental flame,
sir! O, dear.

"Sirrell was no good either. Not salt to a
herring. Though we worked him in his own
neighbourhood, and pattered about gold and
silver all in a row. `Ah!' says one old
woman, `he was a 'spectable man.' `Werry,
marm,' says I.

"Hollest weren't no good either, 'cause the
wictim was a parson. If it had happened a little
later, we'd have had it to rights; the news-
papers didn't make much of it. We'd have
shown it was the `Commencement of a Most
Horrid and Barbarious Plot got up by the Pope
and Cardinal Wiseman for-r the Mas-ser-cree-ing
of all good Protestant Ministers.' That would
have been the dodge, sir! A beautiful idear,
now, isn't it? But the murder came off badly,
and you can't expect fellows like them murderers
to have any regard for the interest of art and
literature. Then there's so long to wait between
the murder and the trial, that unless the fiend
in human form keeps writing beautiful love-
letters, the excitement can't be kept up. We can write the love-letters for the fiend in human?
That's quite true, and we once had a great pull
that way over the newspapers. But Lord love
you, there's plenty of 'em gets more and more
into our line. They treads in our footsteps, sir;
they follows our bright example. O! isn't
there a nice rubbing and polishing up. This
here copy won't do. This must be left out, and
that put in; 'cause it suits the walk of the paper.
Why, you must know, sir. I know. Don't tell
me. You can't have been on the Morning
Chronicle for nothing.

"Then there was the `Horrid and Inhuman
Murder, Committed by T. Drory, on the Body
of Jael Denny, at Donninghurst, a Village in
Essex.' We worked it in every way. Drory
had every chance given to him. We had half-
sheets, and copies of werses, and books. A very
tidy book it was, setting off with showing how
`The secluded village of Donninghurst has been
the scene of a most determined and diabolical
murder, the discovery of which early on Sun-
day, the 12th, in the morning has thrown the
whole of this part of the country into a painful
state of excitement.' Well, sir, well — very well;
that bit was taken from a newspaper. Oh,
we're not above acknowledging when we conde-
scends to borrow from any of 'em. If you re-
member, when I saw you about the time, I told
you I thought Jael Denny would turn out as
good as Maria Martin. And without any joke
or nonsense, sir, it really is a most shocking
thing. But she didn't. The weather coopered
her, poor lass! There was money in sight, and
we couldn't touch it; it seemed washed away
from us, for you may remember how wet it was.
I made a little by her, though. For all that, I
haven't done with Master Drory yet. If God
spares my life, he shall make it up to me. Why,
now, sir, is it reasonable, that a poor man like
me should take so much pains to make Drory's
name known all over the country, and walk
miles and miles in the rain to do it, and get only
a few bob for my labour? It can't be thought
on. When the Wile and Inhuman Seducer
takes his trial, he must pay up my just claims.
I'm not going to take all that trouble on his
account, and let him off so easy."

My informant then gave me an account of
his sale of papers relating to the Pope and
Cardinal Wiseman, but as he was then a
chaunter, rather than a patterer (the distinc-
tion is shown under another head), I give his
characteristic account, as the statement of a
chaunter. He proceeded after having finished
his recital of the street business relating to the
Pope, &c.:

"My last paying caper was the Sloanes.
They beat Haynau. I declare to you, sir, the
knowingest among us couldn't have invented
a cock to equal the conduct of them Sloanes.
Why, it's disgusting to come near the plain
truth about them. I think, take it altogether,
Sloane was as good as the Pope, but he had
a stopper like Pius the Ninth, for that was a
one-sided affair, and the Catholics wouldn't
buy; and Sloane was too disgusting for the
gentry, or better sort, to buy him. But I've
been in little streets where some of the windows
was without sashes, and some that had sashes
had stockings thrust between the frames, and
I've taken half a bob in ha'pennies. Oh! you
should have heard what poor women said about

[Description: 915EAF. Page 226.]

him, for it was women that bought him most
They was more savage against him than
against her. Why, they had fifty deaths for
him. Rolling in a barrel, with lots of sharp
nails inside, down Primrose-hill, and turned out
to the women on Kennington-common, and
boiled alive in oil or stuff that can't be men-
tioned, or hung over a slow fire. `O, the poor
dear girl,' says they, `what she's suffered.'
We had accounts of Mistress Sloane's appre-
hension before the papers. We had it at
Jersey, and they had it at Boulogne, but we
were first. Then we discovered, because we
must be in advance of the papers, that Miss
Devaux was Sloane's daughter by a former
wife, and Jane Wilbred was Mrs. Sloane's
daughter by a former husband, and was entitled
to 1,000l. by rights. Haynau was a fool to Sloane.

" I don't know of anything fresh that's in
hand, sir. One of our authors is coming out
with something spicy, against Lord John, for
doing nothing about Wiseman; 'cause he says
as no one thing that he's written for Lord John
ever sold well, something against him may."

OF THE CHAUNTERS.

" As the minstrel's art," writes Mr. Strutt, in
his "Sports and Pastimes," "consisted of several
branches, the professors were distinguished by
different denominations, as `rimours, chanterres, conteours, jougleours or jongleurs, jestours, le-
eours, and troubadours or trouvers:' in modern
language, rhymers, singers, story-tellers, jug-
glers, relaters of heroic actions, buffoons, and
poets; but all of them were included under the
general name of minstrel. An eminent French
antiquary says of the minstrels, that some of
them themselves composed the subjects they
sang or related, as the trouvers and the con-
teurs; and some of them used the compositions
of others, as the jougleours and the chanteurs. He
further remarks, that the trouvers may be said
to have embellished their productions with
rhyme, while the conteurs related their histories
in prose; the jougleours, who in the middle ages
were famous for playing upon the vielle" [a
kind of hurdy-gurdy], "accompanied the songs
of the trouvers. These jougleours were also
assisted by the chanteurs; and this union of
talents rendered the compositions more harmo-
nious and more pleasing to the auditory, and
increased their rewards, so that they readily
joined each other, and travelled together in large
parties. It is, however, very certain that the
poet, the songster, and the musician were fre-
quently united in the same person." My ac-
count of the authors, &c., of street literature
shows that the analogy still holds.

The French antiquary quoted was Fauchet,
in his "Origine de la Langue et Poësie Fran-
coise" (1581); and though he wrote concerning
his own country, his descriptions apply equally
to the English minstrels, who were principally
Normans, for many reigns after the Conquest,
and were of the same race, and habits, and
manners as on the French side of the Channel.

Of the minstrels, I shall have more to say
when I treat of the ballad-singers and the bands
of street and public-house musicians of to-day,
between whom and the minstrels of old there is,
in many respects, a somewhat close resemblance.
Minstrelsy fell gradually from its high estate,
and fell so low that, in the 39th year of Eliza-
beth's reign — a period when the noblest poetry
of any language was beginning to command the
ear of the educated in England — the minstrels
were classed in a penal statute with rogues,
vagabonds, and sturdy beggars! Putenham, in
his " Arte of English Poesie" (1589), speaks of
" taverne minstrels that give a fit of mirth for
a groat." One of the statutes enacted in
Cromwell's Protectorate was directed against
all persons " commonly called fidlers or min-
strells."

In the old times, then, the jougeleurs and
jestours were assisted by the chanteurs. In
the present day the running patterer — who, as I
have shown, is the sufficiently legitimate de-
scendant of the jestour, and in some respects of
the mountebank — is accompanied generally by
a chaunter, so presenting a further point of
resemblance between ancient and modern street-
folk. The chaunter now not only sings, but
fiddles, for within these few years the run-
ning patterers, to render their performances
more attractive, are sometimes accompanied by
musicians. The running performer then, instead
of hurrying along with the members of his mob,
making sufficient noise to arouse a whole street,
takes his stand with the chaunter in any promis-
ing place, and as the songs which are the most
popular are — as is the case at many of the
concert-rooms — sometimes " spoken" as well as
sung, the performers are in their proper capa-
city, for the patterer not only " speaks," but
speaks more than is set down for him, while the
chaunter fiddles and sings. Sometimes the one
patters while the other sings, and their themes
are the same.

I am told, however, that there are only fifty
running patterers who are regularly their own
chaunters, fiddling to their songs, while the mob
work as usual, or one man sings, or speaks and
sings, with the chaunter. Two of these men
are known as Brummagem Jack, and the
Country Paganini. From twenty to thirty pat-
terers, however, are chaunters also, when they
think the occasion requires it.

Further to elucidate chaunting, and to show
the quality of the canticles, and the way of pro-
ceeding, I cite a statement of his experience as
a chaunter, from the running patterer, whose
details of his more especial business I have
already given, but who also occasionally
chaunts: —

OF THE EXPERIENCE OF A CHAUNTER.

" The Pope, sir," he began, "was as one-
sided to chaunt as to patter, in course. We
had the Greeks (the lately-arrived Irish) down
upon us more than once. In Liverpool-street,
on the night of the meeting at Guildhall about

[Description: 915EAF. Page 227.]

the Papal Aggression, we had a regular skrim-
mage. One gentleman said: ` Really, you
shouldn't sing such improper songs, my men.'
Then up comes another, and he was a little
orusted with port wine, and he says: ` What,
against that cove the Pope! Here, give me
half a dozen of the papers.' The city was tidy
for the patter, sir, or the chaunt; there was
sixpences; but there was shillings at the West
End. And for the first time in their innocent
lives, the parsons came out as stunning patrons
of the patter. One of 'em as we was at work
in the street give a bit of a signal and was
attended to without any parade to the next
street, and was good for half-a-crown! Other
two stopped, that wery same day, and sent a
boy to us with a Joey. Then me and my mate
went to the Rev. W.'s, him as came it so strong
for the fire-works on the Fifth of November.
And we pattered and we pattered, and we
chaunted and we chaunted, but no go for a
goodish bit. His servant said he weren't at
home. In course that wouldn't do for us, so
down he came his-self at last, and says, werry
soft: ` Come to-morrow morning, my men,
and there'll be two gentlemen to hear you.'
We stuck to him for something in hand, but
he said the business had cost him so much
already, he really couldn't. Well, we bounced
a bob out of him, and didn't go near him again.
After all we did for his party, a shilling was
black ingratitude. Of course we has no feeling
either for or agin the Pope. We goes to it as
at an election; and let me tell you, sir, we got
very poorly paid, it couldn't be called paid, for
working for Lord John at the City Election;
and I was the original of the live rats, which
took well. But there's a good time coming to
pay Lord Johnny off.

" Some of the tunes — there's no act of par-
liament about tunes, you know, sir — was stun-
ners on the fiddle; as if a thousand bricks was
falling out of a cart at once. I think ` The
Pope and Cardinal Wiseman,' one of the first
of the songs, did as well as any. This werse
was greatly admired: —

"This finishing werse, too, was effective, and
out came a few browns: —

" Then there was another, sir. `The Pope
he is coming; oh, crikey, oh dear! ' to the
tune of the ` Camels are coming.' There was
one bit that used to tickle them. I mayn't
exactly remember it, for I didn't do anything
beyond a spurt in it, and haven't a copy for
you, but it tickled 'em with others. This was
the bit: —

" Bless you, sir, if I see a smart dressed ser-
vant girl looking shyly out of the street-door
at us, or through the area railings, and I can
get a respectful word in and say, ` My good
young lady, do buy of a poor fellow, we haven't
said a word to your servants, we hasn't seen
any on 'em,' then she's had, sir, for 1d. at
least, and twice out of thrice; that ` good young
lady ' chloroforms her.

" Then this one, now, is stunning. It's part
of what the Queen was a going to sing at the
opening of the parliament, but she changed her
mind, and more's the pity, for it would have
had a grand effect. It's called ` The Queen,
the Pope, and the Parliament,' and these is
the best of the stanzas; I calls them werses in
common, but stanzas for Wick:

" Then there wasn't no risk with Haynau — I
told you of the Pope first, 'cause he was most
chaunted — no fear of a ferricadouzer for the
butcher. How is it spelled, sir? Well, if you
can't find it in the dictionary, you must use
your own judgment. What does it mean? It
means a dewskitch (a good thrashing). I've
been threatened with dark nights about the
Pope, after the Greeks has said: `Fat have
you to say agin the holy gintleman? To the
divil wid all the likes o' ye.' Haynau was a
fair stage and no favour. This werse was best
liked: —

" The women bought very free; poor women,
mostly; we only worked him to any extent in
the back drags. One old body at Stepney
was so pleased that she said, ` O, the bloody-
minded willain! Whenever you come this
way again, sir, there's always 1d. for you.' She
didn't pay in advance though.

" Then it ended, sir, with a beautiful moral as
appeals to every female bosom: —

" We always likes something for the ladies,
bless 'em. They're our best customers.

" Then there was poor Jael Denny, but she
was humped, sir, and I've told you the reason.
Her copy of werses began: —

" My last chaunt was Jane Wilbred; and her
werses — and they did tidy well — began: —

" What do you think of the Great Exhi-
bition, sir? I shall be there. Me and my
mates. We are going to send in a copy of
werses in letters of gold for a prize. We'll let the foreigners know what the real native
melodies of England is, and no mistake."

OF THE DEATH AND FIRE HUNTERS.

I have described the particular business of the
running patterer, who is known by another and
a very expressive cognomen — as a " Death
Hunter." This title refers not only to his vend-
ing accounts of all the murders that become
topics of public conversation, but to his being a
" murderer" on his own account, as in the sale
of " cocks" mentioned incidentally in this nar-
rative. If the truth be saleable, a running pat-
terer prefers selling the truth, for then — as one
man told me — he can " go the same round com-
fortably another day." If there be no truths
for sale — no stories of criminals' lives and loves
to be condensed from the diffusive biographies
in the newspapers — no " helegy" for a great
man gone — no prophecy and no crim. con. — the
death hunter invents, or rather announces, them.
He puts some one to death for the occasion,
which is called " a cock." The paper he sells
may give the dreadful details, or it may be a
religious tract, "brought out in mistake,"
should the vendor be questioned on the subject;
or else the poor fellow puts on a bewildered look
and murmurs, " O, it's shocking to be done
this way — but I can't read." The patterers pass
along so rapidly that this detection rarely
happens.

One man told me that in the last eight or ten
years, he, either singly or with his " mob," had
twice put the Duke of Wellington to death,
once by a fall from his horse, and the other time
by a " sudden and myst-erious" death, without
any condescension to particulars. He had twice
performed the same mortal office for Louis
Phillipe, before that potentate's departure from
France; each death was by the hands of an
assassin; " one was stabbing, and the other a
shot from a distance." He once thought of
poisoning the Pope, but was afraid of the street
Irish. He broke Prince Albert's leg, or arm,
(he was not sure which), when his royal high-
ness was out with his harriers. He never had
much to say about the Queen; " it wouldn't
go down," he thought, and perhaps nothing had
lately been said. " Stop, there, sir," said another
patterer, of whom I inquired as to the correct-
ness of those statements, (after my constant
custom in sifting each subject thoroughly,)
"stop, stop, sir. I have had to say about the
Queen lately. In coorse, nothing can be said
against her, and nothing ought to; that's true
enough, but the last time she was confined, I
cried her accounchement (the word was pronounced
as spelt to a merely English reader, or rather
more broadly) of three! Lord love you, sir, it
would have been no use crying one; people's so
used to that; but a Bobby came up and he
stops me, and said it was some impudence about
the Queen's coachman! Why look at it, says I,
fat-head — I knew I was safe — and see if there's

[Description: 915EAF. Page 229.]

anything in it about the Queen or her coach-
man! And he looked, and in coorse there was
nothing. I forget just now what the paper was about." My first-mentioned informant had ap-
prehended Feargus O'Connor on a charge of
high treason. He assassinated Louis Napoleon,
" from a fourth edition of the Times," which
" did well." He caused Marshal Haynau to
die of the assault by the draymen. He made
Rush hang himself in prison. He killed Jane
Wilbred, and put Mrs. Sloane to death; and
he announced the discovery that Jane Wilbred
was Mrs. Sloane's daughter.

This informant did not represent that he had
originated these little pieces of intelligence, only
that he had been a party to their sale, and a
party to originating one or two. Another patterer
and of a higher order of genius — told me that
all which was stated was undoubtedly correct,
" but me and my mates, sir," he said, " did
Haynau in another style. A splendid slum,
sir! Capital! We assassinated him — mys-te-
rious. Then about Rush. His hanging hisself
in prison was a fake, I know; but we've had
him lately. His ghost appeared — as is shown in
the Australian papers — to Emily Sandford, and
threatened her; and took her by the neck, and
there's the red marks of his fingers to be seen
on her neck to this day!" The same informant
was so loud in his praise of the " Ass-sass-sina-
tion" of Haynau that I give the account. I
have little doubt it was his own writing. It is
confused in passages, and has a blending of the
" I" and the " we:" —

[My informant complained bitterly, and not
without reason, of the printer. " Average,"
for instance (which I have italicised), should be
" avenger." The " average of outraged inno-
cence!"]

It is very easy to stigmatise the death-hunter
when he sets off all the attractions of a real or
pretended murder, — when he displays on a board,
as does the standing patterer, " illustrations" of
" the 'dentical pick-axe" of Manning, or the
stable of Good, — or when he invents or embel-
lishes atrocities which excite the public mind.
He does, however, but follow in the path of
those who are looked up to as " the press," — as
the " fourth estate." The conductors of the
Lady's Newspaper sent an artist to Paris to give
drawings of the scene of the murder by the
Duc de Praslin, — to " illustrate" the blood-
stains in the duchess's bed -chamber. The
Illustrated London News is prompt in depicting
the locality of any atrocity over which the
curious in crime may gloat. The Observer, in
costly advertisements, boasts of its 20 columns
(sometimes with a supplement) of details of
some vulgar and mercenary bloodshed, — the
details being written in a most honest depre-
cation of the morbid and savage tastes to which
the writer is pandering. Other weekly papers
have engravings — and only concerning murder
— of any wretch whom vice has made notorious.
Many weekly papers had expensive telegraphic
despatches of Rush's having been hung at
Norwich, which event, happily for the interest
of Sunday newspapers, took place in Norwich
at noon on a Saturday. [I may here remark,
that the patterers laugh at telegraphs and ex-
press trains for rapidity of communication,
boasting that the press strives in vain to rival
them, — as at a " hanging match," for instance,
the patterer has the full particulars, dying
speech, and confession included — if a confes-
sion be feasible — ready for his customers the
moment the drop falls, and while the criminal
may still be struggling, at the very scene of
the hanging. At a distance he sells it before
the hanging. " If the Times was cross-examined
about it," observed one patterer, " he must con-
fess he's outdone, though he's a rich Times, and
we is poor fellows." But to resume — ]

A penny-a-liner is reported, and without con-
tradiction, to have made a large sum by having
hurried to Jersey in Manning's business, and by
being allowed to accompany the officers when
they conducted that paltry tool of a vindictive
woman from Jersey to Southampton by steamer,
and from Southampton to London by " special
engine," as beseemed the popularity of so dis-
tinguished a rascal and homicide; and next
morning the daily papers, in all the typo-
graphical honour of " leads" and " a good
place," gave details of this fellow's — this Man-
ning's — conversation, looks, and demeanour.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 230.]

Until the " respectable " press become a more
healthful public instructor, we have no right to
blame the death-hunter, who is but an imitator
— a follower — and that for a meal. So strong
has this morbid feeling about criminals become,
that an earl's daughter, who had " an order" to
see Bedlam, would not leave the place until
she had obtained Oxford's autograph for her
album! The rich vulgar are but the poor
vulgar — without an excuse for their vulgarity.

" Next to murders, fires are tidy browns," I
was told by a patterer experienced both in
" murders " and " fires." The burning of the
old Houses of Parliament was very popular
among street-sellers, and for the reason which
ensures popularity to a commercial people; it
was a source of profit, and was certainly made
the most of. It was the work of incendiaries, —
of ministers, to get rid of perplexing papers, —
of government officers with troublesome accounts
to balance, — of a sporting lord, for a heavy
wager, — of a conspiracy of builders, — and of " a
unsuspected party." The older " hands" with
whom I conversed on the subject, all agreed in
stating that they " did well" on the fire. One
man said, " No, sir, it wasn't only the working
people that bought of me, but merchants and
their clerks. I s'pose they took the papers home
with 'em for their wives and families, which is
a cheap way of doing, as a newspaper costs 3d. at least. But stop, sir, — stop; there wasn't no
threepennies then, — nothing under 6d., if they
wasn't more; I can't just say, but it was better
for us when newspapers was high. I never
heard no sorrow expressed, — not in the least.
Some said it was a good job, and they wished
the ministers was in it." The burning of the
Royal Exchange was not quite so beneficial to
the street-sellers, but " was uncommon tidy."
The fire at the Tower, however, was almost as
great a source of profit as that of the Houses of
Parliament, and the following statement shows
the profit reaped.

My informant had been a gentleman's ser-
vant, his last place being with a gentleman in
Russell-square, who went to the East Indies,
and his servant was out of a situation so long
that he " parted with everything." When he
was at the height of his distress, he went to see
the fire at the Tower, as he " had nothing better
to do." He remained out some hours, and
before he reached his lodging, men passed him,
crying the full and true particulars of the fire.
" I bought one," said the man, " and changed
my last shilling. It was a sudden impulse, for
I saw people buy keenly. I never read it, but
only looked at the printer's name. I went to
him at the Dials, and bought some, and so I
went into the paper trade. I made 6s. or 7s. some days, while the Tower lasted; and 3s. and
4s. other days, when the first polish was off. I
sold them mostly at 1d. a piece at first. It was
good money then. The Tower was good, or
middling good, for from 14 to 20 days. There
was at least 100 men working nothing but the
Tower. There's no great chance of any more
great buildings being burnt; worse luck. People
don't care much about private fires. A man in
this street don't heed so much who's burnt to
death in the next. But the foundation-stone of
the new Royal Exchange — fire led to that — was
pretty fair, and portraits of Halbert went off, so
that it was for two or three days as good as the
Tower. Fires is our best friends next to mur-
ders, if they're good fires. The hopening of the
Coal Exchange was rather tidy. I've been in
the streets ever since, and don't see how I could
possibly get out of them. At first I felt a great
degradation at being driven to the life. I shun-
ned grooms and coachmen, as I might be known
to them. I didn't care for others. That sort
of feeling wears out though. I'm a widower
now, and my family feels, as I did at first, that
what I'm doing is ` low.' They won't assist —
though they may give me 1s. now and then — but
they won't assist me to leave the streets. They'll
rather blame me for going into them, though
there was only that, or robbing, or starving.
The fire at Ben. Caunt's, where the poor chil-
dren was burnt to hashes, was the best of the
private house fires that I've worked, I think.
I made 4s. on it one day. He was the champion
once, and was away at a fight at the time, and
it was a shocking thing, and so people bought."

After the burning of York Minster by Jona-
than Martin, I was told by an old hand, the
(street) destruction of the best known public
buildings in the country was tried; such as
Canterbury Cathedral, Dover Castle, the Brigh-
ton Pavilion, Edinburgh Castle, or Holyrood
House — all known to " travelling" patterers —
but the success was not sufficiently encouraging.
It was no use, I was told, firing such places as
Hampton Court or Windsor Castle, for unless
people saw the reflection of a great fire, they
wouldn't buy.

OF THE SELLERS OF SECOND EDITIONS.

These " second editions" are, and almost
universally, second or later editions of the
newspapers, morning and evening, but three-
fourths of the sale may be of the evening
papers, and more especially of the Globe and
Standard.

I believe that there is not now in existence —
unless it be in a workhouse and unknown to his
fellows, or engaged in some other avocation and
lost sight of by them — any one who sold " se-
cond editions" (the Courier evening paper being
then in the greatest demand) at the time of the
Duke of York's Walcheren expedition, at the
period of the battle of the Nile, during the
continuance of the Peninsular war, or even at
the battle of Waterloo. There were a few old
men — some of whom had been soldiers or sail-
ors, and others who have simulated it — sur-
viving within these 5 or 6 years, and some later,
who " worked Waterloo," but they were swept
off, I was told, by the cholera.

" I was assured by a gentlemen who had a
perfect remembrance of the " second editions"

[Description: 915EAF. Page 231.]

(as they were generally called) sold in the
streets, and who had often bought them up-
wards of forty years ago, that a sketch in the
" Monthly Review," in a notice of Scott's
" Lord of the Isles" (published in 1815), gave
the best notion he had met with of what the
second edition sale really was. At the com-
mencement of the sixth canto of his poem, Sir
Walter, somewhat too grandiloquently, in the
judgment of his reviewer, asks —

" Who," in his turn asks the reviewer, " can
avoid conjuring up the idea of men with broad
sheets of foolscap, scored with ` VICTORIES'
rolled round their hats, and horns blowing loud
defiance in each other's mouth, from the top to
the bottom of Pall-mall or the Haymarket, when
he reads such a passage? We actually hear
the Park and Tower guns, and the clattering of
ten thousand bells, as we read, and stop our ears
from the close and sudden intrusion of some
hot and horn-fisted patriot, blowing ourselves, as
well as Bonaparte to the devil!"

The horn carried by these " horn-fisted" men
was a common tin tube, from two to three feet
long, and hardly capable of being made to
produce any sound beyond a sudden and dis-
cordant " trump, trump." The men worked
with papers round their hats, in a way not very
dissimilar to that of the running patterers of
to-day.

The " editions " cried by these men during the
war-time often contained spurious intelligence,
but for that the editors of the journals were re-
sponsible — or the stock-jobbers who had imposed
upon them. Any one who has consulted a file
of newspapers of the period to which I have
referred, will remember how frequent, and how
false, were the announcements, or the rumours,
of the deaths of Bonaparte, his brothers, or
his marshals, in battle or by assassination.

As there was no man who was personally
conversant with this traffic in what is empha-
tically enough called the " war-time," I
sought out an old street-patterer who had been
acquainted with the older hands in the trade,
whose experience stretched to the commence-
ment of the present century, and from him I
received the following account:

" Oh, yes," he began, " I've worked ` se-
conds.' We used to call the editions generally
seconds, and cry them sometimes, as the latest editions, whatever it was. There was Jack Grif-
fiths, sir, — now wasn't he a hand at a second
edition? I believe you. I do any kind of patter
now myself, but I've done tidy on second edi-
tions, when seconds was to be had. Why, Jack
Griffiths, sir — he'd been a sailor and was fond
of talking about the sea — Jack Griffiths — you
would have liked to have heard him — Jack
told me that he once took 10s. 6d. — it was
Hyde Park way — for a second edition of a paper
when Queen Caroline's trial was over. Besides
Jack, there was Tom Cole, called the Wooden
Leg (he'd been a soldier I believe), and White-
chapel, and Old Brummagem, and Hell-fire
Jack. Hell-fire Jack was said to be some-
thing to a man that was a trainer, and a great
favourite of the old Duke of Queensberry, and
was called Hell-fire Dick; but I can't say
how it was. I began to work second editions,
for the first time when George IV. died. They
went off pretty well at 1s. a piece, and for three
or four I got 2s. 6d. If it's anything good I
get 1s. still, but very seldom any more. I
always show anybody that asks that the paper
is just what I've cried it. There's no regular
cry; we cries what's up: ` Here's the second
edition of the Globe with the full perticlers of
the death of his Majesty King George IV.'
We work much in the same way as the running
patter. Three of us shouts in the same spot.
I was one of three who one night sold five
quires, mostly Globe and Standard. It was at
the Reform Bill time, and something about the
Reform Bill. I never much heeded what the
paper was about. I only wanted the patter,
and soon got it. A mate, or any of us, looks
out for anything good in the evening papers,
to be ready. Why that night I speak of I
was kept running backards and for'ards to the
newspaper offices — and how they does keep
you waiting at times! — mostly the Globe and
Standard; we worked them all at the West
End. There's twenty-seven papers to a quire,
and we gave 4d. a piece for 'em and sold none,
as well as I mind, for under 1s. I carried
them mostly under my arm or in my hat,
taking care they wasn't spoiled. Belgrave-
square way, and St. George's, Hanover-square
way, and Hyde Park way, are the best. The
City's no good. There's only sixpences there.
The coffee-shops has spoiled the City, as I'm
afeard they will other parts. Murders in
second editions don't sell now, and aren't
tried much, beyond a few, if there's a late
verdict. Curviseer (Courvoisier) was tidy. The
trial weren't over 'til evening, and I sold six
papers, and got 7s. for them, to gentlemen
going away by the mail. I've heard that
Greenacre was good in the same way, but I
wasn't in town at the time. The French
Revolution — the last one — was certainly a
fairish go. Lewis Fillup was good many
ways. When he used to be shot at — if the
news weren't too early in the day — and when
he got to England, and when he was said to
have got back, or to have been taken. Why,
of course he wern't to compare with Rush in
the regular patter, but he was very fair. I
have nothing to say against him, and wish he
was alive, and could do it all over again. Lord
Brougham's death wern't worth much to us.
You remember the time, I dare say, sir, when
they said he killed hisself in the papers, to
see what folks would say on him. The resig-
nation of a prime minister is mostly pretty
good. Lord Melbourne was, and so was Sir
Robert Peel. There's always somebody to say,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 232.]

` Hurra! that's right!' and to buy a paper
because he's pleased. I had a red paper in
my hat when I worked the French Revolution.
French news is generally liked in a fashionable
drag. Irish news is no good, for people don't
seem to believe it. Smith O'Brien's battle,
though, did sell a little. It's not possible to
tell you exactly what I've made on seconds.
How can I? One week I may have cleared
1l. in them, and for six months before not a
blessed brown. Perhaps — as near as I can
recollect and calculate — I've cleared 3l. (if
that) each year, one with another, in second
editions in my time, and perhaps twenty others
has done the same."

Another man who also knew the old hands
said to me: " Lord bless us, how times is
changed! you should have heard Jack Grif-
fiths tell how he cried his gazettes: ` He-ere's the London Gazette Ex-terornary, containing
the hof-ficial account of the bloody and deci-
sive wictory of Sally-manker.' Something that
way. Patter wern't required then; the things
sold theirselves. Why, the other day I was
talking to a young chap that conceits hisself to
be a hout-and-houter in patter, and I men-
tions Jack's crying Gazettes and getting 5s. apiece for many a one on 'em, and this young
chap says, says he: ` Gazettes! What did
they cry Gazettes? — bankrupts, and all that?'
` Bankrupts be blowed!' said I, ` wictories!' I
heerd Waterloo cried when I was a little 'un.
The speeches on the opening of parliament,
which the newspapers has ready, has no sale
in the crowd to what they had. I only sold
two papers at 6d. each this last go. I ven-
tured on no more, or should have been a loser.
If the Queen isn't there, none's sold. But we
always has a speech ready, as close as can be got
from what the morning papers says. One gent.
said to me: ` But that ain't the real speech! '
` It's a far better,' says I, and so it is. Why
now, sir, there's some reading and spirit in
this bit. The Queen says:

This man showed me the street speech, which
was on a broad sheet set off with the royal
arms. The topics and arrangement were the
same as those in the speech delivered by her
Majesty.

On Monday morning last (Feb. 24), I asked
the man who told me that prime ministers' re-
signations were " pretty good" for the street
traffic, if he had been well remunerated by the
sale of the evening papers of Saturday, with
the account of Lord John Russell's resignation.
" It wern't tried, sir," he answered; "there was
nothing new in the evenings, and we thought
nobody seemed to care about it. The news-
paper offices and their boarders (as he called
the men going about with announcements on
boards) didn't make very much of it, so we got
up a song instead; but it was no good, — not salt
to a fresh herring — for there was some fresh
herrings in. It was put strong, though. This
was the last verse:

Adopting the calculation of my first infor-
mant, and giving a profit of 150 per cent., we
find 150l. yearly expended in the streets, in
second editions, or probably it might be more
correct to say 200l. in a year of great events,
and 50l. in a year when such events are few.

OF THE STANDING PATTERERS.

The standing patterer I have already described
in his resemblance to the mountebank of old,
and how, like his predecessor, he required a
" pitch" and an audience. I need but iterate
that these standing patterers are men who re-
main in one place, until they think they have
exhausted the custom likely to accrue there, or
until they are removed by the police; and who
endeavour to attract attention to their papers,
or more commonly pamphlets, either by means
of a board with coloured pictures upon it, illus-
trative of the contents of what they sell, or else
by gathering a crowd round about them, in
giving a lively or horrible description of the
papers or books they are " working." The
former is what is usually denominated in street
technology, " board work." A few of the stand-
ing patterers give street recitations or dialogues.

Some of the " illustrations" most " in vogue"
of late for the boards of the standing patteres
were, — the flogging of the nuns of Minsk, the
blood streaming from their naked shoulders,
(anything against the Emperor of Russia, I was
told, was a good street subject for a painting);
the young girl, Sarah Thomas, who murdered
her mistress in Bristol, dragged to the gallows
by the turnkeys and Calcraft, the hangman;
Calcraft himself, when charged with " starving
his mother;" Haynau, in the hands of the
draymen; the Mannings, and afterwards the
Sloanes. The two last-mentioned were among
the most elaborate, each having a series of
" compartments," representing the different
stages of the events in which those heroes and
heroines flourished. I shall speak afterwards
of street-artists who are the painters of these
boards, and then describe the pictures more
fully. There are also, as before alluded to,
what may be called " cocks" in street paint-
ings, as well as street literature.

Two of the most favourite themes of the
standing patterers were, however, the " Annals
of the White House in Soho-square," and the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 233.]

" Mysteries of Mesmerism." Both supplied
subjects to the boards.

The White House was a notorious place of ill
fame. Some of the apartments, it is said, were
furnished in a style of costly luxury; while
others were fitted up with springs, traps, and
other contrivances, so as to present no appear-
ance other than that of an ordinary room, until
the machinery was set in motion. In one room,
into which some wretched girl might be intro-
duced, on her drawing a curtain as she would be
desired, a skeleton, grinning horribly, was pre-
cipitated forward, and caught the terrified
creature in his, to all appearance, bony arms.
In another chamber the lights grew dim, and
then seemed gradually to go out. In a little
time some candles, apparently self-ignited, re-
vealed to a horror stricken woman, a black
coffin, on the lid of which might be seen, in
brass letters, Anne, or whatever name it had
been ascertand the poor wretch was known by.
A sofa, in another part of the mansion, was
made to descend into some place of utter dark-
ness; or, it was alleged, into a room in which
was a store of soot or ashes.

Into the truth or exaggeration of these and
similar statements, it is not my business to
inquire; but the standing patterer made the
most of them. Although the house in question
has been either rebuilt or altered — I was told
that each was the case — and its abominable
character has ceased to apply to it for some
years, the patterer did not scruple to represent it
as still in existence (though he might change
the venue as to the square at discretion) and
that all the atrocities perpetrated — to which I
have not ventured even to allude — were still the
ordinary procedures of " high life." Neither
did the standing patterer scruple, as one man
assured me, to " name names;" to attribute vile
deeds to any nobleman or gentleman whose
name was before the public; and to embellish
his story by an allusion to a recent event. He
not unfrequently ended with a moral exhorta-
tion to all ladies present to avoid this " abode of
iniquity for the rich." The board was illus-
trated with skeletons, coffins, and other horrors;
but neither on it, nor in a hardly intelligible
narrative which the patterer sold, was there
anything indecent.

The " Mysteries of Mesmerism" was an ac-
count of the marvels of that " newly-discovered
and most wonderful power in natur and art."
With it Dr. Elliotson's, or some well-known
name, was usually associated, and any marvel
was " pattered," according to the patterer's taste
and judgment. The illustrations were of persons,
generally women, in a state of coma, but in this
also there was no indecency; nor was there in
the narrative sold.

Of these two popular exhibitions there are,
I am informed, none now in town, and both, I
was told, was more the speculations of a printer,
who sent out men, than in the hands of the
regular patterers.

It may tend somewhat to elucidate the cha-
racter of the patterers, if I here state, that in
my conversation with the whole of them, I
heard from their lips strong expressions of
disgust at Sloane, — far stronger than were
uttered in abhorrence of any murderer. Rush,
indeed, was, and is, a popular man among
them. One of them told me, that not long
before Madame Tussaud's death, he thought of
calling upon that " wenerable lady," and asking
her, he said, " to treat me to something to drink
the immortal memory of Mr. Rush, my friend
and her'n."

It is admitted by all concerned in the exercise
of street elocution, that " the stander" must
have "the best of patter." He usually works
alone, — there are very rarely two at standing
patter, — and beyond his board he has no adven-
titious aids, as in the running patter, so that he
must be all the more effective; but the board is
pronounced " as good as a man." When the
standing patterer visits the country, he is ac-
companied by a mate, and the " copy of werses"
is then announced as being written by an " under-
paid curate" within a day's walk. " It tells
mostly, sir," said one man; " for it's a blessing
to us that there always is a journeyman parson
what the people knows, and what the patter
fits." Sometimes the poetry is attributed to a
sister of mercy, or to a popular poetess; very
frequently, by the patterers who best under-
stand the labouring classes, to Miss Eliza
Cook. Sometimes the verses are written by
" a sympathising gent. in that parish," but his
name wasn't to be mentioned. Another intel-
ligent patterer whom I questioned on the sub-
ject, told me that my information was correct.
"It's just the same in the newspapers," he
continued; " why the ` sympathising gent.' is
the same with us as what in the newspapers
is called " other intelligence (about any crime),
to publish which might defeat the ends of
justice." That means, they know nothing at
all about it, and can't so much as venture on
a guess. I've known a little about it for the
papers, sir, — it doesn't matter in what line."

Some standing patterers are brought up to the
business from childhood. Some take to it
through loss of character, or through their in-
ability to obtain a situation from intemperate
habits, and some because "a free life suits me
best." In a former inquiry into a portion of
this subject, I sought a standing patterer, whom
I found in a threepenny lodging-house in Mint-
street, Southwark. On my inquiring what in-
duced him to adopt, or pursue, that line of life,
he said: —

" It was distress that first drove me to it. I
had learnt to make willow bonnets, but that
branch of trade went entirely out. So, having a
wife and children, I was drove to write out a
paper that I called `The People's Address to
the King on the Present State of the Nation.'
I got it printed, and took it into the streets and
sold it. I did very well with it, and made 5s. a
day while it lasted. I never was brought up to
any mechanical trade. My father was a cler-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 234.]

gyman" [here he cried bitterly]. " It breaks
my heart when I think of it. I have as good a
wife as ever lived, and I would give the world to
get out of my present life. It would be heaven
to get away from the place where I am. I am
obliged to cheer up my spirits. If I was to give
way to it, I shouldn't live long. It's like a little
hell to be in the place where we live" [crying],
" associated with the ruffians that we are. My
distress of mind is awful, but it won't do to show
it at my lodgings — they'd only laugh to see me
down-hearted; so I keep my trouble all to
myself. Oh, I am heartily sick of this street
work — the insults I have to put up with — the
drunken men swearing at me. Yes, indeed, I
am heartily sick of it."

This poor man had some assistance forwarded
to him by benevolent persons, after his case had
appeared in my letter in the Morning Chronicle.
This was the means of his leaving the streets,
and starting in the " cloth-cap trade." He
seemed a deserving man.

EXPERIENCE OF A STANDING PATTERER.

From one of this body I received, at the period
just alluded to, the following information: —

" 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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 235.]

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 236.]

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.

OF POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, ETC.

To " work a litany" in the streets is considered
one of the higher exercises of professional skill
on the part of the patterer. In working this, a
clever patterer — who will not scruple to intro-
duce anything out of his head which may strike
him as suitable to his audience — is very particu-
lar in his choice of a mate, frequently changing
his ordinary partner, who may be good " at a
noise" or a ballad, but not have sufficient acute-
ness or intelligence to patter politics as if he
understood what he was speaking about. I am
told that there are not twelve patterers in Lon-
don whom a critical professor of street elocution
will admit to be capable of ` working a cate-
chism' or a litany. " Why, sir," said one pat-
terer, " I've gone out with a mate to work a
litany, and he's humped it in no time." To
` hump,' in street parlance, is equivalent to
` botch,' in more genteel colloquialism. " And
when a thing's humped," my informant con-
tinued, " you can only ` call a go.' " To ` call a
go,' signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt
some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some
change or other in consequence of a failure.

An elderly man, not now in the street trade,
but who had " pattered off a few papers" some
years ago, told me that he had heard three or
four old hands — " now all dead, for they're a
short-lived people" — talk of the profits gained
and the risk ran by giving Hone's parodies on
the Catechism, Litany, St. Athanasius' Creed, &c.
in the streets, after the three consecutive trials
and the three acquittals of Hone had made the
parodies famous and Hone popular. To work
them in the strcets was difficult, " for though,"
said my informant, " there was no new police in
them days, there was plenty of officers and con-
stables ready to pull the fellows up, and though
Hone was acquitted, a beak that wanted to please
the high dons, would find some way of stopping
them that sold Hone's things in the street, and
so next to nothing could be done that way, but
a little was done." The greatest source of profit,
I learned from the reminiscences of the same
man, was in the parlours and tap-rooms of pub-
lic-houses, where the patterers or reciters were
well paid " for going through their catechisms,"
and sometimes, that there might be no interrup-
tion, the door was locked, and even the landlord
and his servants excluded. The charge was
usually 2d. a copy, but 1d. was not refused.

During Queen Caroline's trial there were the
like interruptions and hindrances to similar per-
formances; and the interruptions continued dur-
ing the passing of the Catholic Emancipation
Bill until about the era of the Reform Bill, and
then the hindrance was but occasional. " And
perhaps it was our own fault, sir," said one pat-
terer, " that we was then molested at all in the
dialogues and catechisms and things; but we
was uncommon bold, and what plenty called
sarcy, at that time: we was so."

Thus this branch of a street profession con-
tinued to be followed, half surreptitiously, until
after the subsidence of the political ferment
consequent on the establishment of a new fran-
chise and the partial abolition of an old one.
The calling, however, has never been popular
among street purchasers, and I believe that it
is sometimes followed by a street-patterer as
much from the promptings of the pride of art
as from the hope of gain.

The street-papers in the dialogue form have
not been copied nor derived from popular pro-
ductions — but even in the case of Political
Litanies and Anti-Corn-law Catechisms and
Dialogues are the work of street authors.

One intelligent man tole me, that properly to
work a political litany, which referred to eccle-
siastical matters, he " made himself up," as
well as limited means would permit, as a
bishop! and " did stunning, until he was afraid
of being stunned on skilly." Of the late papers
on the subject of the Pope, I cite the one which
was certainly the best of all that appeared, and
concerning which indignant remonstrances were
addressed to some of the newspapers. The
" good child" in the patter, was a tall bulky
man; the examiner (also the author), was
rather diminutive: —

For some pitches the foregoing was sufficient,
for a street auditory " hates too long a patter;"
but where a favourable opportunity offered, easily
tested by the pecuniary beginnings, the " Lesson
of the Day" was given in addition, and was in-
serted after the second " Answer" in the fore-
going parody, so preceding the " Let us say:"

In the course of my inquiries touching this
subject I had more than once occasion to observe
that an acute patterer had always a reason, or
an excuse for anything. One quick-witted Irish-
man, whom I knew to be a Roman Catholic,
was " working" a " patter against the Pope,"
(not the one I have given), and on my speaking
to him on the subject, and saying that I sup-
posed he did it for a living, he replied: " That's
it then, sir. You're right, sir, yes. I work
it just as a Catholic lawyer would plead against
a Catholic paper for a libel on Protestants —
though in his heart he knew the paper was right
— and a Protestant lawyer would defend the libel
hammer and tongs. Bless you, sir, you'll not find
much more honour that way among us (laughing)
than among them lawyers; not much." The
readiness with which the sharpest of those men
plead the doings not only of tradesmen, but of
the learned and sacred professions, to justify
themselves, is remarkable.

Sometimes a dialogue is of a satirical nature.
One man told me that the " Conversation be-
tween Achilles and the Wellington Statue," of
which I give the concluding moiety, was " among
the best," (he meant for profit), " but no great
thing." My informant was Achilles — or, as he
pronounced it, Atchilees — and his mate was the
statue, or " man on the horse." The two lines,
in the couplet form, which precede every two
paragraphs of dialogue, seem as if they repre-
sent the speakers wrongfully. The answer
should be attributed, in each case, to Achilles.

" H. V. HOOKER."

Of parodies other than the sort of compound
of the Litany and other portions of the Church
Service, which I have given, there are none in
the streets — neither are there political duets.
Such productions as parodies on popular songs,
" Cab! cab! cab!" or " Trip! trip! trip!" are
now almost always derived, for street-service,
from the concert-rooms. But they relate more
immediately to ballads, or street song; and not
to patter.

OF " COCKS," ETC.

These " literary forgeries," if so they may be
called, have already been alluded to under the
head of the " Death and Fire Hunters," but it
is necessary to give a short account of a few of
the best and longest know nof those stereotyped;
no new cocks, except for an occasion, have been
printed for some years.

One of the stereotyped cocks is, the "Married
Man Caught in a Trap." One man had known
it sold " for years and years," and it served,
he said, when there was any police report in the
papers about sweethearts in coal-cellars, &c.
The illustration embraces two compartments.
In one a severe-looking female is assaulting a
man, whose hat has been knocked off by the
contents of a water-jug, which a very stout
woman is pouring on his head from a window.
In the other compartment, as if from an adjoin-
ing room, two women look on encouragingly.
The subject matter, however, is in no accord-
ance with the title or the embellishment. It is a
love-letter from John S — n to his most " adora-
ble Mary." He expresses the ardour of his
passion, and then twits his adored with some-
thing beyond a flirtation with Robert E — , a
" decoyer of female innocence." Placably
overlooking this, however, John S — n con-
tinues: —

" Many a turn in seductions talked about in
the papers and not talked about nowhere," said
one man, " has that slum served for, besides
other things, such as love-letters, and confes-
sions of a certain lady in this neighbourhood."

Another old cock is headed, " Extraordinary
and Funny Doings in this Neighbourhood."
The illustration is a young lady, in an evening
dress, sitting with an open letter in her hand, on a
sort of garden-seat, in what appears to be a
churchyard. After a smart song, enforcing the
ever-neglected advice that people should " look
at home and mind their own business," are
two letters, the first from R. G.; the answer
from S. H. M. The gentleman's epistle com-
mences: —

The lady responds in a similar strain, and the
twain appear very angry, until a foot-note offers
an explanation: " By reading every other line
of the above letters the true meaning will be
found."

Of this class of cocks I need cite no other
specimens, but pass on to one of another
species — the " Cruel and Inhuman Murder
Committed on the Body of Capt. Lawson."
The illustration is a lady, wearing a coronet,
stabbing a gentleman, in full dress, through the
top button of his waistcoat. The narrative
commences: —

The writer then deplores Miss Guard's fall
from virtue, and her desertion by her betrayer,
" on account of her fortune being small."
Capt. Lawson, or Mr. James Lawless, next
woos a wealthy City maiden, and the banns are
published. What follows seems to me to be a
rather intricate detail: —

Lawson visits Miss Guard to wheedle her
out of his letters, but " she drew a large
carving-knife and stabbed him under the left
breast." At the latest account the man was
left without hope of recovery, while " the
valiant victress" was " ordered to submit to
judicial decorum in the nineteenth year of her
age." The murders and other atrocities for
which this " cock" has been sponsor, are — I
was informed emphatically — a thundering lot!

I conclude with another cock, which may be
called a narrative " on a subject," as we have
" ballads on a subject" (afterwards to be de-
scribed), but with this difference, that the narra-
tive is fictitious, and the ballad must be founded

[Description: 915EAF. Page 239.]

on a real event, however embellished. The
highest newspaper style, I was told, was aimed
at. Part of the production reads as if it had
done service during the Revolution of February,
1848.

OF " STRAWING."

I have already alluded to " strawing," which
can hardly be described as quackery. It is
rather a piece of mountebankery. Many a
quack — confining the term to its most common
signification, that of a " quack doctor" — has
faith in the excellence of his own nostrums,
and so proffers that which he believes to be
curative: the strawer, however, sells what he
knows is not what he represents it.

The strawer offers to sell any passer by in
the streets a straw and to give the purchaser a
paper which he dares not sell. Accordingly as
he judges of the character of his audience, so he
intimates that the paper is political, libellous,
irreligious, or indecent.

I am told that as far back as twenty-five or
twenty-six years, straws were sold, but only in
the country, with leaves from the Republican, a
periodical published by Carlile, then of Fleet-
street, which had been prosecuted by the govern-
ment; but it seems that the trade died away,
and was little or hardly known again until the
time of the trial of Queen Caroline, and then
but sparingly. The straw sale reached its
highest commercial pitch at the era of the
Reform Bill. The most successful trader in
the article is remembered among the patterers
as " Jack Straw," who was oft enough repre-
sented to me as the original strawer. If I
inquired further, the answer was: " He was the
first in my time." This Jack Straw was, I
am told, a fine-looking man, a natural son of
Henry Hunt, the blacking manufacturer. He
was described to me as an inveterate drunkard
and a very reckless fellow. One old hand was
certain that this man was Hunt's son, as he
himself had " worked" with him, and was
sometimes sent by him when he was " in trou-
ble," or in any strait, to 32, Broadwall, Black-
friars, for assistance, which was usually ren-
dered. (This was the place where Hunt's
" Matchless Blacking" and " Roasted Corn"
were vended.) Jack Straw's principal " pitch"
was at Hyde Park Corner, " where," said the
man whom I have mentioned as working with
him, "he used to come it very strong against
Old Nosey, the Hyde Park bully as he called
him. To my knowledge he's made 10s., and
he's made 15s. on a night. O, it didn't matter
to him what he sold with his straws, religion or
anything. There was no three-pennies (three-
penny newspapers) then, and he had had a
gentleman's education, and knew what to say,
and so the straws went off like smoke." The
articles which this man " durst not sell" were
done up in paper, so that no one could very well
peruse them on the spot, as a sort of stealth
was implied. On my asking Jack Straw's co-
worker if he had ever drank with him, " Drank
with him!" he answered, " Yes, many a
time. I've gone out and pattered, or chaunted,
or anything, to get money to buy him two
glasses of brandy — and good brandy was very
dear then — before he could start, for he was all
of a tremble until he had his medicine. If
I couldn't get brandy, it was the best rum,
'cause he had all the tastes of a gentleman.
Ah! he's been bead some years, sir, but where
he died I don't know. I only heard of his
death. He was a nice kindly fellow."

The ruse in respect of strawing is not remark-
able for its originality. It was an old smug-
gler's trick to sell a sack and give the keg of
contraband spirit placed within it and padded
out with straw so as to resemble a sack of corn.
The hawkers, prior to 1826, when Mr. Huskis-
son introduced changes into the Silk Laws, gave " real Ingy handkerchiefs" (sham) to a cus-
tomer, and sold him a knot of tape for about 4s. The price of a true Bandana, then prohibited,
and sold openly in the draper's shops, was about
8s. The East India Company imported about
a million of Bandanas yearly; they were sold by
auction for exportation to Hamburgh, &c., at
about 4s. each, and were nearly all smuggled
back again to England, and disposed of as I
have stated.

It is not possible to give anything like sta-
tistics as to the money realised by strawing. A
well-informed man calculated that when the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 240.]

trade was at its best, or from 1832 to 1836,
there might be generally fifty working it in the
country and twenty in London; they did not
confine themselves, however, to strawing, but
resorted to it only on favourable opportunities.
Now there are none in London — their numbers
diminished gradually — and very rarely any in
the country.

OF THE SHAM INDECENT STREET-TRADE.

This is one of those callings which are at once
repulsive and ludicrous; repulsive, when it is
considered under what pretences the papers are
sold, and ludicrous, when the disappointment of
the gulled purchaser is contemplated.

I have mentioned that one of the allurements
held out by the strawer was that his paper — the
words used by Jack Straw — could "not be ad-
mitted into families." Those following the
"sham indecent trade" for a time followed his
example, and professed to sell straws and give
away papers; but the London police became
very observant of the sale of straws — more espe-
cially under the pretences alluded to — and it
has, for the last ten years, been rarely pursued
in the streets.

The plan now adopted is to sell the sealed
packet itself, which the "patter" of the street-
seller leads his auditors to believe to be
some improper or scandalous publication. The
packet is some coloured paper, in which is
placed a portion of an old newspaper, a Christ-
mas carol, a religious tract, or a slop-tailor's
puff (given away in the streets for the behoof
of another class of gulls). The enclosed paper
is, however, never indecent.

From a man who had, not long ago, been in
this trade, I had the following account. He was
very anxious that nothing should be said which
would lead to a knowledge that he was my in-
formant. After having expressed his sorrow
that he had ever been driven to this trade from
distress, he proceeded to justify himself. He
argued — and he was not an ignorant man — that
there was neither common sense nor common
justice in interfering with a man like him, who,
"to earn a crust, pretended to sell what shop-
keepers, that must pay church and all sorts of
rates, sold without being molested." The word
"shopkeepers" was uttered with a bitter em-
phasis. There are, or were, he continued, shops
— for he seemed to know them all — and some of
them had been carried on for years, in which
shameless publications were not only sold, but
exposed in the windows; and why should he be
considered a greater offender than a shopkeeper,
and be knocked about by the police? There
are, or lately were, he said, such shops in the
Strand, Fleet-street, a court off Ludgate-hill,
Holborn, Drury-lane, Wych-street, the courts
near Drury-lane Theatre, Haymarket, High-
street, Bloomsbury, St. Martin's-court, May's
buildings, and elsewhere, to say nothing of
Holywell-street! Yet he must be interfered with!

[I may here remark, that I met with no
street-sellers who did not disbelieve, or affect to
disbelieve, that they were really meddled with
by the police for obstructing the thoroughfare.
They either hint, or plainly state, that they are
removed solely to please the shop-keepers.
Such was the reiterated opinion, real or pre-
tended, of my present informant.]

I took a statement from this man, but do not
care to dwell upon the subject. The trade, in
the form I have described, had been carried on,
he thought, for the last six years. At one time,
20 men followed it; at present, he believed
there were only 6, and they worked only at
intervals, and as opportunities offered: some
going out, for instance, to sell almanacs or me-
morandum books, and, when they met with a
favourable chance, offering their sealed packets.
My informant's customers were principally
boys, young men, and old gentlemen; but old
gentlemen chiefly when the trade was new.
This street-seller's "great gun," as he called
it, was to make up packets, as closely resem-
bling as he could accomplish it, those which
were displayed in the windows of any of the
shops I have alluded to. He would then sta-
tion himself at some little distance from one of
those shops, and, if possible, so as to encounter
those who had stopped to study the contents of
the window, and would represent — broadly
enough, he admitted, when he dared — that he
could sell for 6d. what was charged 5s., or 2s. 6d., or whatever price he had seen announced, "in
that very neighbourhood." He sometimes ven-
tured, also, to mutter something, unintelligibly,
about the public being imposed upon! On one
occasion, he took 6s. in the street in about two
hours. On another evening he took 4s. 8d. in
the street and was called aside by two old gen-
tlemen, each of whom told him to come to an
address given (at the West-end), and ask for such
and such initials. To one he sold two packets
for 2s.; to the other, five packets, each 1s. — or
11s. 8d. in one evening. The packets were in
different coloured papers, and had the impres-
sions of a large seal on red wax at the back; and
he assured the old gents., as he called them, one
of whom, he thought, was "silly," that they
were all different. "And very likely," he said,
chucklingly, "they were different; for they
were made out of a lot of missionary tracts
and old newspapers that I got dirt cheap at a
`waste' shop. I should like to have seen the
old gent.'s face, as he opened his 5s. worth,
one after another!" This trade, however,
among old gentlemen, was prosperous for
barely a month: "It got blown then, sir, and
they wouldn't buy any more, except a very
odd one."

This man — and he believed it was the same
with all the others in the trade — never visited
the public-houses, for a packet would soon
have been opened and torn there, which, he
said, people was ashamed to do in the public
streets. As well as he could recollect, he had
never sold a single packet to a girl or a woman.
Drunken women of the town had occasionally
made loud comments on his calling, and offered

[Description: 915EAF. Page 241.]

to purchase; but on such occasions, fearful of
a disturbance, he always hurried away.

I have said that the straw trade is now con-
fined to the country, and I give a specimen of
the article vended there, by the patterer in the
sham indecent trade. It was purchased of a
man, who sold it folded in the form of a letter,
and is addressed, "On Royal Service. By Ex-
press. Private. To Her Royal Highness, Vic-
toria, Princess Royal. Kensington Palace,
London. Entered at Stationer's Hall." The
man who sold it had a wisp of straw round his
neck, and introduced his wares with the follow-
ing patter:

"I am well aware that many persons here
present will say what an absurd idea — the idea
of selling straws for a halfpenny each, when
there are so many lying about the street; but
the reason is simply this: I am not allowed by
the authorities to sell these papers, so I give
them away and sell my straws. There are a
variety of figures in these papers for gentlemen;
some in the bed, some on the bed, some under
the bed." The following is a copy of the docu-
ment thus sold: —

Letter

On the back of this page is the following cool
initiation of the purchaser into the mysteries of
the epistle:

Notwithstanding the injunction to buy both letters, and the seeming necessity of having both
to understand the "directions," the patterer was
selling only the one I have given.

That the trade in sham indecent publications
was, at one time, very considerable, and was not
unobserved by those who watch, as it is called,
"the signs of the times," is shown by the cir-
cumstance that the Anti-Corn-Law League
paper, called the Bread Basket, could only be
got off by being done up in a sealed packet, and
sold by patterers as a pretended improper work.

The really indecent trade will be described
hereafter.

For a month my informant thought he had
cleared 35s. a week; for another month, 20s.; and as an average, since that time, from 5s. to
7s. 6d. weekly, until he discontinued the trade.
It is very seldom practised, unless in the even-
ing, and perhaps only one street-seller depends
entirely upon it.

Supposing that 6 men last year each cleared
6s. weekly, we find upwards of 93l. expended
yearly in the streets on this rubbish.

The capital required to start in the business
is 6d. or 1s., to be expended in paper, paste, and
sometimes sealing-wax.

OF RELIGIOUS TRACT SELLERS.

The sellers of religious tracts are now, I am
informed, at the least, about 50, but they were
at one time, far more numerous. When penny
books were few and very small, religious tracts
were by far the cheapest things in print. It is
common, moreover, for a religious society, or
an individual, to give a poor person, children
especially, tracts for sale. A great many tract
sellers, from 25 to 35 years ago, were, or pre-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 242.]

tended to be, maimed old soldiers or sailors.
The traffic is now in the hands of what may be
called an anomalous body of men. More than
one half of the tract sellers are foreigners, such
as Malays, Hindoos, and Negros. Of them,
some cannot speak English, and some — who
earn a spare subsistence by selling Christian
tracts — are Mahometans, or worshippers of
Bramah! The man whose portrait supplies
the daguerreotyped illustration of this number
is unable to speak a word of English, and the
absence of an interpreter, through some acci-
dent, prevented his statement being taken at the
time appointed. I shall give it, however, with
the necessary details on the subject, under
another head.

With some men and boys, I am informed,
tract-selling is but a pretext for begging.

OF A BENEFIT SOCIETY OF PATTERERS.

In the course of my inquiries, I received an
account of an effort made by a body of these
people to provide against sickness, — a step so
clearly in the right direction, and perhaps so
little to be expected from the habits of the class,
that I feel bound to notice it. It was called
the "Street-sellers' Society;" but as nearly all
the bonâ-fide members (or those who sought
benefit from its funds) were patterers in paper,
or ballad-singers, I can most appropriately
notice their proceedings here.

The society "sprung up accidental," as it
was expressed to me. A few paper-workers
were conversing of the desirableness of such an
institution, and one of the body suggested a
benefit club, which it was at once determined to
establish. It was accordingly established be-
tween six and seven years ago, and was carried
on for about four years. The members varied
in number from 40 to 50; but of a proportion
of 40, as many as 18 might be tradesmen who
were interested in the street-trade, either in
supplying the articles in demand for it, or from
keeping public-houses resorted to by the frater-
nity, or any such motive, or who were merely
curious to mix in such society. Mr. C — was
conductor; Mr. J. H. — (a poet, and the writer
of "Black Bess," "the Demon of the Sea," and
other things which "took" in the streets), secre-
tary; and a well-known patterer was under-
conductor, with which office was mixed up the
rather onerous duties of a kind of master of the
ceremonies on meeting-nights. None of the
officers were paid.

The subscription was 2d. a week, and meet-
ings of the members were held once a week.
Each member, not an officer, paid ½d. for ad-
mission to the fund, and could introduce a
visitor, who also paid ½d. No charge was made
for the use of the club-room (in a public-house),
which was entirely in the control of the mem-
bers. Every one using bad language, or be-
having improperly, was fined ½d., and on a
second offence was ejected, and sometimes, if
the misbehaviour was gross, on the first. Any
one called upon to sing, and refusing, or being
unable, was fined ½d., and was liable to be
called upon again, and pay another fine. A
visitor sometimes, instead of ½d., offered 6d. when fined; but this was not accepted, — only
½d. could be received. The members' wives
could and did often accompany their husbands
to the meetings; but women of the town, whe-
ther introduced by members or not, were not
permitted to remain. "They found their way
in a few times," said the man who was under-
conductor to me, "but I managed to work them
out without any bother, and without insulting
them — God forbid!"

The assistance given was 5s. weekly to sick
members, who were not in arrear in their sub-
scriptions. If the man had a family to support,
a gathering was made for him, in addition to his
weekly allowance, — for the members were averse
to "distress the box" (fund). There was no
allowance for the burial of a member, but a
gathering took place, and perhaps a raffle, to
raise funds for a wake (sometimes) and an inter-
ment; and during the existence of the society,
three members, I was told, were buried that
way "comfortably." The subscriptions were
paid up regularly enough; "indeed," said a
member to me, "if a man earned anything, his
mates knew of it: we all know how the cat
jumps that way, so he must either pay or be
scratched." The members not unfrequently lent
each other money to pay up their subscriptions.
Fashionable young "swells," I was told, often
visited the house, and stayed till 3 or 4 in the
morning, but were very seldom in the club-room,
which was closed regularly at 12. After that hour,
the "swells" who were bent upon seeing life
— (and they are a class whom the patterers, on
all such occasions, not so very unreasonably
consider "fair game" for bamboozling) — could
enjoy the society congenial to their tastes or
gratifying to their curiosity. On one occasion
two policemen were among the visitors, and
were on friendly terms enough with the mem-
bers, some of whom they had seen before.

From the beginning there seems to have been
a distrust of one another among the members,
but a distrust not invincible or the club would
never have been formed. Instead of the
"box," or fund (the money being deposited in
a box), being allowed to accumulate, so that an
investment might be realised, available for any
emergency, the fund was divided among the
members quarterly, and then the subscription
went on anew. The payments, however, fell
off. The calling of the members was preca-
rious, their absence in the country was frequent,
and so the society ceased to exist, but the mem-
bers were satisfied that every thing was done
honourably.

The purpose to which the funds, on a quar-
terly division, were devoted, was one not con-
fined to such men as the patterers — to a supper.
"None of your light suppers, sir," said a mem-
ber; "not by no means. And we were too fly
to send anybody to market but ourselves. We
used to go to Leadenhall, and buy a cut off a

[Description: 915EAF. Page 243.]

sirloin, which was roasted prime, and smelt like
a angel. But not so often, for its a dear jint,
the bones is heavy. One of the favouritest jints
was a boiled leg of mutton with caper trim-
mings. That is a good supper, — I believe you,
my hero."

OF THE ABODES, TRICKS, MARRIAGE, CHARACTER,
AND CHARACTERISTICS OF THE
DIFFERENT GRADES OF PATTERERS.

Having now giving an account of those who
may be called the literary patterers (proper), or
at any rate of those who do not deem it vain so
to account themselves, because they "work
paper," I proceed to adduce an account of
the different grades of patterers generally, for
patter has almost as many divisions as litera-
ture. There is patter pathetic, as from beg-
gars; bouncing, to puff off anything of little
or no value; comic, as by the clowns; descrip-
tive, as in the cases where the vendor describes,
however ornately, what he really sells; reli-
gious, as occasionally by the vendors of tracts;
real patter (as it is understood by the profes-
sion) to make a thing believed to be what it is
not; classical, as in the case of the sale of
stenographic cards, &c.; and sporting, as in race
cards.

The pattering tribe is by no means confined
to the traffic in paper, though it may be the
principal calling as regards the acuteness of its
professors. Among these street-folk are the
running and standing patterers (or stationers
as they are sometimes, but rarely, styled) — and
in these are included, the Death and Fire
Hunters of whom I have spoken; Chaunters;
Second Edition-sellers; Reciters; Conundrum-
sellers; Board-workers; Strawers; Sellers of
(Sham) Indecent Publications; Street Auc-
tioneers; Cheap Jacks; Mountebanks (quacks);
Clowns; the various classes of Showmen;
Jugglers; Conjurors; Ring-sellers for wagers;
Sovereign-sellers; Corn-curers; Grease-re-
movers; French-polishers; Blacking-sellers;
Nostrum-vendors; Fortune-tellers; Oratori-
cal-beggars; Turnpike-sailors; the classes of
Lurkers; Stenographic Card-sellers, and the
Vendors of Race-cards or lists.

The following accounts have been written for
me by the same gentleman who has already
described the Religion, Morals, &c., of pat-
terers. He has for some years resided among
the class, and has pursued a street calling for
his existence. What I have already said of his
opportunities of personal observation and of dis-
passionate judgment I need not iterate.

"I wish," says the writer in question, "in the
disclosures I am now about to make concern-
ing the patterers generally, to do more than
merely put the public on their guard. I take
no cruel delight in dragging forth the follies of
my fellow-men. Before I have done with my
subject, I hope to draw forth and exhibit some
of the latent virtues of the class under notice,
many of whom I know to sigh in secret over
that one imprudent step (whatever its descrip-
tion), which has furnished the censorious with
a weapon they have been but too ready to
wield. The first thing for me to do is to give
a glance at the habitations of these outcasts,
and to set forth their usual conduct, opinions,
conversation and amusements. As London (in-
cluding the ten mile circle), is the head quar-
ters of lodging-house life, and least known,
because most crowded, I shall lift the veil
which shrouds the vagrant hovel where the
patterer usually resides.

"As there are many individuals in lodging-
houses who are not regular patterers or pro-
fessional vagrants, being rather, as they term
themselves, `travellers' (or tramps), so there
are multitudes who do not inhabit such houses
who really belong to the fraternity, pattering,
or vagrant. Of these some take up their abode
in what they call `flatty-kens,' that is, houses
the landlord of which is not `awake' or `fly'
to the `moves' and dodges of the trade; others
resort to the regular `padding-kens,' or houses
of call for vagabonds; while others — and espe-
cially those who have families — live constantly
in furnished rooms, and have little intercourse
with the `regular' travellers, tramps, or
wanderers.

"The medium houses the London vagrant
haunts, (for I have no wish to go to extremes
either way,) are probably in Westminster, and
perhaps the fairest `model' of the `monkry' is
the house in Orchard-street — once the residence
of royalty — which has been kept and conducted
for half a century by the veteran who some fifty
years ago was the only man who amused the
population with that well-known ditty,

Mister (for that is the old man's title) still
manufactures lambs, but seldom goes out him-
self; his sons (obedient and exemplary young
men) take the toys into the country, and dispose
of them at fairs and markets. The wife of this
man is a woman of some beauty and good sound
sense, but far too credulous for the position of
which she is the mistress.

"So much for the establishment. I have now
to deal with the inmates.

"No one could be long an inmate of Mr.
— 's without discerning in the motley group
persons who had seen better days, and, seated
on the same bench, persons who are `seeing'
the best days they ever saw. When I took up
my abode in the house under consideration, I
was struck by the appearance of a middle-aged
lady-like woman, a native of Worcester, bred to
the glove trade, and brought up in the lap of
plenty, and under the high sanction of religious
principle. She had evidently some source of
mental anguish. I believe it was the conduct
of her husband, by whom she had been deserted,
and who was living with a woman to whom, it
is said, the wife had shown much kindness. By
her sat a giant in size, and candour demands

[Description: 915EAF. Page 244.]

that I should say a `giant in sin.' When Navy
Jem, as he is called, used to work for his living
(it was a long while ago) he drove a barrow at
the formation of the Great Western Railway.
At present the man lies in bed till mid-day, and
when he makes his appearance in the kitchen,

His breakfast embraces all the good things of
the season. He divides his delicacies with a
silver fork — where did he get it? The mode in
which this man obtains a livelihood is at once a
mixture and a mystery. His prevailing plan is
to waylay gentlemen in the decline of life,
and to extort money by threats of accusation
and exposure, to which I can do no more than
allude. His wife, a notorious shoplifter, is now
for the third time `expiating her offences' in
Coldbath-fields.

"Next to Navy Jem may be perceived a little
stunted woman, of pretended Scotch, but really
Irish extraction, whose husband has died in the
hospital for consumption at least as many times
as the hero of Waterloo has seen engagements.
At last the man did die, and his widow has been
collecting money to bury him for eight years
past, but has not yet secured the required sum.
This woman, whose name I never knew, has a
boy and a girl; to the former she is very kind,
the latter she beats without mercy, always before
breakfast, and with such (almost) unvaried
punctuality that her brother will sometimes
whisper (after saying grace), `Mother, has our
Poll had her licks yet?'

"Among the records of mortality lately before
the public, is the account of a notorious woman,
who was found suffocated in a stagnant pool,
whether from suicide or accident it was impos-
sible to determine. She had been in every
hospital in town and country, suffering from a
disease, entirely self-procured. She applied
strong acids to wounds previously punctured
with a pin, and so caused her body to present
one mass of sores. She was deemed incurable
by the hospital doctors, and liberal collections
were made for her among the benevolent in
various places. The trick, however, was ulti-
mately discovered, and the failure of her plan
(added to the bad state of health to which her
bodily injuries had gradually led) preyed upon
her mind and hastened her death.

"This woman had been the paramour of
`Peter the crossing-sweeper,' a man who
for years went about showing similar wounds,
which he pretended had been inflicted while
fighting in the Spanish Legion — though, truth
to say, he had never been nearer Spain than
Liverpool is to New York. He had followed
the `monkry' from a child, and chiefly, since
manhood, as a `broken-down weaver from
Leicester,' and after singing through every
one of the provinces `We've got no work to
do,' he scraped acquaintance with a `school
of shallow coves;' that is, men who go about
half-naked, telling frightful tales about ship-
wrecks, hair-breadth escapes from houses on
fire, and such like aqueous and igneous cala-
mities. By these Peter was initiated into the
`scaldrum dodge,' or the art of burning the
body with a mixture of acids and gunpowder,
so as to suit the hues and complexions of the
accident to be deplored. Such persons hold
every morning a `committee of ways and
means,' according to whose decision the move-
ments of the day are carried out. Sometimes
when on their country rounds, they go singly
up to the houses of the gentry and wealthy
farmers, begging shirts, which they hide in
hedges while they go to another house and
beg a similar article. Sometimes they go
in crowds, to the number of from twelve to
twenty; they are most successful when the
`swell' is not at home; if they can meet with
the `Burerk' (Mistress), or the young ladies,
they `put it on them for dunnage' (beg a
stock of general clothing), flattering their vic-
tims first and frightening them afterwards. A
friend of mine was present in a lodging-house
in Plymouth, when a school of the shallow
coves returned from their day's work with six
suits of clothes, and twenty-seven shirts, besides
children's apparel and shoes, (all of which were
sold to a broker in the same street), and, besides
these, the donations in money received amounted
to 4s. 4d. a man.

"At this enterprise `Peter' continued seve-
ral years, but — to use his own words — `every-
thing has but a time,' the country got `dead'
to him, and people got `fly' to the `shallow
brigade;' so Peter came up to London to `try
his hand at something else.' Housed in the
domicile of `Sayer the barber,' who has en-
riched himself by beer-shops and lodging-
house-keeping, to the tune it is said of 20,000l., Peter amused the `travellers' of Wentworth-
street, Whitechapel, with recitals of what he
had seen and done. Here a profligate, but
rather intelligent man, who had really been in
the service of the Queen of Spain, gave him an
old red jacket, and with it such instructions as
equipped him for the imposition. One sleeve
of this jacket usually hung loosely by his side,
while the arm it should have covered was ex-
posed naked, and to all appearance withered.
His rule was to keep silence till a crowd assem-
bled around him, when he began to `patter'
to them to the following effect: `Ladies and
gentlemen, it is with feelings of no common
reluctance that I stand before you at this time;
but although I am not without feelings, I am
totally without friends, and frequently without
food. This wound (showing his disfigured arm)
I received in the service of the Queen of Spain,
and I have many more on different parts of my
person. I received a little praise for my brave
conduct, but not a penny of pension, and here
I am (there's no deception you see) ill in
health — poor in pocket, and exposed without
proper nourishment to wind and weather — the
cold is blowing through me till I am almost
perished.' His `Doxy' stood by and received

[Description: 915EAF. Page 245.]

the `voluntary contributions' of the audience
in a soldier's cap, which our hero emptied into
his pocket, and after snivelling out his thanks,
departed to renew the exhibition in the nearest
available thoroughfare. Peter boasted that he
could make on an average fifteen of these
pitches a day, and as the proceeds were esti-
mated at something considerable in each pitch
(he has been known to take as much as half-a-
crown in pence at one standing), he was able
to sport his figure at Astley's in the evening —
to eat `spring lamb,' and when reeling home
under the influence of whiskey, to entertain the
peaceful inhabitants with the music of — `We
won't go home till morning — '

"Whether the game got stale, or Peter became
honest, is beyond the purport of my commu-
nication to settle. If any reader, however,
should make his purchases at the puffing fish-
monger's in Lombard-street, they may find
Peter now pursuing the more honest occupa-
tion of sweeping the crossing, by the church
of St. Gabriel, Fenchurch-street.

"Among the most famous of the `lurking
patterers' was `Captain Moody,' the son of
poor but honest parents in the county of Corn-
wall, who died during his boyhood, leaving him
to the custody of a maiden aunt. This lady
soon, and not without reason, got tired of her
incorrigible charge. Young Moody was ap-
prenticed successively to three trades, and
wanted not ability to become expert in any of
them, but having occasional interviews with some
of the gipsey tribe, and hearing from themselves
of their wonderful achievements, he left the
sober walks of life and joined this vagrant
fraternity.

"His new position, however, was attractive only
while it was novel. Moody, who had received
a fair education, soon became disgusted with
the coarseness and vulgarity of his associates.
At the solicitation of a neighbouring clergy-
man, he was restored to the friendship of his
aunt, who had soon sad reason to regret that her
compassion had got the better of her prudence;
for one Sunday afternoon, while she was absent
at church, young Moody who had pleaded in-
disposition and so obtained permission to stay
at home, decamped (after dispatching the ser-
vant to the town, a mile distant, to fetch the
doctor) in the meantime, emptying his aunt's
`safety cupboard' of a couple of gold watches
and £72 in cash and country notes.

"His roving disposition then induced him to
try the sea, and the knowledge he obtained
during several voyages fitted him for those
maritime frauds which got him the name of
`Captain Moody, the lurker.' The frauds of
this person are well known, and often recounted
with great admiration among the pattering fra-
ternity. On one occasion, the principal butcher
in Gosport was summoned to meet a gentlemen
at an hotel. The Louisa, a brig, had just ar-
rived at Portsmouth, the captain's name was
Young, and this gentleman Moody personated
for the time being. `I have occasion,' said he
to the butcher, `for an additional supply of
beef for the Louisa; I have heard you spoken
of by Captain Harrison' (whom Moody knew to
be an old friend of the butcher's), `and I have
thus given you the preference. I want a bul-
lock, cut up in 12 lb. pieces; it must be on
board by three to-morrow.' The price was
agreed upon, and the captain threw down a few
sovereigns in payment, but, of course, disco-
vered that he had not gold enough to cover the
whole amount, so he proposed to give him a
cheque he had just received from Captain Harri-
son for £100, and the butcher could give him the
difference. The tradesman was nothing loth,
for a cheque upon `Vallance, Mills, and West,'
with Captain Harrison's signature, was reckoned
equal to money any day, and so the butcher
considered the one he had received, until the
next morning, when the draft and the order
proved to be forgeries. The culprit was, of
course, nowhere to be found, nor, indeed, heard
of till two years after, when he had removed the
scene of his depredations to Liverpool.

"In that port he had a colleague, a man whose
manners and appearance were equally prepos-
sessing. Moody sent his `pal' into a jeweller's
shop, near the corner of Lord-street, who there
purchased a small gold seal, paid for it, and took
his leave. Immediately afterwards, Moody en-
tered the shop under evident excitement, declar-
ing that he had seen the person, who had just
left the shop secrete two, if not three, seals up
his coat-sleeve; adding, that the fellow had just
gone through the Exchange, and that if the
jeweller were quick he would be sure to catch
him. The jeweller ran out without his hat,
leaving his kind friend in charge of the shop,
and soon returned with the supposed criminal in
his custody. The `captain,' however, in the
mean time, had decamped, taking with him a
tray from the window, containing precious mate-
rials to the value of 300l.

"At another time, the `captain' prepared a
document, setting forth `losses in the Baltic
trade,' and a dismal variety of disasters; and
concluding with a melancholy shipwreck, which
had really taken place just about that time in
the German Ocean. With this he travelled over
great part of Scotland, and with almost unpre-
cedented success. Journeying near the Frith of
Forth, he paid a visit to Lord Dalmeny — a
nobleman of great benevolence — who had read
the account of the shipwreck in the local jour-
nals, and wondered that the petition was not
signed by influential persons on the spot; and,
somewhat suspicious of the reality of the `cap-
tain's' identity, placed a terrestrial globe before
him, and begged to be shown `in what latitude
he was cast away.' The awkwardness with
which Moody handled the globe showed that
he was `out of his latitude' altogether. His
lordship thereupon committed the document to
the flames, but generously gave the `captain' a
sovereign and some good advice; the former he
appropriated at the nearest public-house, of the
latter he never made the least use.

`Old, and worn out by excesses and impri-
sonment, he subsists now by `sitting pad' about
the suburban pavements; and when, on a recent
evening, he was recognised in a low public-
house in Deptford, he was heard to say, with
a sigh: `Ah! once I could "screeve a fake-
ment" (write a petition) or "cooper a mone-
kur" (forge a signature) with any man alive,
and my heart's game now; but I'm old and
asthmatic, and got the rheumatis, so that I am't
worth a d — n.'

" `The Lady Lurker.' — Of this person very
little is known, and that little, it is said, makes
her an object of pity. Her father was a dissent-
ing minister in Bedfordshire. She has been
twice married; her first husband was a school-
master at Hackney, and nephew of a famous
divine who wrote a Commentary on the Bible,
and was chaplain to George III. She after-
wards married a physician in Cambridgeshire (a
Dr. S — ), who is alleged to have treated her
ill, and even to have attempted to poison her.
She has no children; and, since the death of
her husband, has passed through various grades,
till she is now a cadger. She dresses becomingly
in black, and sends in her card (Mrs. Dr. S — )
to the houses whose occupants are known, or
supposed, to be charitable. She talks with them
for a certain time, and then draws forth a few
boxes of lucifers, which, she says, she is com-
pelled to sell for her living. These lucifers are
merely excuses, of course, for begging; still,
nothing is known to have ever transpired in her
behaviour wholly unworthy of a distressed gen-
tlewoman. She lives in private lodgings."

I continue the account of these habitations,
and of their wretched occupants, from the pen
of the same gentleman whose vicissitudes (partly
self-procured) led him to several years' acquaint-
ance with the subject.

"Padding-kens" (lodging-houses) in the coun-
try are certainly preferable abodes to those of
St. Giles's, Westminster, or Whitechapel; but in
country as in town, their condition is extremely
filthy and disgusting; many of them are scarcely
ever washed, and as to sweeping, once a week is
miraculous. In most cases they swarm with
vermin, and, except where their position is
very airy, the ventilation is imperfect, and fre-
quent sickness the necessary result. It is a
matter of surprise that the nobility, clergy, and
gentry of the realm should permit the existence
of such horrid dwellings.

"I think," continues my informant, "that the
majority of these poor wretches are without even
the idea of respectability or `home comforts,' —
many of them must be ranked among the worst
of our population. Some, who could live else-
where, prefer these wretched abodes, because
they answer various evil purposes. With beg-
gars, patterers, hawkers, tramps, and vendors
of their own manufacture, are mingled thieves,
women of easy virtue, and men of no virtue at
all; a few, and by far the smallest portion, are
persons who once filled posts of credit and
affluence, but whom bankruptcy, want of em-
ployment, or sickness has driven to these dismal
retreats. The vast majority of London vagrants
take their summer vacation in the country, and
the `dodges' of both are interchanged, and every
new `move' circulates in almost no time.

"I will endeavour to sketch a few of the most
renowned `performers' on this theatre of action.
By far the most illustrious is `Nicholas A — ,'
an ame known to the whole cadging fraternity
as a real descendant from Bamfylde Moore
Carew, and the `prince of lurkers' and pat-
terers for thirty years past. This man owes
much of his success to his confessedly imposing
appearance, and many of his escapes to the known
respectability of his connections. His father —
yet alive — is a retired captain in the Royal
Navy, a gentleman of good private property,
and one of her Majesty's justices of peace for
the county of Devon — the southern extremity of
which was the birth-place of Nicholas. But
little is known of his early days. He went to
school at Tavistock, where he received a good
education, and began life by cheating his school-
fellows.

"The foolish fondness of an indulgent mother,
and some want of firmness in paternal disci-
pline, accelerated the growth of every weed of
infamy in Nicholas, and baffled every ex-
periment, by sea and land, to `set' him up in
life.

"Scarcely was he out of his teens, when he
honoured the sister country with his visits and
his depredations. About the centre of Sackville-
street, Dublin, there lived a wealthy silversmith
of the name of Wise. Into his shop (accom-
panied by one of his pals in livery) went Nicho-
las, whose gentlemanly exterior, as I have already
hinted, would disarm suspicion in a stranger.

" `Good morning sir, is your name Wise? —
Yes, sir. — Well, that is my name. — Indeed, of
the English family, I suppose? — Yes, sir, East
Kent. — Oh, indeed! related to the ladies of
Leeds Castle, I presume? — I have the honour
to be their brother. — James, is your name
James or John? — Neither, sir, it is Jacob. —
Oh, indeed! a very ancient name. — Well, I
have occasion to give a party at the Corn
Exchange Tavern, and I want a little plate on
hire, can you supply me?' — A very polite
affirmative settled this part of the business.
Plate to the amount of 150l. was selected and
arranged, when Nicholas discovered that his
pocket-book was at home (to complete the
deception, his right arm was in a sling). `Will
you, Mr. Wise (you see my infirmity), write me
a few lines? — With the greatest pleasure,' was
the silversmith's reply. — `Well, let me see.
"My dear, do not be surprised at this; I want 150l., or all the money you can send, per bearer;
I will explain at dinner-time. J. Wise."

" `Now, John, take this to your mistress, and
be quick.' As John was not very hasty in his
return, Nicholas went to look for him, leaving
a strict injunction that the plate should be sent
to the Corn Exchange Tavern, as soon as the
deposit was received. This happened at eleven

[Description: 915EAF. Page 247.]

in the forenoon — the clock struck five and no
return of either the master or the man.

"The jeweller left a message with his ap-
prentice, and went home to his dinner. He
was met at the door of his suburban villa by
his `better half,' who wondered what made
him so late, and wished to know the nature of
the exigency which had caused him to send
home for so much money? The good man's
perplexity was at an end when he saw his own
handwriting on the note; and every means within
the range of constabulary vigilance was taken
to capture the offender, but Nicholas and his
servant got clear off.

"This man's ingenuity was then taxed as to
the next move, so he thought it expedient to tax somebody else. He went with his `pal' to a
miscellaneous repository, where they bought a
couple of old ledgers — useful only as waste
paper, a bag to hold money, two ink-bottles, &c.
Thus equipped, they waited on the farmers of
the district, and exhibited a `fakement,' setting
forth parliamentary authority for imposing a tax
upon the geese! They succeeded to admiration,
and weeks elapsed before the hoax was disco-
vered. The coolness of thus assuming legisla-
torial functions, and being, at the same time,
the executive power, has rarely been equalled.

"There is an old proverb, that `It is an ill
wind that blows nobody good.' The gallant `cap-
tain' was domiciled at a lodging-house in Gains-
borough, Lincolnshire, where he found all the
lodgers complaining of the badness of the times
— most of them were makers of nets. He sal-
lied forth to all the general shops, and left his
(fictitious) `captain' card at each, with an order
for an unusual number of nets. This `dodge'
gave a week's work to at least twenty poor
people; but whether the shopkeepers were
`caught in a net,' or the articles were paid for
and removed by the `captain,' or whether it
was a piece of pastime on his part, I did not
stay long enough to ascertain.

"Nicholas A — is now in his sixty-second
year, a perfect hypochondriac. On his own au-
thority — and it is, no doubt, too true — he has
been `lurking' on every conceivable system,
from forging a bill of exchange down to `maun-
dering on the fly,' for the greater part of his
life; and, excepting the `hundred and thirteen
times' he has been in provincial jails, society
has endured the scourge of his deceptions for
a quarter of a century at least. He now lives
with a young prostitute in Portsmouth, and con-
tributes to her wretched earnings an allowance
of 5s. a week, paid to him by the attorney of a
distant and disgusted relative."

The writer of this account was himself two
whole years on the "monkry," before he saw a
lodging-house for tramps; and the first he ever saw was one well-known to every patterer in
Christendom, and whose fame he says is "gone
out into all lands," for its wayfaring inmates
are very proud of its popularity.

"It may be as well," writes the informant
in question, "before submitting the following
account, to state that there are other, and more
elaborate marks — the hieroglyphics of tramping
— than those already given. I will accordingly
explain them.

"Two hawkers (pals) go together, but separate
when they enter a village, one taking each side
of the road, and selling different things; and, so
as to inform each other as to the character of the
people at whose houses they call, they chalk
certain marks on their door-posts:

" means `Go on. I have called here; don't
you call — it's no go.'

" means `Stop — you may call here; they
want' (for instance) `what you sell, though not
what I sell;' or else, `They had no change when
I was there, but may have it now;' or, `If they
don't buy, at least they'll treat you civilly.'

" on a corner-house, or a sign-post, means,
`I went this way;' or `Go on in this direc-
tion.'

" on a corner-house, or sign-post, means
`Stop — don't go any further in this direction.'

" as before explained, means `danger.'

"Like many other young men, I had lived
above my income, and, too proud to crave
parental forgiveness, had thrown off the bonds
of authority for a life of adventure. I was now
homeless upon the world. With a body capable
of either exertion or fatigue, and a heart not
easily terrified by danger, I endured rather than
enjoyed my itinerant position. I sold small
articles of Tunbridge ware, perfumery, &c.. &c.,
and by `munging' (begging) over them — some-
times in Latin — got a better living than I ex-
pected, or probably deserved. I was always of
temperate and rather abstemious habits, but
ignorant of the haunts of other wanderers,
(whom I saw in dozens every day upon every
road, and every conceivable pursuit) I took
up my nightly quarters at a sort of third-rate
public-houses, and supposed that my contem-
poraries did the same. How long my igno-
rance might have continued (if left to myself)
I can hardly determine; an adventure at a
road-side inn, however, removed the veil from
my eyes, and I became gradually and speedily
`awake' to `every move on the board.' It was a
lovely evening in July, the air was serene and
the scenery romantic; my own feelings were in
unison with both, and enhanced perhaps by the
fact that I had beguiled the last two miles of
my deliberate walk with a page out of my pocket-
companion, `Burke on the Sublime and Beauti-
ful.' I was now smoking my pipe and quaffing
a pint of real `Yorkshire stingo' in the `keep-
ing room' (a term which combines parlour and
kitchen in one word) of a real `Yorkshire vil-
lage,' Dranfield, near Sheffield. A young person
of the other sex was my only and accidental
companion; she had been driven into the house
by the over-officiousness of a vigilant village
constable, who finding that she sold lace with-
out a license, and — infinitely worse — refused to
listen to his advances, had warned her to `make
herself scarce' at her `earliest possible conve-
nience.'

"Having elicited what I did for a living, she
popped the startling question to me, `Where do
you "hang out" in Sheffield?' I told her that
I had never been in Sheffield, and did not
`hang out' my little wares, but used my per-
suasive art to induce the purchase of them.
The lady said, `Well, you are "green." I mean,
where do you dos?' This was no better, it
seemed something like Greek, — `delta, omicron,
sigma,' (I retain the "patterer's" own words to
show the education of the class) — but the etymo-
logy was no relief to the perplexity. `Where
do you mean to sleep?' she inquired. I re-
ferred to my usual practice of adjourning to an
humble public-house. My companion at once
threw off all manner of disguise, and said,
`Well, sir, you are a young man that I have
taken a liking to, and if you think you should
like my company, I will take you to a lodging
where there is plenty of travellers, and you will
see "all sorts of life.' " I liked the girl's com-
pany, and our mutual acquiescence made us
companions on the road. We had not got far
before we met the aforesaid constable in com-
pany with an unmistakeable member of the
Rural Police. They made some inquiries of
me, which I thought exceeded their commis-
sion. I replied to them with a mutilated Ode of
Horace, when they both determined that I was
a Frenchman, and allowed us to `go on our
way rejoicing.'

"The smoky, though well-built, town of Shef-
field was now near at hand. The daylight was
past,' and the `shades of the evening were
stretching out;' we were therefore enabled to
journey through the throughfares without im-
pertinent remarks, or perhaps any observation,
except from a toothless old woman, of John
Wesley's school, who was `sorry to see two such
nice young people going about the country,' and
wondered if we `ever thought of eternity!'

"After a somewhat tedious ramble, we arrived
at Water-lane; — at the `Bug-trap,' which from
time immemorial has been the name of the
most renowned lodging-house in that or per-
haps any locality. Water-lane is a dark narrow
street, crowded with human beings of the most
degraded sort — the chosen atmosphere of cholera,
and the stronghold of theft and prostitution.
In less than half an hour, my fair companion
and myself were sipping our tea, and eating
Yorkshire cake in this same lodging-house.

" `God bless every happy couple!' was echoed
from a rude stentorian voice, while a still ruder
hand bumped down upon our tea-table a red
earthen dish of no small dimensions, into which
was poured, from the mouth of a capacious bag,
fragments of fish, flesh, and fowl, viands and
vegetables of every sort, intermingled with bits
of cheese and dollops of Yorkshire pudding.
The man to whom this heterogeneous mass be-
longed, appeared anything but satisfied with his
lot. `Well,' said he, `I don't know what this
'ere monkry will come to, after a bit. Three bob
and a tanner, and that there dish o' scran
(enough to feed two families for a fortnight) `is
all I got this blessed day since seven o'clock in
the morning, and now it's nine at night.' I
ventured to say something, but a remark, too
base for repetition, `put the stunners on me,'
and I held my peace.

"I was here surprised, on conversing with my
young female companion, to find that she went
to church, said her prayers night and morning,
and knew many of the collects, some of which
she repeated, besides a pleasing variety of Dr.
Watts's hymns. At the death of her mother,
her father had given up housekeeping; and,
being too fond of a wandering life, had led his
only child into habits like his own.

"As the night advanced, the party at the
`Bug-trap' more than doubled. High-flyers,
shallow-coves, turnpike-sailors, and swells out
of luck, made up an assembly of fourscore
human beings, more than half of whom were
doomed to sleep on a `make-shift' — in other
words, on a platform, raised just ten inches
above the floor of the garret, which it nearly
equalled in dimensions. Here were to be hud-
dled together, with very little covering, old men
and women, young men and children, with no
regard to age, sex, or propensities.

"The `mot' of the `ken' (nickname for
`matron of the establishment') had discovered
that I was a `more bettermost' sort of person,
and hinted that, if I would `come down' with
twopence more (threepence was the regular
nightly charge), I, `and the young gal as I was
with,' might have a little `crib' to ourselves in
a little room, along with another woman wot was
married and had a `kid,' and whose husband
had got a month for `griddling in the main
drag' (singing in the high street), and being
`cheekish' (saucy) to the beadle.

"Next morning I bade adieu to the `Bug-
trap,' and I hope for ever."

The same informant further stated that he
was some time upon "tramp" before he even
knew of the existence of a common lodging-
house: "After I had `matriculated' at Shef-
field," he says, "I continued some time going to
public-houses to sleep, until my apparel having
got shabby and my acquintance with misfor-
tune more general, I submitted to be the asso-
ciate of persons whom I never spoke to out of
doors, and whose even slight acquaintance I
have long renounced. My first introduction to
a London paddin' ken was in Whitechapel, the
place was then called Cat and Wheel-alley
(now Commercial-street). On the spot where
St. Jude's church now stands was a double
lodging-house, kept by a man named Shirley —
one side of it was for single men and women,
the other married couples; as these `couples'
made frequent exchanges, it is scarcely pro-
bable that Mr. Shirley ever `asked to see their
marriage lines.' These changes were, indeed,
as common as they were disgusting. I knew
two brothers (Birmingham nailers) who each
brought a young woman out of service from the
country. After a while each became dissatisfied

[Description: 915EAF. Page 249.]

with his partner. The mistress of the house (an
old procuress from Portsmouth) proposed that
they should change their wives. They did so,
to the amusement of nine other couples sleeping
on the same floor, and some of whom followed
the example, and more than once during the
night.

"When Cat and Wheel-alley was pulled
down, the crew removed to George-yard; the
proprietor died, and his wife sold the concern to
a wooden-legged Welshman named Hughes
(commonly called `Taff'). I was there some
time. `Taff' was a notorious receiver of stolen
goods. I knew two little boys, who brought
home six pairs of new Wellington boots, which
this miscreant bought at 1s. per pair; and, when
they had no luck, he would take the strap off his
wooden-leg, and beat them through the naked-
ness of their rags. He boarded and lodged
about a dozen Chelsea and Greenwich pension-
ers. These he used to follow and watch closely
till they got paid; then (after they had settled
with him) he would make them drunk, and rob
them of the few shillings they had left.

"One of these dens of infamy may be taken
as a specimen of the whole class. They have
generally a spacious, though often ill-ventilated,
kitchen, the dirty dilapidated walls of which are
hung with prints, while a shelf or two are gene-
rally, though barely, furnished with crockery
and kitchen utensils. In some places knives
and forks are not provided, unless a penny is
left with the `deputy,' or manager, till they
are returned. A brush of any kind is a stranger,
and a looking-glass would be a miracle. The
average number of nightly lodgers is in winter
70, and in summer (when many visit the pro-
vinces) from 40 to 45. The general charge is,
if two sleep together, 3d. per night, or 4d. for a
single bed. In either case, it is by no means
unusual to find 18 or 20 in one small room, the
heat and horrid smell from which are insuffer-
able; and, where there are young children, the
staircases are the lodgment of every kind of filth
and abomination. In some houses there are
rooms for families, where, on a rickety machine,
which they dignify by the name of a bedstead,
may be found the man, his wife, and a son or
daughter, perhaps 18 years of age; while the
younger children, aged from 7 to 14, sleep on
the floor. If they have linen, they take it off to
escape vermin, and rise naked, one by one, or
sometimes brother and sister together. This is
no ideal picture; the subject is too capable of
being authenticated to need that meaningless or
dishonest assistance called `allowable exaggera-
tion.' The amiable and deservedly popular
minister of a district church, built among lodg-
ing-houses, has stated that he has found 29
human beings in one apartment; and that
having with difficulty knelt down between two
beds to pray with a dying woman, his legs be-
came so jammed that he could hardly get up
again.

"Out of some fourscore such habitations,
continues my informant, "I have only found
two which had any sort of garden; and, I am
happy to add, that in neither of these two was
there a single case of cholera. In the others,
however, the pestilence raged with terrible
fury.

"Of all the houses of this sort, the best I
know is the one (previously referred to) in Or-
chard-street, Westminister, and another in Seven
Dials, kept by a Mr. Mann (formerly a wealthy
butcher). Cleanliness is inscribed on every wall
of the house; utensils of every kind are in
abundance, with a plentiful supply of water and
gas. The beds do not exceed five in a room,
and they are changed every week. There is not
one disorderly lodger; and although the master
has sustained heavy losses, ill health, and much
domestic affliction, himself and his house may
be regarded as patterns of what is wanted for
the London poor.

"As there is a sad similarity between these
abodes, so there is a sort of caste belonging in
general to the inmates. Of them it may be averred
that whatever their pursuits, they are more or less
alike in their views of men and manners. They
hate the aristocracy. Whenever there is a
rumour or an announcement of an addition to
the Royal Family, and the news reaches the
padding-ken, the kitchen, for half-an-hour, be-
comes the scene of uproar — `another expense
coming on the b — y country!' The `patterers'
are very fond of the Earl of Carlisle, whom, in
their attachment, they still call Lord Morpeth;
they have read many of his lordship's speeches
at soirées, &c., and they think he wishes well to
a poor man. Sir James Graham had better not
show face among them; they have an idea
(whence derived we know not) that this noble-
man invented fourpenny-pieces, and now, they
say, the swells give a `joey' where they used to
give a `tanner.' The hero of Waterloo is not
much amiss `if he lets politics alone.' The
name of a bishop is but another name for a
Beelzebub; but they are very fond of the infe-
rior clergy. Lay-agents and tract-distributors
they cannot bear; they think they are spies
come to see how much `scran' (food) they have
got, and then go and `pyson' the minds of the
public against poor people.

"I was once (says our informant) in a house
of this kind, in George-street, St. Giles's, — the
missionary who visited them on that occasion
(Sunday afternoon) had the misfortune to be
suspected as the author of some recent expo-
sure in the newspapers. — They accused him,
and he rebutted the accusation; they replied,
and he rejoined; at last one of the men said,
`What do you want poking your nose in here
for?' `The City Mission,' was the answer,
`had authorised — .' `Authorised be d — d!
are you ordained?' `No, not yet, friend.' The
women then tore the poor gentleman's nether
garments in a way I must not describe. The
men carried him into the yard, filled his mouth
with flour of mustard and then put him in a
water-butt.

"It is, I am satisfied, quite a mistake to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 250.]

suppose that there is much real infidelity
among these outcast beings. They almost all
believe in a hereafter; most of them think that
the wicked will be punished for a few years, and
then the whole universe of people be embraced
in the arms of one Great Forgiving Father.
Some of them think that the wicked will not
rise at all; the punishment of `losing Heaven'
being as they say `Hell enough for anybody.
Points of doctrine they seldom meddle with.

"There are comparatively few Dissenters to
be found in padding-kens, though many whose
parents were Dissenters. My own opinion
(writes my informant) is, that dissent seldom
lasts long in one family. In eight years' expe-
rience I have found two hundred apparently
pious men and women, and at least two thou-
sand who call themselves Protestants, but never
go to any church or chapel.

"The politics of these classes are, perhaps,
for the most part, `liberal Tory.' In most
lodging-houses they take one or two papers: the
Weekly Dispatch, and Bell's Weekly Messenger, are the two usually taken. I know of no
exception to this rule. The beggars hate a
Whig Ministry, and I know that many a tear
was shed in the hovels and cellars of London
when Sir Robert Peel died. I know a pub-
lican, in Westminster, whose daily receipts are
enormous, and whose only customers are sol-
diers, thieves, and prostitutes, who closed his
house the day of the funeral, and put himself,
his family, and even his beer-machines and
gas-pipes, into mourning for the departed
statesman.

"The pattering fraternity, that I write of, are
generally much given to intemperance. Their
amusements are the theatre, the free-and-easy,
the skittle-ground, and sometimes cards and
dominoes. They read some light works, and
some of them subscribe to libraries, and a few,
very few, attend lectures. Eliza Cook is a
favourite writer with them, and Capt. Marryatt,
the `top-sawyer,' as a novelist. Ainsworth is the
idol of another class, when they can read. Mr.
Dickens was a favourite, but he has gone down
sadly in the scale since his Household Words `came it so strong' against the begging letter
department. These poor creatures seldom rise
in society. They make no effort to extricate
themselves, while by others they are unpitied
because unknown. To this rule, however, there
are some happy and honourable exceptions.

"Taken as a body, patterers, lurkers, &c.
are by no means quick-sighted as to the sanc-
tions of moral obligation. They would join the
hue and cry against the persecutors of Jane
Wilbred, but a promiscuous robbery, even
accompanied by murder — if it was `got up
clever' and `done clean,' so long as the parties
escaped detection — might call forth a remark
that `there was no great harm done,' and per-
haps some would applaud the perpetrators."

Before quitting this part of my subject (viz.
the character, habits, and opinions of all classes
of patterers), I will give an account of the pre-
tended missionary proceedings of a man, well-
known to the vagrant fraternity as "Chelsea
George." I received the following narrative
from the gentleman whose statements I have
given previously. The scheme was concocted in
a low lodging-house:

"After a career of incessant `lurking' and
deceit, Chelsea George left England, and re-
mained abroad," writes my informant, "four or
five years. Exposure to the sun, and allowing
his beard to grow a prodigious length, gave him
the appearance of a foreigner. He had picked
up enough French and Italian, with a little
Dutch and German, and a smattering of Spa-
nish, to enable him to `hail for any part of the
globe,' and from the designed inarticulateness
with which he spoke (sometimes four languages
in one sentence) added to his sun-burnt and
grotesque appearance, it was difficult to pall him upon any racket (detect him in any pre-
tence), so that the most incredulous, — though
often previously imposed upon — gave credence
to his story, relief to his supposed necessities,
and sometimes letters of introduction to their
friends and neighbours.

"Some time after his return to England, and
while pursuing the course of a `high-flyer'
(genteel beggar), he met with an interruption to
his pursuits which induced him to alter his
plan without altering his behaviour. The news-
papers of the district, where he was then located,
had raised before the eye and mind of the
public, what the `patterers' of his class pro-
verbially call a `stink,' — that is, had opened the
eyes of the unwary to the movements of `Chel-
sea George;' and although he ceased to renew
his appeals from the moment he heard of the
notice of him, his appearance was so accurately
described that he was captured and committed
to Winchester jail as a rogue and vagabond.
The term of his imprisonment has escaped my
recollection. As there was no definite charge
against him, probably he was treated as an
ordinary vagrant and suffered a calendar month
in durance. The silent system was not then in
vogue, consequently there existed no barrier to
mutual intercourse between prisoners, with all
its train of conscience-hardening tendencies. I
do not say this to intimate unqualified approval
of the solitary system, I merely state a fact
which has an influence on my subject.

"George had by this time scraped acquaint-
ance with two fellow-prisoners — Jew Jem and
Russia Bob. The former in `quod' for `pat-
tering' as a `converted Jew,' the latter for
obtaining money under equally false, though
less theological, pretences.

"Liberated about one time, this trio laid
their heads together, — and the result was a plan
to evangelize, or rather victimize, the inhabit-
ants of the collier villages in Staffordshire and
the adjoining counties. To accomplish this pur-
pose, some novel and imposing representation
must be made, both to lull suspicion and give
the air of piety to the plan, and disinterestedness
to the agents by whom it was carried out.

"George and his two fellow-labourers were
`square-rigged' — that is, well dressed. Some-
thing, however, must be done to colour up the
scene, and make the appeal for money touching,
unsuspected, and successful. Just before the
time to which I allude, a missionary from Sierra
Leone had visited the larger towns of the dis-
trict in question, while the inhabitants of the
surrounding hamlets had been left in ignorance
of the `progress of missions in Africa and the
East.' George and his comrades thought it
would be no great harm at once to enlighten and
fleece this scattered and anxious population.
The plan was laid in a town of some size and
facility. They `raised the wind' to an extent
adequate to some alteration of their appearances,
and got bills printed to set forth the merits of
the cause. The principal actor was Jew Jim, a
converted Israelite, with `reverend' before his
name, and half the letters of the alphabet behind
it. He had been in all the islands of the South
Sea, on the coast of Africa, all over Hindostan,
and half over the universe; and after assuring
the villagers of Torryburn that he had carried
the Gospel to various dark and uninhabited parts
of the earth, he introduced Russia Bob (an
Irishman who had, however, been in Russia) as
his worthy and self-denying colleague, and Chel-
sea George as the first-fruits of their ministry —
as one who had left houses and land, wife and
children, and taken a long and hazardous voyage
to show Christians in England that their sable
brethren, children of one common Parent, were
beginning to cast their idols to the moles and
to the bats. Earnest was the gaze and breath-
less the expectation with which the poor deluded
colliers of Torry-burn listened to this harangue;
and as argument always gains by illustration,
the orator pulled out a tremendous black doll,
bought for a `flag' (fourpence) of a retired rag-
merchant, and dressed up in Oriental style.
This, Jew Jim assured the audience, was an idol
brought from Murat in Hindostan. He pre-
sented it to Chelsea George for his worship and
embraces. The convert indignantly repelled
the insinuation, pushed the idol from him, spat
in its face, and cut as many capers as a dancing-
bear. The trio at this stage of the performances
began `puckering' (talking privately) to each
other in murdered French, dashed with a little
Irish; after which, the missionaries said that
their convert (who had only a few words of
English) would now profess his faith. All was
attention as Chelsea George came forward. He
stroked his beard, put his hand in his breast to
keep down his dickey, and turning his eyes
upwards, said: `I believe in Desus Tist — dlory
to 'is 'oly Name!'

"This elicited some loud `amens' from an
assemblage of nearly 1,000 persons, and catch-
ing the favourable opportunity, a `school of
pals,' appointed for the purpose, went round
and made the collection. Out of the abundance
of their credulity and piety the populace con-
tributed sixteen pounds! The whole scene
was enacted out of doors, and presented to a
stranger very pleasing impressions. I was pre-
sent on the occasion, but was not then aware
of the dodge. One verse of a hymn, and the
blessing pronounced, was the signal for separa-
tion. A little shaking of hands concluded the
exhibition, and `every man went into his own
house.'

"The missionary party and their `pals' took
the train to Manchester, and as none of them
were teetotallers, the proceeds of their impo-
sition did not last long. They were just putting
on their considering caps, for the contrivance of
another dodge, when a gentleman in blue clothes
came into the tap-room, and informed Jew Jem
that he was `wanted.' It appears that `Jem'
had come out of prison a day or two before his
comrades, and being `hard up,' had ill-used a
lady, taken her purse, and appropriated its
contents. Inquiries, at first useless, had now
proved successful — the `missionary' stood his
trial, and got an `appointment' on Norfolk
Island. Russia Bob took the cholera and died,
and `George the convert' was once more left
alone to try his hand at something else."

OF THE LOW LODGING-HOUSES OF LONDON.

The patterers, as a class, usually frequent the
low lodging-houses. I shall therefore now pro-
ceed to give some further information touching
the abodes of these people — reminding the reader
that I am treating of patterers in general, and
not of any particular order, as the "paper
workers."

In applying the epithet "low" to these places,
I do but adopt the word commonly applied,
either in consequence of the small charge for
lodging, or from the character of their fre-
quenters. To some of these domiciles, however,
as will be shown, the epithet, in an opprobrious
sense, is unsuited.

An intelligent man, familiar for some years
with some low lodging-house life, specified the
quarters where those abodes are to be found,
and divided them into the following districts, the
correctness of which I caused to be ascertained.

Drury-lane District. Here the low lodging-
houses are to be found principally in the Coal-
yard, Charles-street, King-street, Parker-street,
Short's-gardens, Great and Little Wyld-streets,
Wyld-court, Lincoln-court, Newton-street, Star-
court.

Gray's -inn Lane. Fox -court, Charlotte-
buildings, Spread Eagle-court, Portpool-lane,
Bell-court, Baldwin's-gardens, Pheasant-court,
Union-buildings, Laystall-street, Cromer-street,
Fulwood's-rents (High Holborn).

Chancery-lane. Church-passage, and the
Liberty of the Rolls.

Bloomsbury. George-street, Church-lane,
Queen-street, Seven-dials, Puckeridge-street
(commonly called the Holy Land).

Saffron-hill and Clerkenwell. Peter-street, Cow-
cross, Turnmill-street, Upper and Lower White-
cross-street, St. Helen's-place, Playhouse-yard,
Chequer-alley, Field-lane, Great Saffron-hill.

Westminster. Old and New Pye-streets, Ann-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 252.]

street, Orchard-street, Perkins's-rents, Roches-
ter-row.

Lambeth. Lambeth-walk, New-cut.

Marylebone. York-court, East-street.

St. Pancras. Brooke-street.

Paddington. Chapel-street, Union-court.

Shoreditch. Baker's-rents, Cooper's-gardens.

Islington. Angel-yard.

Whitechapel, Spitalfields, &c. George-yard,
Thrawl-street, Flower and Dean-street, Went-
worth -street, Keate -street, Rosemary -lane,
Glasshouse-yard, St. George's-street, Lambeth-
street, Whitechapel, High-street.

Borough. Mint-street, Old Kent-street, Long-
lane, Bermondsey.

Stratford. High-street.

Limehouse. Hold (commonly called Hole).

Deptford. Mill-lane, Church-street, Gifford-
street.

There are other localities, (as in Mile-end,
Ratcliffe-highway, Shadwell, Wapping, and
Lisson-grove,) where low lodging-houses are to
be found; but the places I have specified may
be considered the districts of these hotels for
the poor. The worst places, both as regards
filth and immorality, are in St. Giles's and
Wentworth-street, Whitechapel. The best are in
Orchard-street, Westminster (the thieves having
left it in consequence of the recent alterations
and gone to New Pye-street), and in the Mint,
Borough. In the last-mentioned district, in-
deed, some of the proprietors of the lodging-
houses have provided considerable libraries for
the use of the inmates. In the White Horse,
Mint-street, for instance, there is a collection of
500 volumes, on all subjects, bought recently,
and having been the contents of a circulating
library, advertised for sale in the Weekly Dis-
patch.

Of lodging-houses for "travellers" the
largest is known as the Farm House, in the
Mint: it stands away from any thoroughfare,
and lying low is not seen until the visitor stands
in the yard. Tradition rumour states that the
house was at one time Queen Anne's, and was
previously Cardinal Wolsey's. It was proba-
bly some official residence. In this lodging-
house are forty rooms, 200 beds (single and
double), and accommodation for 200 persons.
It contains three kitchens, — of which the largest,
at once kitchen and sitting-room, holds 400
people, for whose uses in cooking there are two
large fire-places. The other two kitchens are
used only on Sundays; when one is a preach-
ing-room, in which missionaries from Surrey
Chapel (the Rev. James Sherman's), or some
minister or gentleman of the neighbourhood,
officiates. The other is a reading-room, sup-
plied with a few newspapers and other peri-
odicals; and thus, I was told, the religious and
irreligious need not clash. For the supply of
these papers each person pays 1d. every Sun-
day morning; and as the sum so collected is
more than is required for the expenses of the
reading-room, the surplus is devoted to the
help of the members in sickness, under the
management of the proprietor of the lodging-
house, who appears to possess the full confi-
dence of his inmates. The larger kitchen is
detached from the sleeping apartments, so that
the lodgers are not annoyed with the odour of
the cooking of fish and other food consumed by
the poor; for in lodging-houses every sojourner
is his own cook. The meal in most demand is
tea, usually with a herring, or a piece of bacon.

The yard attached to the Farm House, in
Mint-street, covers an acre and a half; in it
is a washing -house, built recently, the yard
itself being devoted to the drying of the clothes
— washed by the customers of the establishment.
At the entrance to this yard is a kind of porter's
lodge, in which reside the porter and his wife
who act as the "deputies" of the lodging-
house. This place has been commended in
sanitary reports, for its cleanliness, good order,
and care for decency, and for a proper division
of the sexes. On Sundays there is no charge
for lodging to known customers; but this is a
general practice among the low lodging-houses
of London.

In contrast to this house I could cite many
instances, but I need do no more in this place
than refer to the statements, which I shall proceed
to give; some of these were collected in the course
of a former inquiry, and are here given because
the same state of things prevails now. I was
told by a trustworthy man that not long ago
he was compelled to sleep in one of the lowest
(as regards cheapness) of the lodging-houses.
All was dilapidation, filth, and noisomeness.
In the morning he drew, for purposes of ablu-
tion, a basinfull of water from a pailfull kept
in the room. In the water were floating
alive, or apparently alive, bugs and lice,
which my informant was convinced had fallen
from the ceiling, shaken off by the tread
of some one walking in the rickety apartments
above!

"Ah, sir," said another man with whom I
conversed on the subject, "if you had lived in
the lodging-houses, you would say what a vast
difference a penny made, — it's often all in all.
It's 4d. in the Mint House you've been asking
me about; you've sleep and comfort there, and
I've seen people kneel down and say their
prayers afore they went to bed. Not so many,
though. Two or three in a week at nights,
perhaps. And it's wholesome and sweet enough
there, and large separate beds; but in other
places there's nothing to smell or feel but bugs.
When daylight comes in the summer — and it's
often either as hot as hell or as cold as icicles
in those places; but in summer, as soon as its
light, if you turn down the coverlet, you'll
see them a-going it like Cheapside when it's
throngest." The poor man seemed to shudder
at the recollection.

One informant counted for me 180 of these
low lodging-houses; and it is reasonable to say
that there are, in London, at least 200 of them.
The average number of beds in each was com-
puted for me, by persons cognizant of such

[Description: 915EAF. Page 253.]

matters, from long and often woful experience,
at 52 single or 24 double beds, where the
house might be confined to single men or
single women lodgers, or to married or pre-
tendedly married couples, or to both classes.
In either case, we may calculate the number
that can be, and generally are, accommodated at
50 per house; for children usually sleep with
their parents, and 50 may be the lowest com-
putation. We have thus no fewer than 10,000
persons domiciled, more or less permanently,
in the low lodging-houses of London — a number
more than doubling the population of many a
parliamentary borough.

The proprietors of these lodging-houses mostly
have been, I am assured, vagrants, or, to use the
civiller and commoner word, "travellers" them-
selves, and therefore sojourners, on all necessary
occasions, in such places. In four cases out of
five I believe this to be the case. The proprie-
tors have raised capital sufficient to start with,
sometimes by gambling at races, sometimes by
what I have often, and very vaguely, heard
described as a "run of luck;" and sometimes,
I am assured, by the proceeds of direct robbery.
A few of the proprietors may be classed as
capitalists. One of them, who has a country
house in Hampstead, has six lodging-houses in
or about Thrawl-street, Whitechapel. He looks
in at each house every Saturday, and calls his
deputies — for he has a deputy in each house
— to account; he often institutes a stringent
check. He gives a poor fellow money to go
and lodge in one of his houses, and report the
number present. Sometimes the person so sent
meets with the laconic repulse — "Full;" and
woe to the deputy if his return do not evince
this fulness. Perhaps one in every fifteen of the
low lodging-houses in town is also a beer-shop.
Very commonly so in the country.

To "start" a low lodging-house is not a very
costly matter. Furniture which will not be
saleable in the ordinary course of auction, or
of any traffic, is bought by a lodging-house
"starter." A man possessed of some money,
who took an interest in a bricklayer, purchased
for 20l., when the Small Pox Hospital, by
King's-cross, was pulled down, a sufficiency of
furniture for four lodging-houses, in which he
"started" the man in question. None others
would buy this furniture, from a dread of in-
fection.

It was the same at Marlborough-house, Peck-
ham, after the cholera had broken out there.
The furniture was sold to a lodging-house
keeper, at 9d. each article. "Big and little,
sir," I was told; "a penny pot and a bedstead
— all the same; each 9d. Nobody else would
buy."

To about three-fourths of the low lodging-
houses of London, are "deputies." These are
the conductors or managers of the establish-
ment, and are men or women (and not unfre-
quently a married, or proclaimed a married
couple), and about in equal proportion. These
deputies are paid from 7s. to 15s. a week each,
according to the extent of their supervision; their
lodging always, and sometimes their board,
being at the cost of "the master." According
to the character of the lodging-house, the depu-
ties are civil and decent, or roguish and insolent.
Their duty is not only that of general superin-
tendence, but in some of the houses of a noc-
turnal inspection of the sleeping-rooms; the
deputy's business generally keeping him up all
night. At the better-conducted houses strangers
are not admitted after twelve at night; in others,
there is no limitation as to hours.

The rent of the low lodging-houses varies, I am
informed, from 8s. to 20s. a week, the payment
being for the most part weekly; the taxes and
rates being of course additional. It is rarely
that the landlord, or his agent, can be induced
to expend any money in repairs, — the wear and
tear of the floors, &c., from the congregating
together of so many human beings being exces-
sive: this expenditure in consequence falls upon
the tenant.

Some of the lodging-houses present no ap-
pearance differing from that of ordinary houses;
except, perhaps, that their exterior is dirtier.
Some of the older houses have long flat windows
on the ground-floor, in which there is rather
more paper, or other substitutes, than glass.
"The windows there, sir," remarked one man,
"are not to let the light in, but to keep the
cold out."

In the abodes in question there seems to have
become tacitly established an arrangement as to
what character of lodgers shall resort thither;
the thieves, the prostitutes, and the better class
of street-sellers or traders, usually resorting to
the houses where they will meet the same class
of persons. The patterers reside chiefly in West-
minister and Whitechapel.

Some of the lodging-houses are of the worst
class of low brothels, and some may even be
described as brothels for children.

On many of the houses is a rude sign,
"Lodgings for Travellers, 3d. a night. Boiling
water always ready," or the same intimation
may be painted on a window-shutter, where a
shutter is in existence. A few of the better
order of these housekeepers post up small bills,
inviting the attention of "travellers," by lauda-
tions of the cleanliness, good beds, abundant
water, and "gas all night," to be met with.
The same parties also give address-cards to
travellers, who can recommend one another.

The beds are of flock, and as regards the mere
washing of the rug, sheet, and blanket, which
constitute the bed-furniture, are in better order
than they were a few years back; for the visita-
tions of the cholera alarmed even the reckless
class of vagrants, and those whose avocations
relate to vagrants. In perhaps a tenth of the
low lodging-houses of London, a family may
have a room to themselves, with the use of the
kitchen, at so much a week — generally 2s. 6d. for a couple without family, and 3s. 6d. where
there are children. To let out "beds" by the
might is however the general rule.

The illustration presented this week is of a
place in Fox-court, Gray's-inn-lane, long noto-
rious as a "thieves' house," but now far less fre-
quented. On the visit, a few months back, of an
informant (who declined staying there), a num-
ber of boys were lying on the floor gambling
with marbles and halfpennies, and indulging in
savage or unmeaning blasphemy. One of the
lads jumped up, and murmuring something that
it wouldn't do to be idle any longer, induced a
woman to let him have a halfpenny for "a stall;"
that is, as a pretext with which to enter a shop
for the purpose of stealing, the display of the
coin forming an excuse for his entrance. On
the same occasion a man walked into "the
kitchen," and coolly pulled from underneath
the back of his smock-frock a large flat piece
of bacon, for which he wanted a customer. It
would be sold at a fourth of its value.

I am assured that the average takings of lodg-
ing-house keepers may be estimated at 17s. 6d. a night, not to say 20s.; but I adopt the lower
calculation. This gives a weekly payment by
the struggling poor, the knavish, and the out-
cast, of 1,000 guineas weekly, or 52,000 guineas
in the year. Besides the rent and taxes, the
principal expenditure of the lodging-house pro-
prietors is for coals and gas. In some of the
better houses, blacking, brushes, and razors are
supplied, without charge, to the lodgers: also
pen and ink, soap, and, almost always, a news-
paper. For the meals of the frequenters salt is
supplied gratuitously, and sometimes, but far
less frequently, pepper also; never vinegar or
mustard. Sometimes a halfpenny is charged
for the use of a razor and the necessary shaving
apparatus. In one house in Kent-street, the
following distich adorns the mantel-piece:

In some places a charge of a halfpenny is made
for hot water, but that is very rarely the case.
Strong drink is admitted at almost any hour in
the majority of the houses, and the deputy is
generally ready to bring it; but little is consumed
in the houses, those addicted to the use or abuse
of intoxicating liquors preferring the tap-room
or the beer-shop.

OF THE FILTH, DISHONESTY, AND IMMORALITY
OF LOW LODGING-HOUSES.

In my former and my present inquiries, I received
many statements on this subject. Some details,
given by coarse men and boys in the grossest
language, are too gross to be more than alluded
to, but the full truth must be manifested, if not
detailed. It was remarked when my prior ac-
count appeared, that the records of gross profli-
gacy on the part of some of the most licentious
of the rich (such as the late Marquis of Hert-
ford and other worthies of the same depraved
habits) were equalled, or nearly equalled, by
the account of the orgies of the lowest lodging-
houses. Sin, in any rank of life, shows the same
features.

And first, as to the want of cleanliness, com-
fort, and decency: "Why, sir," said one man,
who had filled a commercial situation of no
little importance, but had, through intemperance,
been reduced to utter want, "I myself have
slept in the top room of a house not far from
Drury-lane, and you could study the stars, if
you were so minded, through the holes left by
the slates having been blown off the roof. It
was a fine summer's night, and the openings in
the roof were then rather an advantage, for they
admitted air, and the room wasn't so foul as it
might have been without them. I never went
there again, but you may judge what thoughts
went through a man's mind — a man who had
seen prosperous days — as he lay in a place like
that, without being able to sleep, watching the
sky."

The same man told me (and I received abun-
dant corroboration of his statement, besides that
incidental mention of the subject occurs else-
where), that he had scraped together a handful
of bugs from the bed-clothes, and crushed them
under a candlestick, and had done that many a
time, when he could only resort to the lowest
places. He had slept in rooms so crammed
with sleepers — he believed there were 30 where
12 would have been a proper number — that
their breaths in the dead of night and in the
unventilated chamber, rose (I use his own
words) "in one foul, choking steam of stench."
This was the case most frequently a day or
two prior to Greenwich Fair or Epsom Races,
when the congregation of the wandering classes,
who are the supporters of the low lodging-
houses, was the thickest. It was not only that
two or even three persons jammed themselves
into a bed not too large for one full-sized
man; but between the beds — and their par-
tition one from another admitted little more
than the passage of a lodger — were placed
shakes-down, or temporary accommodation for
nightly slumber. In the better lodging-houses
the shake-downs are small palliasses or mat-
tresses; in the worst, they are bundles of rags
of any kind; but loose straw is used only in the
country for shake-downs. One informant saw
a traveller, who had arrived late, eye his shake-
down in one of the worst houses with anything
but a pleased expression of countenance; and
a surly deputy, observing this, told the custo-
mer he had his choice, "which," the deputy
added, "it's not all men as has, or I shouldn't
have been waiting here on you. But you has
your choice, I tell you; — sleep there on that
shake-down, or turn out and be d — ; that's
fair." At some of the busiest periods, numbers
sleep on the kitchen floor, all huddled together,
men and women (when indecencies are common
enough), and without bedding or anything but
their scanty clothes to soften the hardness of
the stone or brick floor. A penny is saved to
the lodger by this means. More than 200 have
been accommodated in this way in a large

[Description: 915EAF. Page 255.]

house. The Irish, at harvest-time, very often
resort to this mode of passing the night.

I heard from several parties, of the surprise,
and even fear or horror, with which a decent
mechanic — more especially if he were accom-
panied by his wife — regarded one of these foul
dens, when destitution had driven him there for
the first time in his life. Sometimes such a
man was seen to leave the place abruptly,
though perhaps he had pre-paid his last half-
penny for the refreshment of a night's repose.
Sometimes he was seized with sickness. I
heard also from some educated persons who
had "seen better days," of the disgust with
themselves and with the world, which they felt
on first entering such places. "And I have
some reason to believe," said one man, "that
a person, once well off, who has sunk into
the very depths of poverty, often makes his
first appearance in one of the worst of those
places. Perhaps it is because he keeps away
from them as long as he can, and then, in a sort
of desperation fit, goes into the cheapest he
meets with; or if he knows it's a vile place, he
very likely says to himself — I did — ` I may as
well know the worst at once.' "

Another man who had moved in good society,
said, when asked about his resorting to a low
lodging-house: "When a man's lost caste in
society, he may as well go the whole hog, bristles
and all, and a low lodging-house is the entire
pig."

Notwithstanding many abominations, I am
assured that the lodgers, in even the worst of
these habitations, for the most part sleep soundly.
But they have, in all probability, been out in
the open air the whole of the day, and all of
them may go to their couches, after having
walked, perhaps, many miles, exceedingly fa-
tigued, and some of them half-drunk. "Why,
in course, sir," said a "traveller," whom I spoke
to on this subject, "if you is in a country town
or village, where there's only one lodging-house,
perhaps, and that a bad one — an old hand can
always suit his-self in London — you must get
half-drunk, or your money for your bed is
wasted. There's so much rest owing to you,
after a hard day; and bugs and bad air'll pre-
vent its being paid, if you don't lay in some
stock of beer, or liquor of some sort, to sleep on.
It's a duty you owes yourself; but, if you
haven't the browns, why, then, in course, you
can't pay it." I have before remarked, and,
indeed, have given instances, of the odd and
sometimes original manner in which an intelli-
gent patterer, for example, will express himself.

The information I obtained in the course of
this inquiry into the condition of low lodging-
houses, afforded a most ample corroboration of
the truth of a remark I have more than once
found it necessary to make before — that persons
of the vagrant class will sacrifice almost any-
thing for warmth, not to say heat. Otherwise,
to sleep, or even sit, in some of the apart-
ments of these establishments would be intoler-
able.

From the frequent state of weariness to which
I have alluded, there is generally less conversa-
tion among the frequenters of the low lodging-
houses than might be expected. Some are busy
cooking, some (in the better houses) are reading,
many are drowsy and nodding, and many are
smoking. In perhaps a dozen places of the
worst and filthiest class, indeed, smoking is per-
mitted even in the sleeping-rooms; but it is far
less common than it was even half-a-dozen years
back, and becomes still less common yearly.
Notwithstanding so dangerous a practice, fires
are and have been very unfrequent in these
places. There is always some one awake, which
is one reason. The lack of conversation, I ought
to add, and the weariness and drowsiness, are
less observable in the lodging-houses patronised
by thieves and women of abandoned character,
whose lives are comparatively idle, and whose
labour a mere nothing. In their houses, if the
conversation be at all general, it is often of the
most unclean character. At other times it is
carried on in groups, with abundance of whis-
pers, shrugs, and slang, by the members of the
respective schools of thieves or lurkers.

I have now to speak of the habitual violation
of all the injunctions of law, of all the obliga-
tions of morality, and of all the restraints of
decency, seen continually in the vilest of the
lodging-houses. I need but cite a few facts, for
to detail minutely might be to disgust. In some
of these lodging-houses, the proprietor — or, I
am told, it might be more correct to say, the
proprietress, as there are more women than
men engaged in the nefarious traffic carried on
in these houses — are "fences," or receivers of
stolen goods in a small way. Their "fencing,"
unless as the very exception, does not extend to
any plate, or jewellery, or articles of value, but
is chiefly confined to provisions, and most of all
to those which are of ready sale to the lodgers.

Of very ready sale are "fish got from the
gate" (stolen from Billingsgate); "sawney"
(thieved bacon), and "flesh found in Leaden-
hall" (butcher's-meat stolen from that market).
I was told by one of the most respectable
tradesmen in Leadenhall-market, that it was
infested — but not now to so great an extent as
it was — with lads and young men, known there
as "finders." They carry bags round their
necks, and pick up bones, or offal, or pieces of
string, or bits of papers, or "anything, sir,
please, that a poor lad, that has neither father
nor mother, and is werry hungry, can make a
ha'penny by to get him a bit of bread, please,
sir." This is often but a cover for stealing
pieces of meat, and the finders, with their prox-
imate market for disposal of their meat in the
lowest lodging-houses in Whitechapel, go boldly
about their work, for the butchers, if the "finder"
be detected, "won't," I was told by a sharp
youth who then was at a low lodging-house in
Keate-street, "go bothering theirselves to a
beak, but gives you a scruff of the neck and a
kick and lets you go. But some of them kicks

[Description: 915EAF. Page 256.]

werry hard." The tone and manner of this boy
— and it is a common case enough with the
"prigs" — showed that he regarded hard kick-
ing merely as one of the inconveniences to
which his business-pursuits were unavoidably
subjected; just as a struggling housekeeper
might complain of the unwelcome calls of the
tax-gatherers. These depredations are more
frequent in Leadenhall-market than in any of
the others, on account of its vicinity to White-
chapel. Even the Whitechapel meat-market is
less the scene of prey, for it is a series of shops,
while Leadenhall presents many stalls, and the
finders seem loath to enter shops without some
plausible pretext.

Groceries, tea especially, stolen from the
docks, warehouses, or shops, are things in ex-
cellent demand among the customers of a
lodging-house fence. Tea, known or believed
to have been stolen "genuine" from any dock,
is bought and sold very readily; 1s. 6d., how-
ever, is a not unfrequent price for what is
known as 5s. tea. Sugar, spices, and other
descriptions of stolen grocery, are in much
smaller request.

Wearing-apparel is rarely bought by the
fences I am treating of; but the stealers of it
can and do offer their wares to the lodgers, who
will often, before buying, depreciate the gar-
ment, and say "It's never been nothing better
nor a Moses."

"Hens and chickens" are a favourite theft,
and "go at once to the pot," but in no culinary
sense. The hens and chickens of the roguish
low lodging-houses are the publicans' pewter
measures; the bigger vessels are "hens;" the
smaller are "chickens." Facilities are pro-
vided for the melting of these stolen vessels,
and the metal is sold by the thief — very rarely if
ever, by the lodging-house keeper, who prefers
dealing with the known customers of the
establishment — to marine-store buyers.

A man who at one time was a frequenter of
a thieves' lodging-house, related to me a con-
versation which he chanced to overhear — he
himself being then in what his class would con-
sider a much superior line of business — between
a sharp lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen
years of age, and a lodging-house (female)
fence. But it occurred some three or four
years back. The lad had "found" a piece
of Christmas beef, which he offered for sale to
his landlady, averring that it weighed 6 lbs.
The fence said and swore that it wouldn't
weigh 3 lbs., but she would give him 5d. for it.
It probably weighed above 4 lbs. "Fip-pence!"
exclaimed the lad, indignantly; "you haven't
no fairness. Vy, its sixpun' and Christmas
time. Fip-pence! A tanner and a flag (a
sixpence and a four-penny piece) is the werry
lowest terms." There was then a rapid and
interrupted colloquy, in which the most fre-
quent words were: "Go to blazes!" with
retorts of "You go to blazes!" and after
strong and oathful imputations of dishonest
endeavours on the part of each contracting
party, to over-reach the other, the meat was sold
to the woman for 6d.

Some of the "fences" board, lodge, and
clothe, two or three boys or girls, and send
them out regularly to thieve, the fence usually
taking all the proceeds, and if it be the young
thief has been successful, he is rewarded with
a trifle of pocket-money, and is allowed plenty
of beer and tobacco.

One man, who keeps three low lodging-
houses (one of which is a beer-shop), not long
ago received from a lodger a valuable great-
coat, which the man said he had taken from a
gig. The fence (who was in a larger way of
business than others of his class, and is reputed
rich,) gave 10s. for the garment, asking at the
same time, "Who was minding the gig?" "A
charity kid," was the answer. "Give him a
deuce" (2d.), "and stall him off" (send him
an errand), said the fence, "and bring the
horse and gig, and I'll buy it." It was done,
and the property was traced in two hours, but
only as regarded the gig, which had already had
a new pair of wheels attached to it, and was so
metamorphosed, that the owner, a medical gen-
tleman, though he had no moral doubt on the
subject, could not swear to his own vehicle.
The thief received only 4l. for gig and horse;
the horse was never traced.

The licentiousness of the frequenters, and
more especially of the juvenile frequenters, of
the low lodging-houses, must be even more
briefly alluded to. In some of these establish-
ments, men and women, boys and girls, — but
perhaps in no case, or in very rare cases, un-
less they are themselves consenting parties,
herd together promiscuously. The informa-
tion which I have given from a reverend infor-
mant indicates the nature of the proceedings,
when the sexes are herded indiscriminately,
and it is impossible to present to the reader,
in full particularity, the records of the vice
practised.

Boys have boastfully carried on loud conver-
sations, and from distant parts of the room, of
their triumphs over the virtue of girls, and girls
have laughed at and encouraged the recital.
Three, four, five, six, and even more boys and
girls have been packed, head and feet, into one
small bed; some of them perhaps never met
before. On such occasions any clothing seems
often enough to be regarded as merely an in-
cumbrance. Sometimes there are loud quarrels
and revilings from the jealousy of boys and girls,
and more especially of girls whose "chaps" have
deserted or been inveigled from them. At others,
there is an amicable interchange of partners,
and next day a resumption of their former com-
panionship. One girl, then fifteen or sixteen,
who had been leading this vicious kind of life
for nearly three years, and had been repeatedly
in prison, and twice in hospitals — and who ex-
pressed a strong desire to "get out of the life"
by emigration — said: "Whatever that's bad
and wicked, that any one can fancy could be

[Description: 915EAF. Page 257.]

done in such places among boys and girls that's
never been taught, or won't be taught, better, is done, and night after night." In these haunts
of low iniquity, or rather in the room into which
the children are put, there are seldom persons
above twenty. The younger lodgers in such
places live by thieving and pocket-picking, or
by prositution. The charge for a night's lodg-
ing is generally 2d., but smaller children have
often been admitted for 1d. If a boy or girl
resort to one of these dens at night without the
means of defraying the charge for accommoda-
tion, the "mot of the ken" (mistress of the
house) will pack them off, telling them plainly
that it will be no use their returning until they
have stolen something worth 2d. If a boy or
girl do not return in the evening, and have not
been heard to express their intention of going
elsewhere, the first conclusion arrived at by
their mates is that they have "got into trouble"
(prison).

The indiscriminate admixture of the sexes
among adults, in many of these places, is an-
other evil. Even in some houses considered of
the better sort, men and women, husbands and
wives, old and young, strangers and acquaint-
ances, sleep in the same apartment, and if they
choose, in the same bed. Any remonstrance at
some act of gross depravity, or impropriety on the
part of a woman not so utterly hardened as the
others, is met with abuse and derision. One man
who described these scenes to me, and had long
witnessed them, said that almost the only
women who ever hid their faces or manifested
dislike of the proceedings they could not but
notice (as far as he saw), were poor Irishwomen,
generally those who live by begging: "But for
all that," the man added, "an Irishman or
Irishwoman of that sort will sleep anywhere, in
any mess, to save a halfpenny, though they may
have often a few shillings, or a good many,
hidden about them."

There is no provision for purposes of decency
in some of the places I have been describing,
into which the sexes are herded indiscriminately;
but to this matter I can only allude. A police-
man, whose duty sometimes called him to enter
one of those houses at night, told me that he
never entered it without feeling sick.

There are now fewer of such filthy receptacles
than there were. Some have been pulled down
— especially for the building of Commercial-
street, in Whitechapel, and of New Oxford-
street — and some have fallen into fresh and
improved management. Of those of the worst
class, however, there may now be at least thirty
in London; while the low lodgings of all de-
scriptions, good or bad, are more frequented
than they were a few years back. A few new
lodging-houses, perhaps half a dozen, have been
recently opened, in expectation of a great influx
of "travellers" and vagrants at the opening
of the Great Exhibition.

OF THE CHILDREN IN LOW LODGING-
HOUSES.

The informant whose account of patterers and
of vagrant life in its other manifestations I have
already given, has written from personal know-
ledge and observation the following account of
the children in low lodging-houses:

"Of the mass of the indigent and outcast,"
he says, "of whom the busy world know no-
thing, except from an occasional paragraph in
the newspaper, the rising generation, though
most important, is perhaps least considered.
Every Londoner must have seen numbers of
ragged, sickly, and ill-fed children, squatting
at the entrances of miserable courts, streets,
and alleys, engaged in no occupation that is
either creditable to themselves or useful to the
community. These are, in many cases, those
whose sole homes are in the low lodging-
houses; and I will now exhibit a few features
of the `juvenile performers' among the `Lon-
don Poor.'

"In many cases these poor children have lost
one of their parents; in some, they are without
either father or mother; but even when both
parents are alive, the case is little mended, for
if the parents be of the vagrant or dishonest
class, their children are often neglected, and
left to provide for the cost of their food and
lodging as they best may. The following ex-
tract from the chaplain's report of one of our
provincial jails, gives a melancholy insight into
the training of many of the families. It is not,
I know, without exception; but, much as we
could wish it to be otherwise, it is so general
an occurrence, varied into its different forms,
that it may be safely accounted as the rule of
action.

" `J. G. was born of poor parents. At five
years old his father succeeded to a legacy of
500l. He was quiet, indolent, fond of drink, a
good scholar, and had twelve children. He
never sent any of them to school! "Telling
lies," said the child, "I learned from my
mother; she did things unknown to father,
and gave me a penny not to tell him!" The
father (on leaving home) left, by request of the
mother, some money to pay a man; she slipped
up stairs, and told the children to say she was
out.

" `From ten to twelve years of age I used to go
to the ale-house. I stole the money from my
father, and got very drunk. My father never
punished me for all this, as he ought to have
done. In course of time I was apprenticed to a
tanner; he ordered me to chapel, instead of
which I used to play in the fields. When out
of my time I got married, and still carried on the
same way, starving my wife and children. I used
to take my little boy, when only five years old, to
the public-house, and make him drunk with
whatever I drank myself. A younger one
could act well a drunken man on the floor. My
wife was a sober steady women; but, through
coming to fetch me home she learned to drink

[Description: 915EAF. Page 258.]

too. One of our children used to say, "Mam,
you are drunk, like daddy." '

"It may be argued that this awful `family
portrait' is not the average character, but I have
witnessed too many similar scenes to doubt the
general application of the sad rule.

"Of those children of the poor, as has been
before observed, the most have either no parents,
or have been deserted by them, and have no
regular means of living, nor moral superintend-
ance on the part of relatives or neighbours;
consequently, they grow up in habits of idle-
ness, ignorance, vagrancy, or crime. In some
cases they are countenanced and employed.
Here and there may be seen a little urchin
holding a few onions in a saucer, or a diminutive
sickly girl standing with a few laces or a box or
two of lucifers. But even these go with the per-
sons who have `set them up' daily to the public-
house (and to the lodging-house at night); and
after they have satisfied the cravings of hunger,
frequently expend their remaining halfpence (if
any) in gingerbread, and as frequently in gin. I
have overheard a proposal for `half-a-quartern
and a two-out' (glass) between a couple of shoe-
less boys under nine years old. One little fellow
of eleven, on being remonstrated with, said that
it was the only pleasure in life that he had, and
he weren't a-going to give that up. Both sexes
of this juvenile class frequent, when they can
raise the means, the very cheap and `flash'
places of amusement, where the precocious de-
linquent acquires the most abandoned tastes, and
are often allured by elder accomplices to commit
petty frauds and thefts.

"Efforts have been made to redeem these
young recruits in crime from their sad career,
with its inevitable results. In some cases, I
rejoice to believe that success has crowned the
endeavour. There is that, however, in the cun-
ning hardihood of the majority of these immature
delinquents, which presents almost insuperable
barriers to benevolence, and of this I will adduce
an instance.

"A gentleman, living at Islington, who
attends one of the city churches, is in the habit
of crossing the piece of waste ground close to
Saffron-hill. Here he often saw (close to the
ragged school) a herd of boys, and as nearly as
he could judge always the same boys. One of
them always bowed to him as he passed. He
thought — and thought right — that they were
gambling, and after, on one occasion, talking to
them very seriously, he gave each of them two-
pence and pursued his way. However, he
found himself followed by the boy before
alluded to, accompanied by a younger lad, who
turned out to be his brother. Both in one
breath begged to know if `his honour' could
please to give them any sort of a job. The
gentleman gave them his card, inquired their
place of residence (a low lodging-house) and
the next morning, at nine o'clock, both youths
were at his door. He gave them a substantial
breakfast, and then took them into an out-
house where was a truss of straw, and having
himself taken off the band, he desired them to
convey the whole, one straw at a time, across the
garden and deposit it in another out-house.
The work was easy and the terms liberal, as
each boy was to get dinner and tea, and one
shilling per day as long as his services should
be required. Their employer had to go to
town, and left orders with one of his domestics
to see that the youths wanted nothing, and to
watch their proceedings; their occupation was
certainly not laborious, but then it was work, and although that was the first of their requests,
it was also the last of their wishes.

"Taking advantage of an adjoining closet, the
servant perceived that the weight even of a
straw had been too much for these hopeful boys.
They were both seated on the truss, and glibly
recounting some exploits of their own, and how
they had been imposed upon by others. The
eldest — about fourteen — was vowing vengeance
upon `Taylor Tom' for attempting to `walk
the barber' (seduce his `gal'); while the
younger — who had scarcely seen eleven sum-
mers — averred that it was `wery good of the
swell to give them summut to eat,' but `pre-
cious bad to be shut up in that crib all day
without a bit o' backer'). Before the return of
their patron they had transported all the straw
to its appointed designation; as it was very
discernible, however, that this had been effected
by a wholesale process, the boys were admo-
nished, paid, and dismissed. They are now
performing more ponderous work in one of the
penal settlements. Whether the test adopted
by the gentleman in question was the best that
might have been resorted to, I need not now
inquire.

"It would be grateful to my feelings if in
these disclosures I could omit the misdemeanors
of the other sex of juveniles; but I am obliged
to own, on the evidence of personal observation,
that there are girls of ages varying from eleven
to fifteen who pass the day with a `fakement'
before them (`Pity a poor orphan'), and as soon
as evening sets in, loiter at shop-windows and
ogle gentlemen in public walks, making requests
which might be expected only from long-hard-
ened prositution. Their nights are generally
passed in a low lodging-house. They frequently
introduce themselves with `Please, sir, can you
tell me what time it is?' If they get a kindly
answer, some other casual observations prepare
the way for hints which are as unmistakeable
as they are unprincipled.

OF THE LOW LODGING-HOUSES THROUGH-
OUT THE COUNTRY.

Further to elucidate this subject, full of im-
portance, as I have shown, I give an account of
low lodging-houses (or "padding-kens") at
the "stages" (so to speak) observed by a pat-
terer "travelling" from London to Birming-
ham.

I give the several towns which are the usual
sleeping places of the travellers, with the charac-
ter and extent of the accommodation provided for

[Description: 915EAF. Page 259.]

them, and with a mention of such incidental
matters as seemed to me, in the account I re-
ceived, to be curious or characteristic. Circuitous
as is the route, it is the one generally followed.
Time is not an object with a travelling patterer.
"If I could do better in the way of tin," said
one of the fraternity to me, "in a country village
than in London, why I'd stick to the village —
if the better tin lasted — for six months; aye,
sir, for six years. What's places to a man like
me, between grub and no grub?" It is pro-
bable that on a trial, such a man would soon be
weary of the monotony of a village life; but into
that question I need not now enter.

I give each stage without the repetition of
stating that from "here to there" is so many
miles; and the charge for a lodging is at such
and such a rate. The distance most frequently
"travelled" in a day varies from ten to twenty
miles, according to the proximity of the towns,
and the character and capabilities (for the pat-
terer's purposes) of the locality. The average
charge for a lodging, in the better sort of coun-
try lodging-houses, is 4d. a night, — at others, 3d.
In a slack time, a traveller, for 4d., has a bed to
himself. In a busy time — as at fairs or races —
he will account himself fortunate if he obtain
any share of a bed for 4d. At some of the places
characterised by my informant as "rackety,"
"queer," or "Life in London," the charge is as
often 3d. as 4d.

The first stage, then, most commonly attained
on tramp, is —

Romford. — "It's a good circuit, sir," said my
principal informant, "and if you want to see life
between from London to Birmingham, why you
can stretch it and see it for 200 miles." The
Romford "house of call" most frequented by
the class of whom I treat, is the King's Arms
(a public-house.) There is a back-kitchen for
the use of travellers, who pay something extra
if they choose to resort, and are decent enough
to be admitted, into the tap-room. "Very re-
spectable, sir," said an informant, "and a pro-
per division of married and single, of men and
women. Of course they don't ask any couple
to show their marriage lines; no more than they
do any lord and lady, or one that ain't a lady,
if she's with a lord, at any fash'nable hotel at
Brighton. I've done tidy well on slums about
`ladies in a Brighton hotel,' just by the Steyne;
werry tidy." In this house they make up forty
beds; some of them with curtains.

Chelmsford. — The Three Queens (a beer-shop.)
"A rackety place, sir," said the man, "one of
the showfuls; a dicky one; a free-and-easy.
You can get a pint of beer and a punch of the
head, all for 2d. As for sleeping on a Saturday
night there, `O, no, we never mention it.' It
mayn't be so bad, indeed it ain't, as some Lon-
don lodging-houses, because there ain't the
chance, and there's more known about it."
Fourteen beds.

Braintree. — The Castle (a beer-shop.) "Takes
in all sorts and all sizes; all colours and all
nations; similar to what's expected of the Crys-
tal Palace. I was a muck-snipe when I was
there — why, a muck-snipe, sir, is a man regu-
larly done up, coopered, and humped altogether
— and it was a busyish time, and when the
deputy paired off the single men, I didn't much
like my bed-mate. He was a shabby-genteel,
buttoned up to the chin, and in the tract line.
I thought of Old Seratch when I looked at him,
though he weren't a Scotchman, I think. I tip-
ped the wink to an acquaintance there, and told
him I thought my old complaint was coming on.
That was, to kick and bite like a horse, in my
sleep, a'cause my mother was terrified by a
wicious horse not werry long afore I was born.
So I dozed on the bed-side, and began to whinny;
and my bed-mate jumped up frightened, and
slept on the floor." Twenty-two beds.

Thaxton. — "A poor place, but I stay two
days, it's so comfortable and so country, at the
Rose and Crown. It's a sort of rest. It's
decent and comfortable too, and it's about 6d. a
night to me for singing and patter in the tap-
room. That's my cokum (advantage)." Ten
beds.

Saffron Walden. — The Castle. "Better now
— was very queer. Slovenly as could be, and
you had to pay for fire, though it was a house of
call for curriers and other tradesmen, but they
never mix with us. The landlord don't care
much whose admitted, or how they go on."
Twenty-four beds.

Cambridge. — "The grand town of all. Lon-
don in miniature. It would be better but for
the police. I don't mean the college bull-dogs.
They don't interfere with us, only with women.
The last time I was at Cambridge, sir, I hung
the Mannings. It was the day, or two days,
I'm not sure which, after their trial. We
pattered at night, too late for the collegians to
come out. We `worked' about where we knew
they lodged — I had a mate with me — and some
of the windows of their rooms, in the colleges
themselves, looks into the street. We pattered
about later news of Mr. and Mrs. Manning.
Up went the windows, and cords was let down
to tie the papers to. But we always had the
money first. We weren't a-going to trust such
out-and-out going young coves as them. One
young gent. said: `I'm a sucking parson;
won't you trust me?' `No,' says I, `we'll not
trust Father Peter.' So he threw down 6d. and
let down his cord, and he says, `Send six up.'
We saw it was Victoria's head all right, so we
sends up three. `Where's the others?' says he.
`O,' says I, `they're 1d. a piece, and 1d. a piece
extra for hanging Mr. and Mrs. Manning, as
we have, to a cord; so it's all right.' Some
laughed, and some said, `D — n you, wait till I
see you in the town.' But they hadn't that
pleasure. Yorkshire Betty's is the head quar-
ters at Cambridge, — or in Barnwell, of course,
there's no such places in Cambridge. It's
known as `W — nd Muck Fort.' It's the
real college touch — the seat of learning, if you're
seeing life. The college lads used to look in
there oftener than they do now. They're get-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 260.]

ting shyer. Men won't put up with black eyes
for nothing. Old Yorkshire Betty's a motherly
body, but she's no ways particular in her
management. Higgledy-piggledy; men and
women; altogether." Thirty beds.

Newmarket. — "The Woolpack. A lively
place; middling other ways. There's gene-
rally money to be had at Newmarket. I don't
stay there so long as some, for I don't care
about racing; and the poorest snob there's a
sporting character." Six beds.

Bury St. Edmund's. — "Old Jack Something's
He was a publican for forty years. But he
broke, and I've heard him say that if he hadn't
been a player on the fiddle, he should have
destroyed his-self. But his fiddle diverted him
in his troubles. He has a real Cremona, and
can't he play it? He's played at dances at the
Duke of Norfolk's. I've heard him give the
tune he played on his wedding night, years and
years back, before I was born. He's a noble-
looking fellow; the fac-simile of Louis Philippe.
It's a clean and comfortable, hard and honest
place." Twelve beds.

Mildenhall. — "A private house; I forget the
landlord's name. The magistrates is queer
there, and so very little work can be done in
my way. I've been there when I was the only
lodger." Seven beds.

Ely. — "The Tom and Jerry. Very queer
No back kitchen or convenience. A regular
rough place. Often quarrelling there all night
long. Any caper allowed among men and
women. The landlord's easy frightened."
Five beds.

St. Ives. — "Plume of Feathers. Passable."
Eleven beds.

St. Neot's. — "Bell and Dicky, and very dicky
too. Queer doings in the dos (sleeping) and
everything. It's an out-of-the-way place, or the
town's people might see to it, but they won't
take any notice unless some traveller complains,
and they won't complain. They're a body of
men, sir, that don't like to run gaping to a
beak. The landlord seems to care for nothing
but money. He takes in all that offer. Three
in a bed often; men, women, and children
mixed together. It's anything but a tidy
place." Thirteen beds.

Bedford. — The Cock. "Life in London, sir;
I can't describe it better. Life in Keate-street,
Whitechapel." Fifteen beds.

Irchester. — "I don't mind the name. A most
particular place. You must go to bed by nine
or be locked out. It's hard and honest; clean
and rough." Six beds.

Wellingborough. — "A private house. Smith or
Jones, I know, or some common name. Ducker,
the soldier that was shot in the Park by Annette
Meyers, lived there. I worked him there my-
self, and everybody bought. I did the gun-
trick, sir, (had great success.) It's an inferior
lodging place. They're in no ways particular,
not they, who they admit or how they dos. At
a fair-time, the goings on is anything but fair."
Ten beds.

Northampton. — "Mrs. Bull's. Comfortable and
decent. She takes in the Dispatch, to oblige
her travellers. It's a nice, quiet, Sunday house."
Twelve beds.

Market Harborough. — "There's a good lady
there gives away tracts and half-a-crown. A
private house is the traveller's house, and some
new name. Middling accommodation." Nine
beds.

Lutterworth. — "A private house, and I'll go
there no more. Very queer. Not the least com-
fort or decency. They're above their business,
I think, and take in too many, and care nothing
what the travellers do. Higgledy-piggledy toge-
gether." Ten beds.

Leicester. — "The Rookery. Rosemary-lane
over again, sir, especially at Black Jack's. He
shakes up the beds with a pitchfork, and brings
in straw if there's more than can possibly be
crammed into the beds. He's a fighting man,
and if you say a word, he wants to fight you."
Twelve beds.

Hinckley. — "The Tea-board. Comfortable."
Eight beds.

Nuneaton. — "The same style as Hinckley. A
private house." Eight beds.

Coventry. — "Deserves to be sent further. Bill
Cooper's. A dilapidated place, and no sleep,
for there's armies of bugs, — great black fellows.
I call it the Sikh was there, and they're called
Sikhs there, or Sicks there, is the vermin; but
I'm sick of all such places. They're not parti-
cular there, — certainly not." Twenty beds.

Birmingham. — "Mrs. Leach's. Comfortable
and decent, and a good creature. I know there's
plenty of houses in Birmingham bad enough, —
London reduced, sir; but I can't tell you about
them from my own observation, 'cause I always
go to Mrs. Leach's." Thirty beds.

Here, then, in the route most frequented by
the pedestrian "travellers," we find, taking
merely the accommodation of one house in
each place (and in some of the smaller towns
there is but one), a supply of beds which may
nightly accommodate, on an average, 489 in-
mates, reckoning at the rate of 12 sleepers to
every 8 beds. At busy times, double the
number will be admitted. And to these places
resort the beggar, the robber, and the pick-
pocket; the street-patterer and the street-
trader; the musician, the ballad-singer, and
the street-performer; the diseased, the blind,
the lame, and the half-idiot; the outcast girl
and the hardened prostitute; young and old,
and of all complexions and all countries.

Nor does the enumeration end here. To these
places must often resort the wearied mechanic,
travelling in search of employment, and even
the broken-down gentleman, or scholar, whose
means do not exceed 4d.

A curious history might be written of the fre-
quenters of low lodging-houses. Dr. Johnson
relates, that when Dean Swift was a young man,
he paid a yearly visit from Sir William Temple's
seat, Moor Park, to his mother at Leicester.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 261.]

"He travelled on foot, unless some violence of
weather drove him into a waggon; and at night
he would go to a penny lodging, where he pur-
chased clean sheets for sixpence. This practice
Lord Orrery imputes to his (Swift's) innate love
of grossness and vulgarity; some may ascribe it
to his desire of surveying human life through
all its varieties." Perhaps it might not be very
difficult to trace, in Swift's works, the influence
upon his mind of his lodging-house experience.

The same author shows that his friend,
Richard Savage, in the bitterness of his poverty,
was also a lodger in these squalid dens: "He
passed the night sometimes in mean houses,
which are set open at night to any casual wan-
derer; sometimes in cellars, among the riot and
filth of the meanest and most profligate of the
rabble." A Richard Savage of to-day might,
under similar circumstances, have the same
thing said of him, except that "cellars" might
now be described as "ground-floors."

The great, and sometimes the only, luxury of
the frequenters of these country lodging-houses
is tobacco. A man or women who cannot
smoke, I was told, or was not "hardened" to
tobacco smoke, in a low lodging-house was half-
killed with coughing. Sometimes a couple of
men, may be seen through the thick vapour of
the tobacco-smoke, peering eagerly over soiled
cards, as they play at all-fours. Sometimes there
is an utter dulness and drowsiness in the common
sitting-room, and hardly a word exchanged for
many minutes. I was told by one man of ex-
perience in these domiciles, that he had not very
unfrequently heard two men who were convers-
ing together in a low tone, and probably agree-
ing upon some nefarious course, stop suddenly,
when there was a pause in the general conver-
sation, and look uneasily about them, as if
apprehensive and jealous that they had been
listened to. A "stranger" in the lodging-house
is regarded with a minute and often a rude
scrutiny, and often enough would not be ad-
mitted, were not the lodging-house keeper the
party concerned, and he of course admits "all
what pays."

One patterer told me of two "inscriptions,"
as he called them, which he had noticed in
country lodgings he had lately visited; the
first was: —

"He who smokes, thinks like a philosopher,
and feels like a philanthropist." — Bulwer's Night
and Morning.

The second was an intimation from the pro-
prietor of the house, which, in spite of its halting
explanation, is easily understood: —

"No sickness allowed, unles by order of the
Mare."

OF THE STREET STATIONERS, AND THE
STREET CARD-SELLERS.

I have before mentioned that the street-station-
ers — the sellers of writing-paper, envelopes,
pens, and of the other articles which constitute
the stationery in the most general demand —
were not to be confounded with the pattering
"paper-workers." They are, indeed, a dif-
ferent class altogether. The majority of them
have been mechanics, or in the employ of
tradesmen whose callings were not mechanical
(as regards handicraft labour), but what is best
described perhaps as commercial; or as selling
but not producing; as in the instances of the
large body of "warehousemen" in the dif-
ferent departments of trade. One street-sta-
tioner thought that of his entire body, not more
than six had been gentlemen's servants. He
himself knew four who had been in such em-
ployment, and one only as a boy — but there
might be six.

The card-sellers are, in the instances I shall
show, more akin to the class of patterers, and
I shall, therefore, give them first. The more
especially as I can so preserve the consecutive-
ness of the accounts, in the present number, by
presenting the reader with a sketch of the life
of an informant, in whose revelations I find that
many have taken a strong interest.

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 262.]

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 263.]

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 264.]

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.

OF THE SELLERS OF RACE CARDS AND
LISTS.

This trade is not carried on in town; but at
the neighbouring races of Epsom and Ascot
Heath, and, though less numerously, at Good-
wood, it is pursued by persons concerned in the
street paper-trade of London.

At Epsom I may state that the race-card sale
is in the hands of two classes (the paper or
sheet-lists sale being carried on by the same
parties) — viz. those who confine themselves
to "working" the races, and those who only
resort to such work occasionally. The first-
mentioned sellers usually live in the country,
and the second in town,

Between these two classes, there is rather a
strong distinction. The country race-card
sellers are not unfrequently "sporting cha-
racters." The town professor of the same
calling feels little interest in the intrigues or
great "events" of the turf. Of the country
traders in this line some act also as touters, or
touts; they are for the most part men, who
having been in some capacity or other, con-
nected with racing or with race-horses, and
having fallen from their position or lost their
employment, resort to the selling of race-cards
as one means of a livelihood, and to touting,
or watching race-horses, and reporting anything
concerning them to those interested, as another
means. These men, I am assured, usually
"make a book" (a record and calculation of
their bets) with grooms, or such gentlemen's
servants, as will bet with them, and sometimes
one with another.

The most notorious of the race-card selling
fraternity is known as Captain Carrot. He is
the successor, I am told, of Gentleman Jerry,
who was killed some time back at Goodwood
races — having been run over. Gentleman Jerry's
attire, twenty-five to thirty-five years ago, was
an exaggeration of what was then accounted a
gentleman's style. He wore a light snuff-
coloured coat, a "washing" waistcoat of any
colour, cloth trowsers, usually the same colour
as his coat, and a white, or yellow white, and
ample cravat of many folds. His successor
wears a military uniform, always with a scarlet
coat, Hessian boots, an old umbrella, and a tin
eye-glass. Upon the card-sellers, however, who
confine their traffic to races, I need not dwell,
but proceed to the metropolitan dealers, who are
often patterers when in town.

It is common, for the smarter traders in
these cards to be liberal of titles, especially to
those whom they address on the race-ground.
"This is the sort of style, sir," said one race-
card-seller to me, "and it tells best with
cockneys from their shops. `Ah, my lord. I
hope your lordship's well. I've backed your
horse, my lord. He'll win, he'll win. Card, my
lord, correct card, only 6d. I'll drink your lord-
ship's health after the race.' Perhaps this here
`my lord,' may be a barber, you see, sir, and
never had so much as a donkey in his life, and
he forks out a bob; but before he can get his
change, there always is somebody or other to
call for a man like me from a little distance,
so I'm forced to run off and cry, `Coming, sir,
coming. Coming, your honour, coming.' "

The mass of these sellers, however, content
themselves with the customary cry: "Here's
Dorling's Correct Card of the Races. — Names,
weights, and colours of the Riders. — Length of
Bridle, and Weight of Saddle."

One intelligent man computed that there were
500 men, women, and children, of all descrip-
tions of street-callings, who on a "Derby day"
left London for Epsom. Another considered
that there could not be fewer than 600, at the
very lowest calculation. Of these, I am in-
formed, the female sellers may number some-
thing short of a twentieth part from London,
while a twelfth of the whole number of regular
street-sellers attending the races vend at the
races cards. But card selling is often a cloak,
for the females — and especially those connected
with men who depend solely on the races — vend
improper publications (usually at 6d.), making
the sale of cards or lists a pretext for the more
profitable traffic.

If a man sell from ten to twelve dozen cards
on the "Derby day," it is accounted "a good
day;" and so is the sale of three-fourths of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 266.]

that quantity on the Oaks day. On the other,
or "off" days, 2s. is an average earnig.

The cards are all bought of Mr. Dorling, the
printer, at 2s. 6d. a dozen. The price asked is
always 6d. each. "But those fourpenny bits,"
said one card-seller, "is the ruination of every
thing. And now that they say that the three-
penny bits is coming in more, things will be
wuss and wuss." The lists vary from 1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d. the dozen, according to size. To
clear 10s. and 8s. on the two great days is
accounted "tidy doings," but that is earned
only by those who devote themselves to the
sale of the race-cards, which all the sellers
do not. Some, for instance, are ballad-singers,
who sell cards immediately before a race
comes off, as at that time they could obtain no
auditory for their melodies. Ascot-heath races,
I am told, are rather better for the card seller than
Epsom, as "there's more of the nobs there,"
and fewer of the London vendors of cards. The
sale of the "lists" is less than one-eighth that
of the sale of cards. They are chiefly "return
lists," (lists with a specification of the winning
horses, &c., "returned" as they acquitted
themselves in each race), and are sold in the
evening, or immediately after the conclusion of
the "sport," for the purpose of being posted or
kept.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF GELATINE, OF
ENGRAVED, AND OF PLAYING CARDS, &c.

There are yet other cards, the sale of which is
carried on in the streets; of these, the principal
traffic has lately been in "gelatines" (gelatine
cards). Those in the greatest demand contain
representations of the Crystal Palace, the out-
lines of the structure being given in gold deli-
neation on the deep purple, or mulberry, of the
smooth and shining gelatine. These cards are
sold in blank envelopes, for the convenience of
posting them as a present to a country friend;
or of keeping them unsoiled, if they are retained
as a memento of a visit to so memorable a build-
ing. The principal sale was on Sunday morn-
ings, in Hyde Park, and to the visitors who
employed that day to enjoy the sight of the
"palace." But on the second Sunday in Fe-
bruary — as well as my informant could recollect,
for almost all street-traders will tell you, if not
in the same words as one patterer used, that
their recollections are "not worth an old button
without a neck" — the police "put down" the
sale of these Exhibition cards in the Park, as
well as that of cakes, tarts, gingerbread, and
such like dainties. This was a bitter disap-
pointment to a host of street-sellers, who looked
forward very sanguinely to the profits they might
realise when the Great Exhibition was in full
operation, and augured ill to their prospects from
this interference. I am inclined to think, that,
on this occasion, the feelings of animosity enter-
tained by the card-sellers towards the police
and the authorities were even bitterer than I
have described as affecting the costermongers.
"Why," said one man, "when I couldn't be
let sell my cards, I thrust my hands into my
empty pockets, and went among the crowd near
the Great Exhibition place to look about me.
There was plenty of ladies and gentlemen — say
about 12 o'clock at Sunday noon, and as many
as could be. Plenty of 'em had nice paper bags
of biscuits, or cakes, that, of course, they'd
bought that morning at a pastrycook's, and they
handed 'em to their party. Some had news-
papers they was reading — about the Exhibition,
I dare say — papers which was bought, and, per-
haps, was printed that very blessed morning;
but for us to offer to earn a crust then — oh, it's
agen the law. In course it is."

Some of the gelatine cards contain pieces of
poetry, in letters of gold, always — at least, I
could hear of no exceptions — of a religious or
sentimental character. "A Hymn," "The
Child's Prayer," "The Christian's Hope," "To
Eliza," "To a Daisy," "Forget-me-not," and
"Affection's Tribute," were among the titles.
Some contained love-verses, and might be used
for valentines, and some a sentimental song.

In the open-air sale, nearly all the traffic was
in "Exhibition gelatines," and the great bulk
were sold in and near Hyde Park. For two or
three months, from as soon as the glass palace
had been sufficiently elevated to command pub-
lic attention, there were daily, I am told, 20
persons selling those cards in the Park and its
vicinity, and more than twice that number on
Sundays. One man told me, that, on one fine
bright Sunday, the sale being principally in the
morning, he had sold 10 dozen, with a profit of
about 5s. On week-days three dozen was a
good sale; but on wet, cold, or foggy days, none
at all could be disposed of. If, therefore, we
take as an average the sale of two dozen daily
per each individual, and three dozen on a Sun-
day, we find that 180l. was expended on street-
sold "gelatines." The price to the retailer is
5d. a dozen, with 1d. or 1¼d. for a dozen of the
larger-sized envelopes, so leaving the usual
profit — cent. per cent. The sellers were not a
distinct class, but in the hands of the less enter-
prising of the paper-workers or patterers. The
"poetry gelatines" were hardly offered at all in
the streets, except by a few women and children,
with whom it was a pretext for begging.

Of "engraved" Exhibition-cards, sold under
similar circumstances, there might be one third
as many sold as of the gelatines, or an expen-
diture of 60l.

The sale of playing-cards is only for a brief
interval. It is most brisk for a couple of weeks
before Christmas, and is hardly ever attempted
in any season but the winter. The price varies
from 1d. to 6d., but very rarely 6d.; and
seldom more than 3d. the pack. The sellers
for the most part announce their wares as
"New cards. New playing-cards. Two-pence
a pack." This subjects the sellers (the cards
being unstamped) to a penalty of 10l., a matter
of which the street-traders know and care
nothing; but there is no penalty on the sale of
second-hand cards. The best of the cards are

[Description: 915EAF. Page 267.]

generally sold by the street-sellers to the land-
lords of the public-houses and beer-shops where
the customers are fond of a "hand at crib-
bage," a "cut-in at whist," or a "game at all
fours," or "all fives." A man whose business
led him to public-houses told me that for
some years he had not observed any other
games to be played there, but he had heard an
old tailor say that in his youth, fifty years ago,
"put" was a common public-house game.
The cheaper cards are frequently imperfect
packs. If there be the full number of fifty-
two, some perhaps are duplicates, and others
are consequently wanting. If there be an ace
of spades, it is unaccompanied by those flourishes
which in the duly stamped cards set off the
announcement, "Duty, One Shilling;" and
sometimes a blank card supplies its place.
The smaller shop-keepers usually prefer to sell
playing-cards with a piece cut off each corner,
so as to give them the character of being
second-hand; but the street-sellers prefer vend-
ing them without this precaution. The cards —
which are made up from the waste and spoiled
cards of the makers — are bought chiefly, by the
retailers, at the "swag shops."

Playing cards are more frequently sold with
other articles — such as almanacks — than other-
wise. From the information I obtained, it ap-
pears that if twenty dozen packs of cards are
sold daily for fourteen days, it is about the
quantity, but rather within it. The calculation
was formed on the supposition that there might
be twenty street playing-card sellers, each dis-
posing (allowing for the hinderances of bad
weather, &c.), of one dozen packs daily.
Taking the average price at 3d. a pack, we find
an outlay of 42l. The sale used to be far more
considerable and at higher prices, and was
"often a good spec. on a country round."

There is still another description of cards sold
in the streets of London; viz., conversation-
cards; but the quantity disposed of is so trifling
as to require no special comment.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF STATIONERY.

Of this body of street-traders there are two
descriptions, the itinerant and the "pitching."
There are some also who unite the two quali-
ties, so far as that they move a short distance,
perhaps 200 yards, along a thoroughfare, but
preserve the same locality.

Of the itinerant again, there are some who,
on an evening, and more especially a Saturday
evening, take a stand in a street-market, and
pursue their regular "rounds" the other por-
tions of the day.

The itinerant trader carries a tray, and in no
few cases, as respects the "display" of his
wares, emulates the tradesman's zeal in "dress-
ing" a window temptingly. The tray most in
use is painted, or mahogany, with "ledges,"
front and sides; or, as one man described it,
"an upright four -inch bordering, to keep
things in their places." The back of the tray,
which rests against the bearer's breast, is about
twelve inches high. Narrow pink tapes are
generally attached to the "ledges" and back,
within which are "slipped" the articles for
sale. At the bottom of the tray are often
divisions, in which are deposited steel pens,
wafers, wax, pencils, pen-holders, and, as one
stationer expressed it, "packable things that
you can't get much show out of." One man —
who rather plumed himself on being a tho-
rough master of his trade — said to me: "It's
a grand point to display, sir. Now, just take it
in this way. Suppose you yourself, sir, lived
in my round. Werry good. You hear me cry
as I'm a approaching your door, and suppose
you was a customer, you says to yourself:
`Here's Penny-a-quire,' as I'm called oft
enough. And I'll soon be with you, and I
gives a extra emphasis at a customer's door.
Werry good, you buys the note. As you buys
the note, you gives a look over my tray, and
then you says, `O, I want some steel pens, and
is your ink good?' and you buys some. But
for the `display,' you'd have sent to the shop-
keeper's, and I should have lost custom, 'cause
it wouldn't have struck you."*

The articles more regularly sold by the
street-sellers of stationery are note-paper, letter-
paper, envelopes, steel pens, pen-holders, seal-
ing -wax, wafers, black -lead pencils, ink in
stonebottles, memorandum -books, almanacks,
and valentines. Occasionally, they sell India-
rubber, slate-pencil, slates, copy-books, story-
books, and arithmetical tables.

The stationery is purchased, for the most part,
in Budge-row and Drury-lane. The half-quires
(sold at 1d.) contain, generally, 10 sheets; if the
paper, however, be of superior quality, only 8
sheets. In the paper-warehouses it is known as
"outsides," with no more than 10 sheets to the
half quire, the price varying from 4s. to 6s. the
ream (20 quires); or, if bought by weight, from
7d. to 9d. the pound. The envelopes are sold
(wholesale) at from 6d. to 15d. the dozen; the
higher-priced being adhesive, and with impres-
sions — now, generally, the Crystal Palace — on
the place of the seal. The commoner are retailed
in the streets at 12, and the better at 6, a penny.
Sometimes "a job-lot," soiled, is picked up by
the street-stationer at 4d. a pound. The sealing,
a pound, retailed at ½d. each; the "flat" wax,
however, is 1s. 4d. per lb., containing from 30 to
36 sticks, retailed at 1d. each. Wafers (at the
same swag shops) are 3d. or 4d. the lb. — in small
boxes, 9d. the gross; ink, 4½d. or 5d. the dozen
bottles; pencils, 7d. to 8s. a gross; and steel
pens from 4d. (waste) to 3s. a gross; but the
street-stationers do not go beyond 2s. the gross,
which is for magnum bonums.

* I may here observe that I have rarely heard
tradesmen dealing in the same wares as street-sellers,
described by those street-sellers by any other term
than that of "shopkeepers."

OF THE EXPERIENCE OF A STREET-
STATIONER.

A middle-aged man gave me the following

[Description: 915EAF. Page 268.]

account. He had pursued the trade for upwards
of twelve years. He was a stout, cosey-looking
man, wearing a loose great coat. The back of
his tray rested against his double-breasted waist-
coat; the pattern of which had become rather
indistinct, but which was buttoned tightly up to
his chin, as if to atone for the looseness of his
coat. The corner of his mouth, toward his left
ear, was slightiy drawn down, for he seemed in
"crying" to pitch his voice (so that it could be
heard a street off) out of the corner of his only
partially-opened mouth.

"Middlin', sir," he said, "times is middlin'
with me; they might be better, but then they
might be worse. I can manage to live. The
times is changed since I was first in the busi-
ness. There wasn't no 'velops (envelopes) then,
and no note-paper — least I had none; but I
made as good or a better living than I do now;
a better indeed. When the penny-postage came
in — I don't mind the year, but I hadn't been
long in the trade [it was in 1840] — I cried some
of the postage 'velops. They was big, figured
things at first, with elephants and such like on
them, and I called them at prime cost, if any-
thing was bought with 'em. The very first time,
a p'liceman says, `You mustn't sell them covers.
What authority have you to do it?' `Why, the
authority to earn a dinner,' says I; but it was
no go. Another peeler came up and said I
wasn't to cry them again, or he'd have me up;
and so that spec. came to nothing. I sell to
ladies and gentlemen, and to servant-maids, and
mechanics, and their wives; and indeed all sorts
of people. Some fine ladies, that call me to the
door on the sly, do behave very shabby. Why,
there was one who wanted five half-quire of note
for 4d., and I told her I couldn't afford it, and
so she said `that she knew the world, and never
gave nobody the price they first asked.' `If
that's it, ma'am,' says I, `people that knows
your plan can 'commodate you.' That knowing
card of a lady, sir, as she reckons herself, had
as much velvet to her body — such a gown! —
as would pay my tailor's bills for twenty year.
But I don't employ a fashionable tailor, and
can patch a bit myself, as I was two years with
a saddler, and was set to work to make girths
and horse-clothes. My master died, and all
went wrong, and I had to turn out, without no-
body to help me, — for I had no parents living;
but I was a strong young fellow of sixteen. I
first tried to sell a few pairs of girths, and a
roller or two, to livery-stable keepers, and horse-
dealers, and job-masters. But I was next to
starving. They wouldn't look at anything but
what was good, and the stuff was too high, and
the profit too little — for I couldn't get regular
prices, in course — and so I dropped it. There's
no men in the world so particular about good
things as them as is about vallyable horses.
I've often thought if rich people cared half as
much about poor men's togs, that was working
or them for next to nothing, as they cared
for their horse-clothes, it would be a better
world. I was dead beat at last; but I went
down to Epsom and sold a few race-cards. I'd
borrowed 1s. of a groom to start with, and he
wouldn't take it back when I offered it; and that
wax is bought at general warehouses, known as
"swag shops" (of which I may speak hereafter),
at 8d. the pound, there being 48 round sticks in,
was my beginning in the paper trade. I felt
queer at first, and queerer when I wasn't among
horses, as at the races like — but one get's recon-
ciled to anything, 'cept, to a man like me, a low
lodging-house. A stable's a palace to it. I got
into stationery at last, and it's respectable.

"I've heard people say how well they could
read and write, and it was no good to them.
It has been, and is still, a few pence to me;
though I can only read and write middlin'. I
write notes and letters for some as buys paper
of me. Never anything in the beggin' way —
never. It wouldn't do to have my name mixed
up that way. I've often got extra pennies for
directing and doing up valentines in nice 'velops.
Why, I spoke to a servant girl the other day;
she was at the door, and says I, `Any nice paper
to-day, to answer your young man's last love-
letter, or to write home and ask your mother's
consent to your being wed next Monday week?'
That's the way to get them to listen, sir. Well,
I finds that she can't write, and so I offers to do
it for a pint of beer, and she to pay for paper of
course. And then there was so many orders
what to say. Her love to no end of aunts, and
all sorts of messages and inquiries about all
sorts of things; and when I'd heard enough to
fill a long `letter' sheet, she calls me back and
says, `I'm afraid I've forgot uncle Thomas.'
I makes it all short enough in the letter, sir.
`My kind love to all inquiring friends,' takes in
all uncle Thomases. I writes them when I gets
a bite of dinner. Sometimes I posts them, if
I'm paid beforehand; at other times I leaves
them next time I pass the door. There's no
mystery made about it. If a missus says,
`What's that?' I've heard a girl answer, `It's
a letter I've got written home, ma'am. I haven't
time myself,' or `I'm no scholar, ma'am.' But
that's only where I'm known. I don't write
one a week the year round — perhaps forty in a
year. I charge 1d. or 2d., or if it's a very poor
body, and no gammon about it, nothing. Well,
then, I think I never wrote a love-letter. Women
does that one for another, I think, when the
young housemaid can't write as well as she can
talk. I jokes some as I knows, and says I writes
all sorts of letters but love-letters, and for them,
you see, says I, there's wanted the best gilt
edge, and a fancy 'velop, and a Dictionary. I
take more for note and 'velops than anything
else, but far the most for note. Some has a sheet
folded and fitted into a 'velop when they buys,
as they can't fit it so well theirselves, they say.
Perhaps I make 2s. a day, take it all round.
Some days I may make as much as 3s. 6d.; at
others, 'specially wet days, not 1s. But I call
mine a tidy round, and better than an average.
I've only myself, and pays 1s. 9d. a week for a
tidy room, with a few of my own sticks in it. I

[Description: 915EAF. Page 269.]

buy sometimes in Budge-row, and sometimes in
Drury-lane. Very seldom at a swag-shop (Bir-
mingham house), for I don't like them.

"Well, now, I've heard, sir, that poor men
like me ain't to be allowed to sell anything in
the Park at the Great Exhibition. How's that,
sir?" I told him I could give no information
on the subject.

"It's likely enough to be true," he resumed;
"the nobs 'll want to keep it all to theirselves.
I read Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper on a Sunday,
and what murders and robberies there is now!
What will there be when the Great Exhibition
opens! for rogues is worst in a crowd, and they
say they'll be plenty come to London from all
arts and parts? Never mind; if I can see any-
thing better to do in a fair way at the Exhibition,
I'll cut the streets.

"Perhaps my earnings is half from working
people and half from private houses; that's about
it. But working people's easiest satisfied."

I have given this man's statement more fully
than I should have thought necessary, that I
might include his account of letter -writing.
The letter-writer was at one period a regular
street-labourer in London, as he is now in some
continental cities — Naples, for instance. The
vocation in London seems in some respects to
have fallen into the hands of the street-stationer,
but the majority of letters written for the un-
educated — and their letter-receiving or answer-
ing is seldom arduous — is done, I believe, by
those who are rather vaguely but emphatically
described as — "friends."

I am told that there are 120 street-stationers
in London, a small majority of whom may be
itinerant, but chiefly on regular rounds. On a
Sunday morning, in such places as the Brill,
are two or three men, but not regularly, who sell
stationery only on Sunday mornings. Taking
the number, however, at 120, I am assured that
their average profits may be taken at 8s. weekly,
each stationer. On note-paper of the best sort
the profit is sometimes only 50 per cent.; but,
take the trade altogether, we may calculate it at
cent. per cent. (on some things it is higher);
and we find 4,992l. yearly expended in street-
stationery.

OF A "REDUCED" GENTLEWOMAN, AND A "REDUCED
" TRADESMAN, AS STREET-SELLERS
OF STATIONERY.

I now give two statements, which show the cor-
rectness of my conclusion, that among the street-
stationers were persons of education who had
known prosperity, and that, as a body, those
engaged in this traffic were a better class than
the mass of the "paper-workers." They are
also here cited as illustrations of the causes which
lead, or rather force, many to a street-life.

The first statement is that of a lady: —

"My father," she said, "was an officer in the
army, and related to the Pitt family. After his
death, I supported myself by teaching music. I
was considered very talented by my profession,
both as teacher and composer." (I may here in-
terrupt the course of the narrative by saying, that
I myself have had printed proofs of the lady's
talents in this branch of art.) "A few years ago,
a painful and protracted illness totally incapaci-
tated me from following my profession; conse-
quently, I became reduced to a state of great
destitution. For many weeks I remained ill in
my own room. I often, during that time, went
without nourishment the day through. I might
have gone into an hospital; but I seemed to
dread it so much, that it was not until I was
obliged to give up my room that I could make
up my mind to enter one. From that time,
until within a few weeks ago, I have been an
inmate of several hospitals: the last I was in
was the Convalescent Establishment at Carshal-
ton. On my coming to London, I found I had
to begin the world again, as it were, in a very dif-
ferent manner from what I have been accustomed
to. I had no head to teach — I felt that; and
what to do I hardly knew. I had no home to
go to, and not a halfpenny in the world. I had
heard of the House of Charity, in Soho-square,
and, as a last resource, I went there; but before
I could have courage to ask admittance, I got a
woman to go in and see what kind of a place it was
— I seemed to fear it so much. I met with
great kindness there, however; and, by the time
I left, the care they had bestowed upon me had
restored my health in a measure, but not my
head. The doctors advised me to get some out-
door occupation (I am always better in the open
air); but what to do I could not tell. At last
I thought of a man I had known, who made
fancy envelopes. I went to him, and asked him
to allow me to go round to a few houses with
some of them for a small per centage. This he
did, and I am thereby enabled, by going along
the streets and calling to offer my envelopes at
any likely house, just to live. None but those
who have suffered misfortunes (as I have done)
can tell what my feelings were on first going to
a house. I could not go where I was known; I
had not the courage, nor would my pride allow
me. My pupils had been very kind to me during
my illnesses, but I could not bear the idea of
going to them and offering articles for sale.

"My fear of strangers is so great, that I
tremble when I knock at a door — lest I should
meet with an angry word. How few have any idea
of the privations and suffering that have been
endured before a woman (brought up as I have
been) can make up her mind to do as I am
obliged to do! I am now endeavouring to raise
a little money to take a room, and carry on the
envelop business myself. I might do pretty
well, I think; and, should my head get better,
in time I might get pupils again. At present I
could not teach, the distressed state of my mind
would not allow me."

The tradesman's statement he forwarded to
me in writing, supplying me with every facility
to test the full accuracy of his assertions, which
it is right I should add I have done, and found
all as he has stated. I give the narrative in the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 270.]

writer's words (and his narrative will be found
at once diffuse and minute), as a faithful repre-
sentation of a "reduced" tradesman's struggles,
thoughts, and endurances, before being forced
into the streets.

"I was brought up," he writes, "as a linen-
draper. After filling every situation as an
assistant, both in the wholesale and retail trade,
I was for a considerable time in business.
Endeavouring to save another from ruin, I ad-
vanced what little money I had at my banker's,
and became security for more, as I thought I
saw my way clear. But a bond of judgment
was hanging over the concern (kept back from
me of course) and the result was, I lost my
money to the amount of some hundreds, of
which I have not recovered one pound. Since
that time I have endeavoured to gain a liveli-
hood as a town traveller. In 1845 I became
very much afflicted, and the affliction continued
the greater part of the following year. At one
time I had fifteen wounds on my body, and lost
the use of one side. I was reduced by bodily
disease, as well as in circumstances. My wife
went to reside among her friends, and I, after
my being an out-patient of Bartholomew's Hos-
pital went, through necessity, to Clerkenwell
Workhouse. When recovered, I made another
effort to do something among my own trade,
and thought, after about two years struggle, I
should recover in a measure my position. In
August, 1849, I sent for a few shillings-worth
of light articles from London (being then at
Dunstable). I received them, and sold one
small part; I went the following day to the next
village nearer London. There I had a violent
attack of cholera; which once more defeated
my plans, leaving me in a weak condition.
I was obliged to seek the refuge of my parish,
and consider that very harshly was I treated
there. They refused me admittance, and suf-
fered me to walk the street two days and two
nights. I had no use of my arm, was ill and
disabled. About half-past seven on the third
night, a gentleman, hearing of my sufferings,
knocked at the door of the Union, took me inside,
and dared them to turn me thence. This was in
October, 1849. I lay on my bed there for seven
weeks nearly, and a few days before Christmas-
day the parish authorities brought me before the
Board, and turned me out, with one shilling and
a loaf; one of the overseers telling me to go to
h — ll and lodge anywhere. I came to lodge at
the Model Lodging-house, King-street, Drury-
lane; but being winter-time they were full.
Although I remained there in the day-time,
I was obliged to sleep at another house. At
this domicile I saw how many ways there were
of getting what the very poor call a living, and
various suggestions were offered. I was pro-
mised a gift of 2s. 6d. by an individual, on a
certain day, — but I had to live till that day, and
many were the feelings of my mind, how to dis-
pose of what might remain when I received the
2s. 6d., as I was getting a little into debt. My
debt, when paid, left me but 9½d. out of the
2s. 6d. to trade with. I had never hawked an
article before that time; to stand the streets
was terrible to my mind, and how to invest this
small sum sadly perplexed me. My mind was
racked by painful anxiety; one moment almost
desponding, the next finding so much sterling
value in a shilling, that I saw in it the means
of rescuing me from my degradation. Wanting
many of the necessaries of life, but without
suitable attire for my own business, and still
weak from illness, I made up my mind. On the
afternoon of 2nd Jan., 1850, I purchased 1½ doz.
memorandum-books, of a stationer in Clerken-
well, telling him my capital. I obtained the name
of `Ninepence-halfpenny Man' (the amount of
my funds) at that shop. The next step was how
to dispose of my books. I thought I would go
round to some coffee and public-houses, as I
could not endure the streets. I went into one,
where I was formerly known, and sold 6d.-worth,
and meeting a person who was once in my own
line, at another house, I sold 4d.-worth more.
The first night, therefore, I got over well. The
next day I did a little, but not so well, and I
found out that what I had bought was not the
most ready sale. My returns that week were
only 6s. 2d. I found I must have something
different, — one thing would not do alone; so I
bought a few childrens' books and almanacks —
sometimes going to market with as little as seven
farthings. I could not rise to anything better
in the way of provisions during this time than
dry toast and coffee, as the rent must be looked
to. I struggled on, hoping against hope. At one
period I had a cold and lost my voice. Two or
three wet days in a week made me a bankrupt.
If I denied myself food, to increase my stock,
and went out for a day or two to some near
town, I found that with small stock and small
returns I could not stem the tide.

"I always avoided associating with any but
those a step higher in the grades of society — a cir-
cumstance that caused me not to know as much
of the market for my cheap articles as I might
have done. I am perhaps looked on as rather an
`aristocrat,' as I am not often seen by the street-
sellers at a stand. My difficulties have been of no
ordinary kind; with a desire for more domestic
comfort on one hand, and painful reflections
from want of means on the other, I have had
to call to my aid all the philosophy I possess,
to keep up a proper equilibrium, lest I should
be tempted to anything derogatory or dishonest.
I am desirous of a rescue at the only time
likely for it to take place with advantage, as I
am persuaded when persons continue long in
a course that endangers their principles and
self-respect, a rescue becomes hopeless. Should
I have one small start with health, the priva-
tions I have undergone show not what comforts
I have had, or may hope ever to have, but what
I can absolutely do without.

"I found the first six months not quite so
good as the latter; March and May being the
worst. The entire amount taken from January
2nd to December 31st, 1850; was 28l. 10s. 6d., —

[Description: 915EAF. Page 271.]

an average of about 11s. 4d. a week; say for
cost of goods, 6s. per week; and rent, 1s. 9d.; leaving me but 3s. 7d. clear for living. This
statement, sir, is strictly correct, as I do not get
cent. per cent. on all the articles; and yet with
so small a return I am not behind one single
crown at the present time.

"On New Year's-day last, I had but the
cost price of stock, 5d. Up to the evening of
February 10th, I have taken 2l. 19s. 8d.; —
having paid for goods, 1l. 10s. 5d.; and for
rent, 8s. 10d.: leaving me 1l. 5d. to exist on
during nearly six weeks. These facts and
figures show that without a little assistance it
is impossible to rise; and remember this cir-
cumstance — I have had to walk on some occa-
sions as much as twenty or twenty-two miles
in a day. If those whom Providence has
blessed with a little more than their daily
wants would only enter into the conflicts of
the really reduced person, they would not be
half so niggardly in spending a few coppers
for useful articles, at least, nor overbearing in
their requirements as to bulk, when purchasing
of the itinerant vendor. Did they but reflect
that they themselves might be in the same
condition, or some of their families, I am sure
they would not act as they do; for I would
venture to say that the common street beggar
does not get more rebuffs or insults than the
educated and unfortunate reduced tradesmen
in the streets. The past year has been one
of the most trying and painful, yet I hope
instructive, periods of my existence, and one of
which I trust I never shall see the like again."

I subjoin one of the testimonies that have
been furnished me, as to this man's character,
and which I thought it right to procure before
giving publicity to the above statement. It is
from a minister of the gospel — the street-seller's
father-in-law.

Letter

— I received a letter, last Tuesday, from
Mr. Knight, intimating that he was requested by you
to inquire into the character of Mr. J — N — .

"It is quite correct, as he states, that his wife is
my daughter. They lived together several years in
London; but eventually, notwithstanding her efforts
in the millinery and straw-work, they became so
reduced that their circumstances obliged my daughter
to take her two little girls with herself to us.

"This was in the summer, 1845. His wife and chil-
dren have been of no expense to Mr. N. since that
time. The sole cause of their separation was poverty.

"I consider him to have acted imprudently in giving
up his situation to depend on an income arising from a
small capital; whereas, if he had kept in a place, whilst
she attended to her own business, they might have
gone on comfortably; and should they, through the
interposition of a kind Providence, gain that position
again, it is to be hoped that they will improve the cir-
cumstance to the honour and glory of the Author of
all our mercies, and with gratitude to the instrument
who may be raised up for their good.

Other vouchers have been received, and all
equally satisfactory.

OF THE STREET-SALE OF MEMORANDUM-
BOOKS AND ALMANACKS.

The memorandum-books in demand in street-
sale are used for weekly "rent-books." The
payment of the rent is entered by the landlord,
and the production of one of these books, show-
ing a punetuality of payment, perhaps for years,
is one of the best "references" that can be
given by any one in search of a new lodging.
They are bought also for the entrance of orders,
and then of prices, in the trade at chandler's
shops, &c., where weekly or monthly accounts
are run. All, or nearly all, the street-sta-
tioners sell memorandum-books, and in addition
to them, there may be, I am told, sometimes as
many as fifty poor persons, including women
and children, who sell memorandum-books with
other trifling articles, not necessarily stationery,
but such things as stay-laces or tapes. If a
man sell memorandum-books alone it is because
his means limit him to that stock, he being at
the time, what I heard a patterer describe as, a
"dry-bread cove." The price is 6d. the dozen,
or 9d. (with almanacks pasted inside the cover),
and thirteen to the dozen. No more than 1d. is obtained in the streets for any kind of memo-
randum-books.

The almanack street trade, I heard on all
hands, had become a mere nothing. "What
else can you expect, sir," said one street-seller,
"when so many publicans sends almanacks
round, or gives them away to their customers;
and when the slop tailors' shilling-a-day men
thrust one into people's hands at every corner?
It was a capital trade once, before the duty was
taken off — capital! The duty wasn't in our way
so much as in the shop-keepers', though they did a good deal on the sly in unstamped alma-
nacks. Why of a night in October I've many
a time cleared 5s. and more by selling in the
public-houses almanacks at 2d. and 3d. a-piece
(they cost me 1s. and 1s. 2d. a dozen at that
time). Anything that way, when Government's
done, has a ready sale; people enjoys it; and
I suppose no man, as ever was, thinks it
much harm to do a tax-gatherer! I don't pay
the income-tax myself (laughing). One even-
ing I sold, just by Blackfriars-bridge, fourteen
dozen of diamond almanacks to fit into hat-
crowns. I was liable, in course, and ran a
risk. I sold them mostly at 1d. a piece, but
sometimes got 6d. for three. I cleared between
6s. and 7s. The `diamonds' cost me 8d. a
dozen."

The street almanack trade is now carried on
by the same parties as I have specified in my
account of memorandum-books. Those sold
are of any cheap kind, costing wholesale 6d. a
dozen, but they are almost always announced
as "Moore's."

OF THE STREET-SALE OF POCKET-BOOKS
AND DIARIES.

The sale of pocket-books, in the streets, is not,
I was told by several persons, "a living for a
man now-a-days." Ten years ago it was com-
mon to find men in the streets offering "half-
crown pocket-books" for 1s., and holding them
open so as to display the engravings, if there

[Description: 915EAF. Page 272.]

were any. The street-sale usually takes place
in March, when the demand for the regular
trade has ceased, and the publishers dispose of
their unsold stock. The trade is now, I am
assured, only about a tenth of its former extent.
The reason assigned for the decline is that
almanacks, diaries, &c., are so cheap that people
look upon 1s. as an enormous price, even for a
"beautiful morocco-bound pocket-book," as the
street-seller proclaims it. The binding is roan
(a dressed sheep-skin, morocco being a goat-
skin), an imitation of morocco, but the pocket-
books are really those which in the October
preceding have been published in the regular
way of trade. Some few of them may, how-
ever, have been damaged, and these are bought
by the street-people as a "job lot," and at a
lower price than that paid in the regular way;
which is 4s. 6d. to 5s. 6d. the dozen, thirteen to
the dozen. The "job lot" is sometimes bought
for 2s. 6d. a dozen, and sold at 6d. each, or as low
as 4d., — for street-sellers generally bewail their
having often to come down to "fourpenny-bits,
as they're going so much now." One man told
me that he was four days last March in selling
a dozen pocket-books, though the weather was
not unfavourable, and that his profit was 5s.
Engravings of the "fashions," the same man
told me, were "no go now." Even poorly-
dressed women (but they might, he thought, be
dress-makers) had said to him the last time he
displayed a pocket-book with fashions — "They're
out now." The principal supplier of pocket-
books, &c., to the street-trade is in Bride-lane,
Fleet-street. Commercial diaries are bought and
sold at the same rate as pocket-books; but the
sale becomes smaller and smaller.

I am informed that "last season" there were
twenty men, all street-traders in "paper," or
"anything that was up," at other times, selling
pocket-books and diaries. For this trade Lei-
cester-square is a favourite place. Calculating,
from the best data I can command, that each of
those men took 15s. weekly for a month (half of
it their profit), we find 60l. expended in the
streets in this purchase. Ledgers are some-
times sold in the streets; but as the sale is more
a hawker's than a regular street-seller's, an ac-
count of the traffic is not required by my present
subject.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF SONGS.

These street-traffickers, with the exception, in
a great degree, of the "pinners-up," are of the
same class, but their callings are diversified.
There are long song-sellers, ballad-sellers (who
are generally singers of the ballads they vend,
unless they are old and infirm, and offer ballads
instead of begging), chaunters, pinners-up, and
song-book-sellers. The three first-mentioned
classes I have already described in their con-
nection with the patterers; and I now proceed to
deal with the two last-mentioned.

The "pinners-up" (whom I have mentioned
as an exceptional body), are the men and women
— the women being nearly a third of the num-
ber of the men — who sell songs which they have
"pinned" to a sort of screen or large board, or
have attached them, in any convenient way, to
a blank wall; and they differ from the other
song-sellers, inasmuch as that they are not at
all connected with patter, and have generally
been mechanics, porters, or servants, and re-
duced to struggle for a living as "pinners-up."

OF THE STREET "PINNERS-UP," OR WALL
SONG-SELLERS.

These street-traders, when I gave an account
of them in the winter of 1849, were not 50 in
number; they are now, I learn, about 30. One
informant counted 28, and thought "that was
nearly all."

I have, in my account of street song-sellers,
described the character of the class of pinners-
up. Among the best-accustomed stands are
those in Tottenham-court Road, the New-road,
the City-road, near the Vinegar-works, the
Westminster-road, and in Shoreditch, near the
Eastern Counties Station. One of the best-
known of the pinners-up was a stout old man,
wearing a great-coat in all weathers, who
"pinned-up" in an alley leading from White-
friars-street to the Temple, but now thrown into
an open street. He had old books for sale on a
stall, in addition to his ballads, and every morn-
ing was seen reading the newspaper, borrowed
from a neighbouring public-house which he
"used," for he was a keen politician. "He
would quarrel with any one," said a person who
then resided in the neighbourhood — an account
confirmed to me at the public-house in question
— "mostly about politics, or about the books
and songs he sold. Why, sir, I've talked to
him many a time, and have stood looking
through his books; and if a person came up
and said, `Oh, Burn's Works, 1s.; I can't
understand him,' — then the old boy would
abuse him for a fool! Suppose another came
and said — for I've noticed it myself — `Ah!
Burns — he was a poet!' that didn't pass; for
the jolly old pinner-up would say, `Well, now,
I don't know about that.' In my opinion, he
cared nothing about this side or that — this
notion or the opposite — but he liked to shine."
The old man was carried off in the prevalence
of the cholera in 1849.

At the period I have specified, I received the
following statement from a man who at that
time pinned-up by Harewood-place, Oxford-
street:

"I'm forty-nine," he said. "I've no chil-
dren, thank God, but a daughter, who is eighteen,
and no incumbrance to me, as she is in a `house
of business;' and as she has been there nine years,
her character can't be so very bad. (This was
said proudly.) I worked twenty-two years with
a great sculptor as a marble polisher, and besides
that, I used to run errands for him, and was a
sort of porter, like, to him. I couldn't get any
work, because he hadn't no more marble-work to
do; so nine or ten years back I went into this line.
I knew a man what done well in it — but times

[Description: 915EAF. Blank Page.]

[Description: 915EAF. Page 273.]

was better then — and that put it into my head.
It cost me 2l. 10s. to stock my stall, and get
all together comfortable; for I started with old
books as well as songs. I got leave to stand
here from the landlord. I sell ballads and ma-
nuscript music (beautifully done these music
sheets were), which is `transposed' (so he
worded it) from the nigger songs. There's two
does them for me. They're transposed for the
violin. One that does them is a musicianer,
who plays outside public-houses, but I think
his daughter does most of it. I sell my songs
at a halfpenny, — and, when I can get it, a penny
a piece. Do I yarn a pound a week? Lor'
bless you, no. Nor 15s., nor 12s. I don't yarn,
one week with another, not 10s., sometimes not
5s. My wife don't yarn nothing. She used to
go out charing, but she can't now. I am at
my stall at nine in the morning, and some-
times I have walked five or six miles to buy my
`pubs' before that. I stop till ten at night oft
enough. The wet days is the ruin of us; and
I think wet days increases. [This was said on
a rainy day.] Such a day as yesterday now I
didn't take, not make, — but I didn't take what
would pay for a pint of beer and a bit of bread
and cheese. My rent's 2s. 3d. a week for one
room, and I've got my own bits of sticks there.
I've always kept them, thank God!"

Generally, these dealers know little of the
songs they sell, — taking the printer's word, when
they purchase, as to "what was going." The
most popular comic songs (among this class I
heard the word song used far more frequently
than ballad) are not sold so abundantly as
others, — because, I was told, boys soon picked
them up by heart, hearing them so often, and
so did not buy them. Neither was there a
great demand for nigger songs, nor for "flash
ditties," but for such productions as "A Life
on the Ocean Wave," "I'm Afloat," "There's
a Good Time coming," "Farewell to the
Mountain," &c., &c. Three-fourths of the cus-
tomers of these traders, one man assured me,
were boys.

Indecent songs are not sold by the pinners-
up. One man of whom I made inquiries was
quite indignant that I should even think it
necessary to ask such questions. The "songs"
cost the pinners-up, generally, 2d. a dozen,
sometimes 2½d., and sometimes less than 2d., according to the quality of the paper and the
demand.

On fine summer days the wall song-sellers
take 2s. on an average. On short wintry days
they may not take half so much, and on very
foggy or rainy days they take nothing at all.
Their ballads are of the same sort as those I
proceed to describe under especial heads, and
I have shown what are of readiest sale. Reck-
oning that each pinner-up, thirty in number,
now takes 10s. 6d. weekly (7s. being the pro-
fit), we find that 780 guineas are yearly ex-
pended in London streets, in the ballads of the
pinners-up.

OF ANCIENT AND MODERN STREET BALLAD
MINSTRELSY.

Mr. Strutt, in his "Sports and Pastimes of
the People of England," shows, as do other
authorities, that in the reigns subsequent to the
Norman Conquest the minstrels "were per-
mitted to perform in the rich monasteries, and
in the mansions of the nobility, which they
frequently visited in large parties, and especi-
ally upon occasions of festivity. They entered
the castles without the least ceremony, rarely
waiting for any previous invitation, and there
exhibited their performances for the entertain-
ment of the lord of the mansion and his guests.
They were, it seems, admitted without any
difficulty, and handsomely rewarded for the
exertion of their talents."

Of the truth of this statement all contempo-
rary history is a corroboration. The minstrels
then, indeed, constituted the theatre, the opera,
and the concert of the powerful and wealthy.
They were decried by some of the clergy of
that day, — as are popular performers and opera
singers (occasionally) by some zealous divine
in our own era. John of Salisbury stigmatizes
minstrels as "ministers of the devil."

"The large gratuities collected by these
artists," the same antiquarian writer further
says, "not only occasioned great numbers to
join their fraternity, but also induced many
idle and dissipated persons to assume the
characters of minstrels, to the disgrace of the
profession. These evils became at last so noto-
rious, that in the reign of King Edward II. it
was thought necessary to restrain them by a
public edict, which sufficiently explains the
nature of the grievance. It states, that many
indolent persons, under the colour of minstrelsy,
intruded themselves into the residences of the
wealthy, where they had both meat and drink,
but were not contented without the addition of
large gifts from the householder. To restrain
this abuse, the mandate ordains, that no person
should resort to the houses of prelates, earls,
or barons, to eat, or to drink, who was not a
professed minstrel; nor more than three or
four minstrels of honour at most in one day
(meaning, I presume, the king's minstrels of
honour and those retained by the nobility),
except they came by invitation from the lord
of the house."

The themes of the minstrels were the triumphs,
victories, pageants, and great events of the day;
commingled with the praise, or the satire of
individuals, as the humour of the patron or of
the audience might be gratified. It is stated
that Longchamp, the favourite and justiciary
of Richard Cœur-de-lion, not only engaged
poets to make songs and poems in his, Bishop
Longchamp's, praise, but the best singers and
minstrels to sing them in the public streets!

In the ninth year of the reign of Edward IV.
another royal edict was issued, as little favour-
able to the minstrels as the one I have given
an account of; and those functionaries seem to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 274.]

have gradually fallen in the estimation of the
public, and to have been contemned by the
law, down to the statute of Elizabeth, already
alluded to, subjecting them to the same treat-
ment as rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars.
A writer of the period (1589) represents the
(still-styled) minstrels, singing "ballads and
small popular musickes" for the amusement
of boys and others "that passe by them in the
streete." It is related also that their "matters
were for the most part stories of old time; as the
tale of Sir Topas, Bevis of Southampton, Guy
of Warwick, Adam Bell, and Clymme of the
Clough, and such other old romances or histo-
rical rhymes, made purposely for the recreation
of the common people at Christmas dinners and
bride ales, and in tavernes and alehouses, and
such other places of base resort."

These "stories of old time" are now valuable
as affording illustrations of ancient manners,
and have been not unfertile as subjects of anti-
quarian annotation.

Under the head of the "Norman Minstrels,"
Mr. Strutt says: "It is very certain that the
poet, the songster, and the musician were
frequently united in the same person."

From this historical sketch it appears evident
that the ballad-singer and seller of to-day is the
sole descendant, or remains, of the minstrel of
old, as regards the business of the streets;
he is, indeed, the minstrel having lost caste, and
being driven to play cheap.

The themes of the minstrels were wars, and
victories, and revolutions; so of the modern
man of street ballads. If the minstrel cele-
brated with harp and voice the unhorsings, the
broken bones, the deaths, the dust, the blood,
and all the glory and circumstance of a tour-
nament, — so does the ballad-seller, with voice
and fiddle, glorify the feelings, the broken bones,
the blood, the deaths, and all the glory and
circumstance of a prize-fight. The minstrel
did not scoff at the madness which prevailed in
the lists, nor does the ballad-singer at the
brutality which rules in the ring. The minstrels
had their dirges for departed greatness; the
ballad-singer, like old Allan Bane, also "pours
his wailing o'er the dead" — for are there not the
street "helegies" on all departed greatness? In
the bestowal of flattery or even of praise the
modern minstrel is far less liberal than was his
prototype; but the laudation was, in the good old
times, very often "paid for" by the person whom
it was sung to honour. Were the same measure
applied to the ballad-singer and writer of to-
day, there can be no reason to doubt that it
would be attended with the same result. In his
satire the modern has somewhat of an advantage
over his predecessor. The minstrel not rarely
received a "largesse" to satirize some one
obnoxious to a rival, or to a disappointed man.
The ballad-singer (or chaunter, for these re-
marks apply with equal force to both of these
street-professionals), is seldom hired to abuse.
I was told, indeed, by a clever chaunter, that he
had been sent lately by a strange gentleman to
sing a song — which he and his mate (a patterer)
happened at the time to be working — in front
of a neighbouring house. The song was on the
rogueries of the turf; and the "move" had
a doubly advantageous effect. "One gentle-
man, you see, sir, gave us 1s. to go and sing;
and afore we'd well finished the chorus, some-
body sent us from the house another 1s. to go
away agin." I believe this to be the only
way in which the satire of a ballad-singer is
rewarded, otherwise than by sale to his usual
class of customers in the streets or the public-
houses. The ancient professors of street min-
strelsy unquestionably played and sung satirical
lays, depending for their remuneration on the
liberality of their out-of-door audience; so is
it precisely with the modern. The minstrel
played both singly and with his fellows; the
ballad-singer "works" both alone (but not
frequently) and with his "mates" or his
"school."

In the persons of some of these modern street
professionals, as I have shown and shall fur-
ther show, are united the functions of "the
poet, the songster, and the musician." So in
the days of yore. There are now female ballad-
singers; there were female minstrels, or glee-
women. The lays which were poured forth in
our streets and taverns some centuries back,
either for the regalement of a miscellaneous
assemblage, or of a select few, were sometimes
of an immoral tendency. Such, it cannot be
denied, is the case in our more enlightened days
at our Cyder-cellars, Coal-holes, Penny Gaffs,
and such like places. Rarely, however, are
such things sung in the streets of London; but
sometimes at country fairs and races.

In one respect the analogy between the two
ages of these promoters of street enjoyment does
not hold. The minstrel's garb was distinctive.
It was not always the short laced tunic, tight
trousers, and russet boots, with a well plumed
cap, — which seems to be the modern notion of
this tuneful itinerant. The king's and queen's
minstrels wore the royal livery, but so altered
as to have removed from its appearance what
might seem menial. The minstrels of the
great barons also assumed their patron's live-
ries, with the like qualification. A minstrel of
the highest class might wear "a fayre gowne
of cloth of gold," or a military dress, or a
"tawnie coat," or a foreign costume, or even
an ecclesiastical garb, — and some of them went
so far as to shave their crowns, the better to
resemble monks. Of course they were imitated
by their inferiors. The minstrel, then, wore a
particular dress; the ballad-singer of the pre-
sent day wears no particular dress. During the
terrors of the reign of Henry VIII., and after
the Reformation, a large body of the minstrels
fell into meanness of attire; and in that respect
the modern ballad-singer is analogous.

It must be borne in mind that I have all
along spoken — except when the description is
necessarily general — of the street, or itinerant,
minstrel of old. The highest professors of the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 275.]

art were poets and composers, men often of
genius, learning, and gravity, and were no more
to be ranked with the mass of those I have been
describing than is Alfred Tennyson with any
Smithfield scribbler and bawler of some Newgate
"Copy of Verses."

How long "Sir Topas" and the other "old
stories" continued to be sung in the streets
there are no means of ascertaining. But there
are old songs, as I ascertained from an intelli-
gent and experienced street-singer, still occa-
sionally heard in the open air, but more in the
country than the metropolis. Among those still
heard, however rarely, are the Earl of Dorset's
song, written on the night before a naval engage-
ment with the Dutch, in 1665:

I give the titles of the others, not chronolo-
gically, but as they occurred to my informant's
recollection — "A Cobbler there was, and he
liv'd in a Stall" — Parnell's song of "My Days
have been so wond'rous Free," now sung in the
streets to the tune of Gramachree." A song
(of which I could not procure a copy, but my
informant had lately heard it in the street) about
the Cock-lane Ghost —

the "Children in the Wood" and "Chevy-
chase." Concerning this old ditty one man said
to me: "Yes, sir, I've sung it at odd times and
not long ago in the north of England, and I've
been asked whereabouts Chevy-chase lay, but
I never learned."

"Barbara Allen's selling yet," I was told.
"Gilderoy was a Bonnie Boy," is another song
yet sung occasionally in the streets.

"The ballad," says a writer on the subject,
"may be considered as the native species of
poetry of this country. It very exactly answers
the idea formerly given of original poetry, being
the rude uncultivated verse in which the popu-
lar tale of the time was recorded. As our
ancestors partook of the fierce warlike character
of the northern nations, the subjects of their
poetry would chiefly consist of the martial ex-
ploits of their heroes, and the military events of
national history, deeply tinctured with that pas-
sion for the marvellous, and that superstitious
credulity, which always attend a state of igno-
rance and barbarism. Many of the ancient
ballads have been transmitted to the present
times, and in them the character of the nation
displays itself in striking colours."

The "Ballads on a Subject," of which I shall
proceed to treat, are certainly "the rude uncul-
tivated verse in which the popular tale of the
times is recorded," and what may be the cha-
racter of the nation as displayed in them I leave
to the reader's judgment.

OF STREET "BALLADS ON A SUBJECT."

There is a class of ballads which may with
perfect propriety be called street ballads, as
they are written by street authors for street
singing (or chaunting) and street sale. These
effusions, however, are known in the trade by
a title appropriate enough — "Ballads on a
Subject." The most successful workers in this
branch of the profession, are the men I have
already described among the patterers and
chaunters.

The "Ballads on a Subject" are always on
a political, criminal, or exciting public event,
or one that has interested the public, and the
celerity with which one of them is written, and
then sung in the streets, is in the spirit of
"these railroad times." After any great event,
"a ballad on the subject" is often enough
written, printed, and sung in the street, in little
more than an hour. Such was the case with
a song "in honour," it was announced, "of
Lord John Russell's resignation." Of course
there is no time for either the correction of the
rhymes or of the press; but this is regarded as
of little consequence — while an early "start"
with a new topic is of great consequence, I am
assured; "yes, indeed, both for the sake of
meals and rents." If, however, the songs were
ever so carefully revised, their sale would not
be greater.

I need not treat this branch of our street
literature at any great length, as specimens of
the "Ballad on a Subject" will be found in
many of the preceding statements of paper-
workers.

It will have struck the reader that all the
street lays quoted as popular have a sort of
burthen or jingle at the end of each verse. I
was corrected, however, by a street chaunter for
speaking of this burthen as a jingle. "It's a
chorus, sir," he said. "In a proper ballad on
a subject, there's often twelve verses, none of
them under eight lines, — and there's a four-
line chorus to every verse; and, if it's the
right sort, it'll sell the ballad." I was told, on
all hands, that it was not the words that ever
"made a ballad, but the subject; and, more than
the subject, — the chorus; and, far more than
either, — the tune!" Indeed, many of the street-
singers of ballads on a subject have as supreme
a contempt for words as can be felt by any mo-
dern composer. To select a tune for a ballad,
however, is a matter of deep deliberation. To
adapt the ballad to a tune too common or popu-
lar is injudicious; for then, I was told, any one
can sing it — boys and all. To select a more
elaborate and less-known air, however appro-
priate, may not be pleasing to some of the
members of "the school" of ballad-singers, who
may feel it to be beyond their vocal powers;
neither may it be relished by the critical in
street song, whose approving criticism induces
them to purchase as well as to admire.

The license enjoyed by the court jesters, and,
in some respects, by the minstrels of old, is cer-
tainly enjoyed, undiminished, by the street-
writers and singers of ballads on a subject.
They are unsparing satirists, who, with a rare
impartiality, lash all classes and all creeds, as
well as any individual. One man, upon whose
information I can rely, told me that, eleven
years ago, he himself had "worked," in town
and country, 23 different songs at the same
period and on the same subject — the marriage
of the Queen. They all "sold," — but the most
profitable was one "as sung by Prince Albert in
character." It was to the air of the "Dusty
Miller;" and "it was good," said the ballad-
man, "because we could easily dress up to the
character given to Albert." I quote a verse:

"And what's more, sir," continued my inform-
ant, "not very long after the honeymoon, the
Duchess of L — drove up in her carriage
to the printer's, and bought all the songs in
honour of Victoria's wedding, and gave a sove-
reign for them and wouldn't take the change.
It was a duchess. Why I'm sure about it —
though I can't say whether it were the Duchess
of L — or S — ; for didn't the printer, like
an honest man, when he'd stopped the price of
the papers, hand over to us chaps the balance to
drink, and didn't we drink it! There can't be
a mistake about that."

Of street ballads on political subjects, or
upon themes which have interested the whole
general public, I need not cite additional in-
stances. There are, however, other subjects,
which, though not regarded as of great interest
by the whole body of the people are still event-
ful among certain classes, and for them the
street author and ballad-singer cater.

I first give a specimen of a ballad on a Thea-
trical Subject. The best I find, in a large
collection of these street effusions, is entitled
"Jenny Lind and Poet B." After describing
how Mr. Bunn "flew to Sweden" and engaged
Miss Lind, the poet proceeds, — the tune being
"Lucy Long":

I am inclined to think — though I know it to
be an unusual case — that in this theatrical ballad
the street poet was what is tenderly called a
"plagiarist." I was assured by a chaunter that
it was written by a street author, — but probably
the chaunter was himself in error or forget-
fulness.

Next, there is the Ballad on a Civic Subject.
In the old times the Lord Mayor had his
laureate. This writer, known as "poet to the
City of London," eulogised all lord mayors, and
glorified all civic pageants. That of the 9th
November, especially, "lived in Settle's num-
bers, one day more," — but Elkanah Settle was
the last of such scribes. After his death, the
city eschewed a poet. The office has now de-
scended to the street bard, who annually cele-
brates the great ceremony. I cite two stanzas
and the chorus from the latest of these civic
Odes:

There is, beside the descriptions of ballads
above cited, the Ballad Local. One of these is
headed the "Queer Doings in Leather-lane,"
and is on a subject concerning which street-
sellers generally express themselves strongly —
Sunday trading. The endeavour to stop street
trading (generally) in Leather-lane, with its
injurious results to the shopkeepers, has been
already mentioned. The ballad on this local
subject presents a personality now, happily, al-
most confined to the street writers:

There are yet three themes of these street
songs, of which, though they have been alluded
to, no specimens have been given. I now supply
them. The first is the election ballad. I quote
two stanzas from "Middlesex and Victory! or,
Grosvenor and Osborne for ever!"

Then come the "elegies." Of three of these
I cite the opening stanza. That on the "Death
of Queen Adelaide" has for an illustration a
figure of Britannia leaning on her shield, with
the "Muse of History," (as I presume from her
attributes,) at Britannia's feet. In the distance
is the setting sun:

The elegy on the "Death of the Right Ho-
nourable Sir Robert Peel, Bart. M.P.," is set
off with a very fair portrait of that statesman.

The verses which bewail the "Death of
H. R. H. the Duke of Cambridge," and which
are adorned with the same illustration as those
upon Queen Adelaide, begin

The third class of street-ballads relates to
"fires." The one I quote, "On the Awful Fire
at B. Caunt's, in St. Martin's-lane," is preceded
by an engraving of a lady and a cavalier, the
lady pointing to a column surmounted by an
urn. I again give the first stanza:

In a subsequent stanza are four lines, not with-
out some rough pathos, and adapted to move
the feelings of a street audience. The writer is
alluding to the grief of the parents who had lost
two children by a terrible death:

I find no difference in style between the bal-
lads on a subject of to-day, and the oldest which
I could obtain a sight of, which were sung in
the present generation — except that these poems
now begin far less frequently with what at one
time was as common as an invocation to the
Muse — the invitation to good Christians to attend
to the singer. One on the Sloanes, however,
opens in the old fashion:

I now conclude this account of street-ballads
on a subject with two verses from one on
the subject of "The Glorious Fight for the
Championship of England." The celebration
of these once-popular encounters is, as I have
already stated, one of the points in which the
modern ballad-man emulates his ancient brother
minstrel:

OF THE STREET POETS AND AUTHORS.

Authorship, for street sale, is chiefly confined
to the production of verse, which, whatever be
its nature, is known through the trade as
"ballads." Two distinctions, indeed, are recog-
nised — "Ballads" and "Ballads on a Subject."
The last-mentioned is, as I have said and
shown, the publication which relates to any
specific event; national or local, criminal or
merely extraordinary, true or false. Under the
head "Ballads," the street-sellers class all that
does not come under the description of "Ballads
on a Subject."

The same street authors — now six in number —
compose indiscriminately any description of bal-
lad, including the copy of verses I have shown to
be required as a necessary part of all histories
or trials of criminals. When the printer has de-
termined upon a "Sorrowful Lamentation," he
sends to a poet for a copy of verses, which is
promptly supplied. The payment I have al-
ready mentioned — 1s.; but sometimes, if the
printer (and publisher) like the verses, he
"throws a penny or two over;" and sometimes
also, in case of a great sale, there is the same
over-sum.

Fewer ballads, I was assured, than was the
case ten or twelve years ago, are now written
expressly for street sale or street minstrelsy.
"They come to the printer, for nothing, from
the concert-room. He has only to buy a `Ross'
or a `Sharp' " [song-books] "for 1d., and there's
a lot of 'em; so, in course, a publisher ain't
a-going to give a bob, if he can be served for a
farthing, just by buying a song-book."

Another man, himself not a "regular poet,"
but a little concerned in street productions, said
to me, with great earnestness: "Now look at
this, sir, and I hope you'll just say, sir, as I tell
you. You've given the public a deal of informa-
tion about men like me, and some of our chaps
abuses you for it like mad; but I say it's all
right, for it's all true. Now you'll have learned,
sir, or, any way, you will learn, that there's
songs sung in the streets, and sometimes in some
tap-rooms, that isn't decent, and relates to
nothing but wickedness. There wasn't a few of
those songs once written for the streets, straight
away, and a great sale they had, I know — but far
better at country fairs and races than in town.
Since the singing-houses — I don't mean where
you pay to go to a concert, no! but such as your
Cyder-cellars, and your night-houses, where
there's lords, and gentlemen, and city swells,
and young men up from the colleges — since
these places has been up so flourishing, there
hasn't, I do believe, been one such song written
by one of our poets. They all come from the
places where the lords, and genelmen, and col-
legians is capital customers; and they never was
a worse sort of ballads than now. In course those
houses is licensed, and perticler respectable, or
it wouldn't be allowed; and if I was to go to
the foot of the bridge, sir (Westminster-bridge),
and chaunt any such songs, and my mate should
sell them, why we should very soon be taking
reg'lar exercise on Colonel Chesterton's ever-
lasting staircase. We has a great respect for
the law — O, certainly!"

Parodies on any very popular song, which
used to be prepared expressly for street trade,
are now, in like manner, derived from the night-
house or the concert-room; but not entirely so.
The parody "Cab, cab, cab!" which was heard
in almost every street, was originated in a con-
cert-room.

The ballads which have lately been written,
and published expressly for the street sale, and
have proved the most successful, are parodies or
imitations of "The Gay Cavalier." One street
ballad, commencing in the following words, was,
I am told, greatly admired, both in the streets
and the public-houses:

I now give three stanzas of "The Way to
Live Happy Together," — a ballad said to have
been written expressly for street sale. Its popu-
larity is anything but discreditable to the street-
buyers:

"It's all as one, sir," was the answer of a man
whom I questioned on the subject; "it's the
same poet; and the same tip for any ballad.
No more nor a bob for nothing."

A large number of ballads which I procured,
and all sold and sung in the street, though not
written expressly for the purpose, presented a
curious study enough. They were of every
class. I specify a few, to show the nature of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 279.]

the collection (not including ballads on a sub-
ject): "Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doun,"
with (on the same sheet) "The Merry Fid-
dler," (an indecent song) — "There's a good
Time coming, Boys," "Nix, my Dolly," "The
Girls of — shire," (which of course is avail-
able for any county) — "Widow Mahoney,"
"Remember the Glories of Brian the Brave,"
"Clementina Clemmins," "Lucy Long,"
"Erin Go Bragh," "Christmas in 1850,"
"The Death of Nelson," "The Life and
Adventures of Jemmy Sweet," "The Young
May Moon," "Hail to the Tyrol," "He was
sich a Lushy Cove," &c. &c.

I may here mention — but a fuller notice may
be necessary when I treat of street art — that
some of these ballads have an "illustration"
always at the top of the column. "The Heart
that can Feel for Another" is illustrated by a
gaunt and savage-looking lion. "The Amorous
Waterman of St. John's Wood," presents a
very short, obese, and bow-legged grocer, in
top-boots, standing at his door, while a lady in
a huge bonnet is "taking a sight at him," to
the evident satisfaction of a "baked 'tater" man.
"Rosin the Beau" is heralded by the rising
sun. "The Poachers" has a cut of the Royal
Exchange above the title. "The Miller's
Ditty" is illustrated by a perfect dandy, of
the slimmest and straightest fashion; and
"When I was first Breeched," by an engrav-
ing of a Highlander. Many of the ballads, how-
ever, have engravings appropriate enough.

OF THE EXPERIENCE OF A STREET AUTHOR,
OR POET.

I have already mentioned the present number
of street authors, as I most frequently heard
them styled, though they write only verses. I
called upon one on the recommendation of a
neighbouring tradesman, of whom I made some
inquiries. He could not tell me the number of
the house in the court where the man lived, but
said I had only to inquire for the Tinker, or
the Poet, and any one would tell me.

I found the poor poet, who bears a good cha-
racter, on a sick bed; he was suffering, and had
long been suffering, from abscesses. He was ap-
parently about forty-five, with the sunken eyes,
hollow cheeks, and, not pale but thick and rather
sallow complexion, which indicate ill-health and
scant food. He spoke quietly, and expressed
resignation. His room was not very small, and
was furnished in the way usual among the very
poor, but there were a few old pictures over the
mantel-piece. His eldest boy, a lad of thirteen
or fourteen, was making dog-chains; at which he
earned a shilling or two, sometimes 2s. 6d., by
sale in the streets.

"I was born at Newcastle-under-Lyne," the
man said, "but was brought to London when,
I believe, I was only three months old. I was
very fond of reading poems, in my youth, as
soon as I could read and understand almost.
Yes, very likely, sir; perhaps it was that put it
into my head to write them afterwards. I was
taught wire-working, and jobbing, and was
brought up to hawking wire-work in the streets,
and all over England and Wales. It was never
a very good trade — just a living. Many and
many a weary mile we've travelled together, — I
mean, my wife and I have: and we've some-
times been benighted, and had to wander or rest
about until morning. It wasn't that we hadn't
money to pay for a lodging, but we couldn't get
one. We lost count of the days sometimes in
wild parts; but if we did lose count, or thought
we had, I could always tell when it was Sunday
morning by the look of nature; there was a
mystery and a beauty about it as told me. I
was very fond of Goldsmith's poetry always.
I can repeat `Edwin and Emma' now. No, sir;
I never read the `Vicar of Wakefield.' I found
`Edwin and Emma' in a book called the
`Speaker.' I often thought of it in travelling
through some parts of the country.

"Above fourteen years ago I tried to make a
shilling or two by selling my verses. I'd written
plenty before, but made nothing by them. In-
deed I never tried. The first song I ever sold
was to a concert-room manager. The next I
sold had great success. It was called the `Demon
of the Sea,' and was to the tune of `The Brave
Old Oak.' Do I remember how it began? Yes,
sir, I remember every word of it. It began:

That song was written for a concert-room, but
it was soon in the streets, and ran a whole winter.
I got only 1s. for it. Then I wrote the `Pirate
of the Isles,' and other ballads of that sort. The
concert-rooms pay no better than the printers
for the streets.

"Perhaps the best thing I ever wrote was the
`Husband's Dream.' I'm very sorry indeed
that I can't offer you copies of some of my
ballads, but I haven't a single copy myself of
any of them, not one, and I dare say I've
written a thousand in my time, and most of
them were printed. I believe 10,000 were sold
of the `Husband's Dream.' It begins:

"Then Dermot tells how he dreamed of his
wife's sudden death, and his childrens' misery as
they cried about her dead body, while he was
drunk in bed, and as he calls out in his misery,
he wakes, and finds his wife by his side. The
ballad ends:

"Dermot turned teetotaller. The teetotallers
were very much pleased with that song. The
printer once sent me 5s. on account of it.

"I have written all sorts of things — ballads
on a subject, and copies of verses, and any-
thing ordered of me, or on anything I thought
would be accepted, but now I can't get about.
I've been asked to write indecent songs, but I
refused. One man offered me 5s. for six such
songs. — `Why, that's less than the common
price,' said I, `instead of something over to pay
for the wickedness.' — All those sort of songs
come now to the streets, I believe all do, from
the concert-rooms. I can imitate any poetry.
I don't recollect any poet I've imitated. No,
sir, not Scott or Moore, that I know of, but if
they've written popular songs, then I dare say
I have imitated them. Writing poetry is no
comfort to me in my sickness. It might if I
could write just what I please. The printers
like hanging subjects best, and I don't. But
when any of them sends to order a copy of
verses for a `Sorrowful Lamentation' of course
I must supply them. I don't think much of
what I've done that way. If I'd my own fancy,
I'd keep writing acrostics, such as one I wrote
on our rector." "God bless him," interrupted
the wife, "he's a good man." "That he is,"
said the poet, "but he's never seen what I wrote
about him, and perhaps never will." He then
desired his wife to reach him his big Bible, and
out of it he handed me a piece of paper, with
the following lines written on it, in a small neat
hand enough:

"There would be some comfort, sir," he con-
tinued, "if one could go on writing at will like
that. As it is, I sometimes write verses all over
a slate, and rub them out again. Live hard!
yes, indeed, we do live hard. I hardly know
the taste of meat. We live on bread and butter,
and tea; no, not any fish. As you see, sir, I
work at tinning. I put new bottoms into old
tin tea-pots, and such like. Here's my sort of
bench, by my poor bit of a bed. In the best
weeks I earn 4s. by tinning, never higher. In
bad weeks I earn only 1s. by it, and sometimes
not that, — and there are more shilling than four
shilling weeks by three to one. As to my
poetry, a good week is 3s., and a poor week is
1s. — and sometimes I make nothing at all that
way. So I leave you to judge, sir, whether we
live hard; for the comings in, and what we have
from the parish, must keep six of us — myself,
my wife, and four children. It's a long, hard
struggle." "Yes, indeed," said the wife, "it's
just as you've heard my husband tell, sir.
We've 2s. a week and four loaves of bread from
the parish, and the rent's 2s. 6d., and the land-
lord every week has 2s., — and 6d. he has done
for him in tinning work. Oh, we do live hard,
indeed."

As I was taking my leave, the poor man
expressed a desire that I would take a copy of
an epitaph which he had written for himself.
"If ever," he said, "I am rich enough to pro-
vide for a tomb-stone, or my family is rich
enough to give me one, this shall be my epi-
taph" [I copied it from a blank page in his
Bible:]

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF BROAD-SHEETS.

The broad-sheet known in street-sale in an un-
folded sheet, varying in size, and printed on one
side. The word is frequently used to signify an
account of a murder or execution, but it may
contain an account of a fire, an "awful accident
and great loss of life," a series of conundrums,
as in those called "Nuts to Crack," a comic or
intended comic engraving, with a speech or some
verses, as recently in satire of the Pope and
Cardinal Wiseman (these are sometimes called
"comic exhibitions"), or a "bill of the play."
The "cocks" are more frequently a smaller
size than the broad-sheet.

The sellers of these articles (play-bills ex-
cepted), are of the class I have described as
patterers. The play-bill sellers are very rarely
patterers on other "paper work." Some of
them are on the look-out during the day for a
job in porterage or such like, but they are not
mixed up with any pattering, — and a regular
patterer looks down upon a play-bill seller as a
poor creature, "fit for nothing but play-bills."
I now proceed to describe such of these classes
as have not been previously given.

OF THE "GALLOWS" LITERATURE OF THE
STREETS.

Under this head I class all the street-sold
publications which relate to the hanging of
malefactors. That the question is not of any
minor importance must be at once admitted,
when it is seen how very extensive a portion of
the reading of the poor is supplied by the
"Sorrowful Lamentations" and "Last Dying
Speech, Confession, and Execution" of crimi-
nals. One paper-worker told me, that in some
small and obscure villages in Norfolk, which, he
believed, were visited only by himself in his line,
it was not very uncommon for two poor families
to club for 1d. to purchase an execution broad-
sheet! Not long after Rush was hung, he saw,
one evening after dark, through the uncurtained
cottage window, eleven persons, young and old,
gathered round a scanty fire, which was made
to blaze by being fed with a few sticks. An old
man was reading, to an attentive audience, a

[Description: 915EAF. Page 281.]

broad-sheet of Rush's execution, which my
informant had sold to him; he read by the
fire-light; for the very poor in those villages, I
was told, rarely lighted a candle on a spring
evening, saying that "a bit o' fire was good
enough to talk by." The scene must have
been impressive, for it had evidently somewhat
impressed the perhaps not very susceptible mind
of my informant.

The procedure on the occasion of a "good"
murder, or of a murder expected to "turn out
well," is systematic. First appears a quarter-
sheet (a hand-bill, 9½ in. by 7½ in.) containing
the earliest report of the matter. Next come
half-sheets (twice the size) of later particulars,
or discoveries, or — if the supposed murderer be
in custody — of further examinations. The sale
of these bills is confined almost entirely to
London, and in their production the newspapers
are for the most part followed closely enough.
Then are produced the whole, or broad-sheets
(twice the size of the half-sheets), and, lastly,
but only on great occasions, the double broad-
sheet. [I have used the least technical terms
that I might not puzzle the reader with accounts
of "crowns," "double-crowns," &c.]

The most important of all the broad-sheets
of executions, according to concurrent, and
indeed unanimous, testimony is the case of
Rush. I speak of the testimony of the street-
folk conerned, who all represent the sale of the
papers relative to Rush, both in town and
country, as the best in their experience of late
years.

The sheet bears the title of "The Sorrowful
Lamentation and Last Farewell of J. B. Rush,
who is ordered for Execution on Saturday next,
at Norwich Castle." There are three illustra-
tions. The largest represents Rush, cloaked and
masked, "shooting Mr. Jermy, Sen." Another
is of "Rush shooting Mrs. Jermy." A prostrate
body is at her feet, and the lady herself is de-
picted as having a very small waist and great
amplitude of gown-skirts. The third is a por-
trait of Rush, — a correct copy, I was assured,
and have no reason to question the assurance, —
from one in the Norwich Mercury. The account
of the trial and biography of Rush, his conduct
in prison, &c., is a concise and clear enough
condensation from the newspapers. Indeed,
Rush's Sorrowful Lamentation is the best, in
all respects, of any execution broad-sheet I have
seen; even the "copy of verses" which, accord-
ing to the established custom, the criminal com-
poses in the condemned cell — his being unable,
in some instances, to read or write being no
obstacle to the composition — seems, in a literary
point of view, of a superior strain to the run of
such things. The matters of fact, however, are
introduced in the same peculiar manner. The
worst part is the morbid sympathy and intended
apology for the criminal. I give the verses
entire:

Although the execution broad-sheet I have
cited may be the best, taken altogether, which
has fallen under my observation, nearly all I
have seen have one characteristic — the facts can
be plainly understood. The narrative, em-
bracing trial, biography, &c., is usually pre-
pared by the printer, being a condensation from
the accounts in the newspapers, and is perhaps
intelligible, simply because it is a condensation.
It is so, moreover, in spite of bad grammar, and
sometimes perhaps from an unskilful connec-
tion of the different eras of the trial.

When the circumstances of the case permit,
or can be at all constrained to do so, the Last
Sorrowful Lamentation contains a "Love Let-
ter," written — as one patterer told me he had
occasionally expressed it, when he thought his
audience suitable — "from the depths of the
condemned cell, with the condemned pen, ink,
and paper." The style is stereotyped, and
usually after this fashion:

If it be not feasible to have a love-letter —
which can be addressed to either wife or sweet-
heart — in the foregoing style, a "last letter" is
given, and this can be written to father, mother,
son, daughter, or friend; and is usually to the
following purport:

Letter

— By the time you receive this my
hours, in this world, will indeed be short. It is an
old and true saying, that murderers will one day meet
their proper reward. No one can imagine the dreadful
nights of anguish passed by me since the commital of
the crime on poor — . All my previous victims have
appeared before me in a thousand different shapes and
forms. My sufferings have been more than I can pos-
sibly describe. Let me entreat you to turn from your
evil ways and lead a honest and sober life. I am suffer-
ing so much at the present moment both from mind and
body that I can write no longer. Farewell! farewell!

I have hitherto spoken of the Last Sorrowful
Lamentation sheets. The next broad-sheet is
the "Life, Trial, Confession, and Execution."
This presents the same matter as the "Lamen-
tation," except that a part — perhaps the judge's
charge at the trial, or perhaps the biography —
is removed to make room for the "Execu-
tion," and occasionally for a portion of the
"Condemned Sermon." To judge by the
productions I treat of, both subjects are marvel-
ously similar on all occasions. I cite a speci-
men of the Condemned Sermon, as preached,
according to the broad-sheet, before Hewson,
condemned for the murder of a turnkey It will
be seen that it is of a character to fit any con-
demned sermon whatever:

The "Execution" is detailed generally in
this manner. I cite the "Life, Trial, Confes-
sion, and Execution of Mary May, for the
Murder of W. Constable, her Half-brother, by
Poison, at Wix, near Manningtree:"

I cannot refrain from calling the reader's
attention to the "copy of verses" touching
Mary May. I give them entire, for they seem
to me to contain all the elements which made
the old ballads popular — the rushing at once
into the subject—and the homely reflections,
though crude to all educated persons, are, never-
theless, well adapted to enlist the sympathy and
appreciation of the class of hearers to whom
they are addressed:

This mode of procedure in "gallows" litera-
ture, and this style of composition, have prevailed
for from twenty to thirty years. I find my usual
impossibility to fix a date among these street-
folk; but the Sorrowful Lamentation sheet was
unknown until the law for prolonging the term
of existence between the trial and death of the
capitally-convicted, was passed. "Before that,
sir," I was told, "there wasn't no time for a
Lamentation; sentence o' Friday, and scragging
o' Monday. So we had only the Life, Trial, and
Execution." Before the year 1820, the Execu-
tion broad-sheets, &c., were "got up" in about
the same, though certainly in an inferior and
more slovenly manner than at present; and one copy of verses often did service for the canticles
of all criminals condemned to be hung. These
verses were to sacred or psalm tunes, such as
Job, or the Old Hundredth. I was told by
an aged gentleman that he remembered, about
the year 1812, hearing a song, or, as he called it,
"stave," of this description, not only given in
the street with fiddle and nasal twang, to the
tune of the Old Hundredth, but commencing in
the very words of Sternhold and Hopkins —

These "death-verses," as they were sometimes
called, were very frequently sung by blind peo-
ple, and in some parts of the country blind men
and women still sing — generally to the accom-
paniment of a fiddle — the "copy of verses."
A London chaunter told me, that, a few years
back, he heard a blind man at York announce
the "verses" as from the "solitudes" of the
condemned cell. At present the broad-sheet
sellers usually sing, or chaunt, the copy of
verses.

An intelligent man, now himself a street-
trader, told me that one of the latest "execu-
tion songs" (as he called them) which he re-
membered to have heard in the old style — but
"no doubt there were plenty after that, as like
one another as peas in a boiling" — was on the
murder of Weare, at Elstree, in Hertfordshire.
He took great interest in such things when a
boy, and had the song in question by heart, but
could only depend upon his memory for the
first and second verses:

Another street paper-worker whom I spoke
to on the subject, and to whom I read these two
verses, said: "That's just the old thing, sir;
and it's quite in old Jemmy Catnach's style, for
he used to write werses — anyhow, he said he did,
for I've heard him say so, and I've no doubt he
did in reality — it was just his favourite style, I
know, but the march of intellect put it out. It
did so."

In the most "popular" murders, the street
"papers" are a mere recital from the news-
papers, but somewhat more brief, when the
suspected murderer is in custody; but when the
murderer has not been apprehended, or is un-
known, "then," said one Death-hunter, "we
has our fling, and I've hit the mark a few
chances that way. We had, at the werry least,
half-a-dozen coves pulled up in the slums that
we printed for the murder of `The Beautiful
Eliza Grimwood, in the Waterloo-road.' I did
best on Thomas Hopkins, being the guilty man
— I think he was Thomas Hopkins — 'cause a
strong case was made out again him."

I received similar accounts of the street-
doings in the case of "mysterious murders,"
as those perpetrations are called by the paper
workers, when the criminal has escaped, or
was unknown. Among those leaving consi-
derable scope to the patterer's powers of in-
vention were the murders of Mr. Westwood, a
watchmaker in Prince's-street, Leicester-square;
of Eliza Davis, a bar-maid, in Frederick-street,
Hampstead-road; and of the policeman in Da-
genham, Essex. One of the most successful
"cocks," relating to murders which actually
occurred, was the "Confession to the Rev. Mr.
Cox, Chaplain of Aylesbury Gaol, of John
Tawell the Quaker." I had some conversation
with one of the authors of this "Confession,"
— for it was got up by three patterers; and he
assured me that "it did well, and the facts was
soon in some of the newspapers — as what we
'riginates often is." This sham confession was
as follows:

The "confession" of Rush to the chaplain of
Norwich Castle, was another production which
was remunerative to the patterers. "There was
soon a bit of it in the newspapers," said one
man, "for us and them treads close on one
another's heels. The newspapers `screeved'
about Rush, and his mother, and his wife;
but we, in our patter, made him confess to
having murdered his old grandmother fourteen
years back, and how he buried her under the
apple-tree in the garden, and how he murdered
his wife as well."

These ulterior Confessions are very rarely in-
troduced, in lieu of some matter displaced, into
the broad-sheet, but form separate bills. It was
necessary to mention them here, however, and
so preserve the sequence of the whole of the
traffic consequent upon a conviction for murder,
in this curious trade.

Sometimes the trial, &c., form also separate
bills, as well as being embodied afterwards in
the Sorrowful Lamentation. This is only, how-
ever, in cases which are deemed important.
One of the papers I obtained, for instance, is
the "Trial of Mr. and Mrs. Manning for the
Murder of Mr. Patrick O'Connor." The trial
alone occupies a broad-sheet; it is fairly "got
up." A portrait of Mr. Patrick O'Connor
heads the middle column. From the presence
of a fur collar to the coat or cloak, and of what
is evidently an order with its insignia, round
the neck, I have little doubt that the portrait
of Mr. O'Connor was originally that of the
sovereign in whose service O'Connor was once
an excise-officer — King William IV.

The last publication to which the trade has
recourse is "the book." This is usually eight
pages, but sometimes only four of a larger size.
In authorship, matter, or compilation, it differs
little from the narratives I have described. The
majority of these books are prepared by one
man. They are in a better form for being pre-
served as a record than is a broad-sheet, and
are frequently sold, and almost always offered
by the patterers when they cry a new case on a
sheet, as "people that loves such reading likes
to keep a good account of the best by them;
and so, when I've sold Manning's bills, I've
often shoved off Rush's books." The books,
like the bills, have generally the letters and the
copy of verses.

Some of these books have the title-page set
forth in full display, — for example: "Horrible
Murder and Mutilation of Lucy Game, aged 15,
by her Cruel Brother, William Game, aged 9,
at Westmill, Hertfordshire. His Committal and
Confession. With a Copy of Letter. Also, Full
Particulars of the Poisonings in Essex." Here,
as there was no execution, the matter was
extended, to include the poisonings in Essex.
The title I have quoted is expanded into thir-
teen lines. Sometimes the title-page is adorned
with a portrait. One, I was told, which was last
employed as a portrait of Calcraft, had done
severe service since Courvoisier's time, — for
my informant thought that Courvoisier was the
original. It is the bust of an ill-looking man,
with coat and waistcoat fitting with that un-
wrinkled closeness which characterises the figures
in tailors' "fashions."

The above style of work is known in the trade
as "the book;" but other publications, in the
book or pamphlet form, are common enough. In
some I have seen, the title-page is a history in
little. I cite one of these: — "Founded on Facts.
The Whitby Tragedy; or, the Gambler's Fate.
Containing the Lives of Joseph Carr, aged 21, and
his sweetheart, Maria Leslie, aged 19, who were
found Dead, lying by each other, on the morning
of the 23rd of May. Maria was on her road to
Town to buy some Ribbon, &c., for her Wedding
Day, when her lover in a state of intoxication fired
at her, and then run to rob his prey, but finding it
to be his Sweetheart, reloaded his Gun, placed the
Muzzle to his Mouth, and blew out his Brains, all
through cursed Cards, Drink, &c. Also, an affec-
tionate Copy of Verses."

To show the extent of the trade in execution
broad-sheets, I obtained returns of the number
of copies relating to the principal executions of
late, that had been sold.

           

Of Rush	2,500,000 copies.
" the Mannings	2,500,000 "
" Courvoisier	1,666,000 "
" Good	1,650,000 "
" Corder	1,650,000 "
" Greenacre	1,666,000 "

Of Thurtell I could obtain no accounts — "it
was so long ago;" but the sale, I was told, was
enormous. Reckoning that each copy was sold
for 1d. (the regular price in the country, where
the great sale is,) the money expended for such
things amounts to upwards of 48,500l. in the
case of the six murderers above given. All
this number was printed and got up in Lon-
don; a few "broad-sheets" concerning Rush
were printed also in Norwich.

Touching the issue of "cocks," a person con-
nected with the trade calculated for me, from
data at his command, that 3,456 copies were
struck off weekly, and sold in the streets, in the
metropolis; and reckoning them at only a ½d. each, we have the sum of 7l. 4s. spent every
week in this manner. At this rate, there must
be 179,712 copies of "cocks" printed in a year,
on which the public expend no less than 374l. 8s.

Of the style of illustrations usually accom-
panying this class of street literature the two
large engravings here given are fac similes — while the smaller ones are faithful copies of the
average embellishments to the halfpenny ballads.
On another occasion I shall speak at length on
"Street-Art."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CONUNDRUMS.

Among the more modern street sales are
"conundrums," generally vended, both in the
shops and the streets, as "Nuts to Crack,"
when not in the form of books. This is an-
other of the "broad-sheets," and is sufficiently
clever and curious in its way.

In the centre, at the top, is the "Wonderful
Picture," with the following description: "This
Picture when looked at from a particular point
of view, will not only appear perfect in all re-
spects and free from distortion, but the figures
will actually appear to stand out in relief from
the paper." The wonderful picture, which is
a rude imitation of a similar toy picture sold
in a box, "with eye-piece complete," at the
shops, presents a distorted view of a church-
spire, a light-house, a donjon-keep, castellated
buildings backed by mountains, a moat on which
are two vessels, an arch surmounted by a Bri-
tannia, a palm-tree (I presume), and a ram-
part, or pier, or something that way, on which
are depicted two figures, with the gestures of
elocutionists. The buildings are elongated,
like shadows at sunset or sunrise. What may
be the "particular point of view" announced
in the description of the Wonderful Picture,
is not described in the "Nuts," but the follow-
ing explanation is given in a little book,
published simultaneously, and entitled, "The
Nutcrackers, a Key to Nuts to Crack, or Enig-
matical Repository:"

Below the "Wonderful Picture" are other
illustrations; and the border of the broad-
sheet presents a series of what may be called
pictorial engravings. The first is,

The answer being evidently "Diocese." No.
26 is

"Pinafore" is the solution. Of the next "hie-
roglyphic" — for a second title to the "Nuts"
tells of "200 Hieroglyphics, Enigmas, Conun-
drums, Curious Puzzles, and other Ingenious
Devices," — I cannot speak very highly. It
consists of "AIMER," (a figure of a hare at full
speed,) and "EKA." Answer. — " America."

In the body of the broad-sheet are the
Enigmas, &c., announced; of each of which I
give a specimen, to show the nature of this
street performance or entertainment. Enigma
107 is —

As the answer is foot-ball, the two last lines
should manifestly have been placed first.

The "Conundrums" are next in the arrange-
ment, and I cite one of them:

"Because," is the reply, "forty of them are
lent and never returned." The "Riddles" fol-
low in this portion of the "Nuts to Crack." Of
these, one is not very difficult to be solved,
though it is distinguished for the usual gram-
matical confusion of tenses:

The "Charades" complete the series. Of these
I select one of the best:

The other parts of the letter-press consist of
"Anagrams," "Transpositions," &c.

When a clever patterer "works conundrums"
— for the trade is in the hands of the pattering
class — he selects what he may consider the best,
and reads or repeats them in the street, some-
times with and sometimes without the answer.
But he does not cripple the probable quickness

[Description: 915EAF. Page 286.]

of his sale by a slavish adherence to what is in
type. He puts the matter, as it were, personally.
"What gentleman is it," one man told me he
would ask, "in this street, that has —

You can learn for a penny. Or sometimes I'll
go on with the patter, thus," he continued,
"What lady is it that we have all seen, and
who can say truly —

More than once people have sung out `the
Queen,' for they seem to think that the mo-
mentum of might couldn't fit any one else.
It's `thought' as is the answer, but it wouldn't
do to let people think it's anything of the sort.
It must seem to fit somebody. If I see a
tailor's name on a door, as soon as I've passed
the corner of the street, and sometimes in the
same street, I've asked —

`Because he's always cutting out.' I have the
same questions for other tradesmen, and for
gentlemen and ladies in this neighbourhood, and
no gammon. All for a penny. Nuts to Crack,
a penny. A pair of Nutcrackers to crack
'em, only one penny."

Sometimes this man, who perhaps is the
smartest in the trade, will take a bolder flight
still, and when he knows the residence of any
professional or public man, he will, if the allu-
sion be complimentary, announce his name, or
— if there be any satire — indicate by a mo-
tion of the head, or a gesture of the hand,
the direction of his residence. My ingenuous,
and certainly ingenious, informant obliged me
with a few instances: — "In Whitechapel
parish I've said — it ain't in the print, it was
only in the patter — `Why won't the Re-
verend Mr. Champneys lay up treasures on
earth?' — `Because he'd rather lay up treasures
in heaven.' That's the reverend gentleman
not far from this spot; but in this sheet — with
nearly 100 engravings by the first artists, only
a penny — I have other questions for other
parsons, not so easy answered; nuts as is hard
to crack. `Why is the Reverend Mr. Popjoy,'
or the Honourable Lawyer Bully, or Judge
Wiggem, — and then I just jerks my thumb, sir,
if it's where I know or think such people live
— `Why is the Reverend Mr. Popjoy (or the
others) like two balloons, one in the air to the
east, and the 'tother in the air to the west, in
this parish of St. George's, Hanover-square?'
There's no such question, and as it's a sort of
a `cock,' of course there's no answer. I don't
know one. But a gentleman's servant once sung
out: `'Cause he's uppish.' And a man in a
leather apron once said: `He's a raising the
wind,' which was nonsense. But I like that
sort of interruption, and have said — `You'll not
find that answer in the Nutcrackers,' only a
penny — and, Lord knows, I told the truth when
I said so, and it helps the sale. No fear of any
one's finding out all what's in the sheet before
I'm out of the `drag.' Not a bit. And you
must admit that any way it's a cheap pen-
north." That it is a cheap harmless penny-
worth is undeniable.

The street-sale of conundrums is carried on
most extensively during a week or two before
Christmas; and on summer evenings, when
the day's work is, or ought to be, over even
among the operatives of the slop employers.
As the conundrum patterer requires an au-
dience, he works the quieter streets, preferring
such as have no horse-thoroughfare — as in
some of the approaches from the direction of
Golden-square to Regent-street. The trade is
irregularly pursued, none following it all the
year; and from the best information I could
acquire, it appears that fifteen men may be
computed as working conundrums for two
months throughout the twelve, and clear-
ing 10s. 6d. weekly, per individual. The cost
of the "Nuts to Crack" (when new) is 5d. a
doz. to the seller; but old "Nuts" often answer
the purpose of the street-seller, and may be had
for about half the price; the cost of the "Nut-
crackers" 2s. to 2s. 6d. It may be calculated,
then, that to realize the 10s. 6d., 15s. must
be taken. This shows the street expenditure
in "Nuts to Crack" and "Nut-crackers" to be
90l. yearly.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF COMIC EXHIBITIONS,
MAGICAL DELUSIONS, &c.

The street sale of "Comic Exhibitions" (pro-
perly so called) is, of course, as modern as the last
autumn and winter; and it is somewhat curi-
ous that the sale of any humorous, or meant to
be humorous sheet of engravings, is now be-
coming very generally known in the street sale
as a "Comic Exhibition." Among these — as I
have before intimated — are many caricatures of
the Pope, the Church of Rome, Cardinal Wise-
man, the Church of England, the Bishop of
London (or any bishop or dignitary), or of any
characteristic of the conflicting creeds. In many
of these, John Bull figures personally, and so
does the devil.

The Comic Exhibition (proper) is certainly a
very cheap pennyworth. No. 1 is entitled, "The
Ceremonial of the Opening of the Great Exhi-
bition, in 1851, with Illustrations of the Contri-
butions of All Nations." The "contributions,"
however, are reserved for Nos. 2 and 3. Two
larger "cuts," at the head of the broad-sheet,
may be considered geographical, as regards the
first, and allegorical as regards the second.
"Table Bay" presents a huge feeder (evi-
dently), and the "Cape of Good Hope" is a
spare man obsequiously bowing to the table and
its guest in good hope of a dinner. Of the
Sandwich Islands and of Hung(a)ry, the "exhi-
bition" is of the same description. The second
larger cut shows the Crystal Palace ascending
by the agency of a balloon, a host of people of
all countries looking on. Then comes the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 287.]

`Procession from Palace-yard to Hyde Park."
The first figure in this procession is described
as "Beefeaters piping hot and well puffed out,"
though there is but one beefeater, with head
larger than his body and legs ridiculously, small
(as have nearly all the sequent figures), smok-
ing a pipe as if it were a trombone, duly
followed by "Her Majesty's Spiritual Body-
guard" (five beefeaters, drunk), and by "Prince
Albert blowing his own trumpet" (from the
back of a very sorry steed), with "Mops and
brooms," and a "Cook-oo" (a housemaid and
cook) as his supporters. Then follow figures,
grotesque enough, of which the titles convey
the character: "A famous Well-in-Town;"
"Nae Peer-ye;" "Humorous Estimates"
(Mr. Hume); "A Jew-d' esprit" (Mr. D'Is-
raeli); "An exemplification of Cupidity in
Pummicestone" (Lord Palmerston); "Old
Geese" and "Young Ducks" (old and angry-
looking and young and pretty women); "Some
gentlemen who patronise Moses in the Mino-
ries" (certainly no credit to the skill of a tailor);
"A Jew Lion" (M. Jullien); "Fine high
screams" (ice-creams) and "Capers" (chorister
boys and ballet-girls); "Hey-day, you don't
take advantage here" (Joseph Ady); and
"Something to give the milk a head" (a man
with a horse's head on a tray). These, however,
are but a portion of the figures. The Comic
Exhibition-sheet contains ninety such figures,
independent of those in the two cuts mentioned
as headings.

"Galleries of Comicalities," or series of figures
sometimes satirically, sometimes grotesquely
given without any aim at satire, are also sold by
the same parties, and are often announced as a
"Threepenny gallery for a penny! — and dirt
cheap at threepence. As big as a newspaper."

Another broad-sheet sold this winter in the
streets is entitled, "Optical and Magical Delu-
sions," and was announced as "Dedicated to
and Prepared for his Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales — the only original copy." The en-
gravings are six in number, and are in three
rows, each accompanying engraving being re-
versed from its fellow: where the head is erect on
one side, it is downward on the other. The first
figure is a short length of a very plain woman,
while on the opposite side is that of a very plain
man, both pleased and smirking in accordance
with a line below: "O what joy when our lips
shall meet!" "Cat-a-gorical" is a spectacled
and hooded cat. "Dog-matical" is a dog with
the hat, wig, and cane once held proper to a
physician. "Cross purposes" is an austere
lady in a monster cap, while her opposite hus-
band is pointing bitterly to a long bill. The
purport of these figures is shown in the follow-
ing

Then there are the "Magical Figures," or
rude street imitations of Dr. Paris' ingenious
toy, called the "Thaumascope." Beside these
are what at the first glance appear mere black,
and very black, marks, defining no object; but
a closer examination shows the outlines of a
face, or of a face and figure. Of such there are
sometimes four on a broad-sheet, but they are
also sold separately, both in the streets and the
small stationers' shops. When the white or
black portion of the paper is cut away (for both
colours are so prepared), what remains, by a
disposition of the light, throws a huge shadow
of a grotesque figure on the wall, which may
be increased or diminished according to the
motions of the exhibitor. The shadow-figures
sold this winter by one of my informants were
of Mr. and Mrs. Manning, the Queen, Prince
Albert, the Princess Royal, and the Prince of
Wales; "but you see, sir," observed the man,
"the Queen and the Prince does for any father
and mother — for she hasn't her crown on — and
the Queen's kids for anybody's kids."

I mention these matters more particularly, as
it certainly shows something of a change in the
winter-evenings' amusements of the children of
the working-classes. The principal street cus-
tomers for these penny papers were mechanics,
who bought them on their way home for the
amusement of their families. Boys, however,
bought almost as many.

The sale of these papers is carried on by the
same men as I have described working conun-
drums. A superior patterer, of course, shows
that his magical delusions and magical figures
combine all the wonders of the magic lantern
and the dissolving views, "and all for one
penny." The trade is carried on only for a
short time in the winter as regards the magical
portion; and I am informed that, including the
"Comic Exhibitions," it extends to about half of
the sum taken for conundrums, or to about 45l.

OF THE STREET SELLERS OF PLAY-BILLS.

The sellers of play-bills carry on a trade which
is exceedingly uncertain, and is little remune-
rative. There are now rather more than 200
people selling play-bills in London, but the
number has sometimes been as high as 400.
"Yes, indeed," a theatrical gentleman said to
me, "and if a dozen more theatres were opened
to-morrow, why each would have more than its
twenty bill-sellers the very first night. Where
they come from, or what they are, I haven't a
notion."

The majority of the play-bill sellers are either
old or young, the sexes being about equally
engaged in this traffic. Some of them have
followed the business from their childhood. I
met with very few indeed who knew anything of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 288.]

theatres beyond the names of the managers and
of the principal performers, while some do not
even enjoy that small modicum of knowledge,
and some can neither read nor write. The boys
often run recklessly alongside the cabs which
are conveying persons to the theatre, and so offer
their bills for sale. One of these youths said to
me, when I spoke of the danger incurred, "The
cabman knows how to do it, sir, when I runs
and patters; and so does his hoss." An intel-
ligent cabman, however, who was in the habit
of driving parties to the Lyceum, told me that
these lads clung to his cab as he drove down to
Wellington-street in such a way, for they seemed
never to look before them, that he was in con-
stant fear lest they should be run over. Ladies
are often startled by a face appearing suddenly
at the cab window, "and thro' my glass," said
my informant, "a face would look dirtier than
it really is." And certainly a face gliding along
with the cab, as it were, no accompanying body
being visible, on a winter's night, while the sound
of the runner's footsteps is lost in the noise of
the cab, has much the effect of an apparition.

I did not hear of one person who had been in
any way connected with the stage, even as a
supernumerary, resorting to play-bill selling
when he could not earn a shilling within the walls
of a theatre. These bill-sellers, for the most
part, confine themselves, as far as I could ascer-
tain, to that particular trade. The youths say
that they sometimes get a job in errand-going
in the daytime, but the old men and women
generally aver they can do nothing else. An
officer, who, some years back, had been on duty
at a large theatre, told me that at that time the
women bill-sellers earned a trifle in running
errands for the women of the town who attended
the theatres; but, as they were not permitted to
send any communication into the interior of the
house, their earnings that way were insignificant,
for they could only send in messages by any
other "dress woman" entering the theatre sub-
sequently.

In the course of my inquiries last year, I met
with a lame woman of sixty-eight, who had been
selling play-bills for the last twelve years. She
had been, for six or eight months before she
adopted that trade, the widow of a poor mecha-
nic, a carpenter. She had first thought of resort-
ing to that means of a livelihood owing to a
neighbouring old woman having been obliged to
relinquish her post from sickness, when my
informant "succeeded her." In this way, she
said, many persons "succeeded" to the business,
as the recognised old hands were jealous of and
uncivil to any additional new comers, but did
not object to a "successor." These parties
generally know each other; they murmur if the
Haymarket hands, for instance, resort to the
Lyceum for any cause, or vice versâ, thus over-
stocking the business, but they offer no other
opposition. The old woman further informed me
that she commenced selling play-bills at Ast-
ley's, and then realized a profit of 4s. per week.
When the old Amphitheatre was burnt down,
she went to the Victoria; but "business was
not what it was," and her earnings were from
6d. to 1s. a week less; and this, she said, al-
though the Victoria was considered one of the
most profitable stations for the play-bill seller,
the box-keeper there seldom selling any bill in
the theatre. "The boxes," too, at this house,
more frequently buy them outside. Another
reason why "business" was better at the Vic-
toria than elsewhere was represented to me, by
a person familar with the theatres, to be this:
many go to the Victoria who cannot read, or who
can read but imperfectly, and they love to
"make-believe" they are "good scholards" by
parading the consulting of a play-bill!

On my visit the bill-sellers at the Victoria
were two old women (each a widow for many
years), two young men, besides two or three,
though there are sometimes as many as six or
seven children. The old women "fell into the
business" as successors by virtue of their pre-
decessors' leaving it on account of sickness. The
children were generally connected with the older
dealers. The young men had been in this busi-
ness from boyhood; some sticking to the practice
of their childhood unto manhood, or towards old
age. The number at the Victoria is now, I am
informed, two or three more, as the theatre is
often crowded. The old woman told me that
she had known two and even four visitors to the
theatre club for the purchase of a bill, and then
she had sometimes to get farthings for them.

A young fellow — who said he believed he was
only eighteen, but certainly looked older — told
me that he was in the habit of selling play-bills,
but not regularly, as he sometimes had a job in
carrying a board, or delivering bills at a corner,
"or the likes o' that;" — he favoured me with
his opinion of the merits of the theatres he was
practically acquainted with as regarded their
construction for the purposes of the bill-seller.
His mother, who had been dead a few years, had
sold bills, and had put him into the business.
His ambition seemed to be to become a general
bill-sticker. He could not write but could read
very imperfectly.

"Vy, you see, sir," he said, "there's sets off.
At the Market (Haymarket), now, there's this:
there's only one front, so you may look sharp
about for there goes, boxes, pit, and gallery.
The 'Delphis as good that way, and so is the
Surrey, but them one's crowded too much.
The Lyceum's built shocking orkered. Vy,
the boxes is in one street, and the pit in an-
other, and the gallery in another! It's true,
sir. The pit's the best customer in most
theatres, I think. Ashley's and the Wick is both
spoiled that way — Ashley's perticler — as the
gallery's a good step from the pit and boxes;
at the Wick it's round the corner. But the
shilling gallery aint so bad at Ashley's. Sad-
ler's Wells I never tried, it's out of the way,
and I can't tell you much about the 'Lympic
or the Strand. The Lane is middling. I don't
know that either plays or actors makes much
difference to me. Perhaps it's rather vorser

[Description: 915EAF. Page 289.]

ven it's anything werry prime, as everybody
seems to know every think about it aforehand.
No, sir, I can't say, sir, that Mr. Macready did
me much good. I sometimes runs along by a
cab because I've got a sixpence from a swell
for doing it stunnin', but werry seldom, and I
don't much like it; though ven you're at it you
don't think of no fear. I makes 3s. or rather
more a week at bill-selling, and as much other
vays. I never saw a play but once at the Wick.
I'd rather be at a Free and Heasy. I don't
know as I knows any of the actors or actresses,
either hes or shes."

The sellers of play-bills purchase their stock
of the printer, at 3s. 4d. the hundred, or in
that proportion for half or quarter-hundreds.
If a smaller quantity be purchased, the charge
is usually thirteen for 6d.; though they used to
be only twelve for 6d. These sellers are among
the poorest of the poor; after they have had one
meal, they do not know how to get another.
They reside in the lowest localities, and some
few are abandoned and profligate in character.
They reckon it a good night to earn 1s. clear,
but upon an average they clear but 3s. per week.
They lose sometimes by not selling out their
nightly stock. What they have left, they are
obliged to sell for waste-paper at 2d. per 1b.
Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide are gene-
rally their best times — they will then make 9d. per night clear. The printer of the play-bills
prints but a certain number, the demand being
nearly ascertained week by week. These
are all sold (by the printer or some person
appointed) to the regular customers, in prefer-
ence to others, but the "irregulars" can get sup-
plied, though often not without trouble. The
profit on all sold is rather more than cent. per
cent. As I have intimated, when some theatres
are closed, the bill-sellers are driven to others;
and as the demand is necessarily limited,
a superflux of sellers affects the profits, and
then 2s. 6d. is considered a good week's work.
During the opera season, I am told, a few me-
chanics, out of work, will sell bills there and
books of the opera, making about 6s. a week,
and doing better than the regular hands, as they
have a better address and are better clad.

Taking the profits at 3s. a week at cent. per
cent. on the outlay, and reckoning 200 sellers,
including those at the saloons, concert-rooms,
&c., we find that 60l. is now expended weekly
on play-bills purchased in the streets of London.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF PERIODICALS,
PAMPHLETS, TRACTS, BOOKS, ETC.

These street-sellers are a numerous body, and
the majority of them show a greater degree of
industry and energy than is common to many
classes of street-folk. They have been for the
most part connected with the paper, newspaper,
or publishing trade, and some of them have
"known better days." One intelligent man I
met with, a dealer in "waste" (paper), had
been brought up as a compositor, but late hours
and glaring gas-lights in the printing-office
affected his eyes, he told me; and as a half-blind
compositor was about of as little value, he
thought, as a "horse with a wooden leg," he
abandoned his calling for out-of-door labour.
Another had been a gun-smith, and when out
of his apprenticeship was considered a "don
hand at hair triggers, for hair triggers were more
wanted then," but an injury to his right hand
and arm had disabled him as a mechanic, and
he had recourse to the streets. A third had
been an ink-maker's "young man," and had
got to like the streets by calling for orders, and
delivering bottles of ink, at the shops of the
small stationers and chandlers, and so he had
taken to them for a living. Of the book-stall-
keepers I heard of one man who had died a
short time before, and who "once had been in
the habit of buying better books for his own
pleasure than he had afterwards to sell for his
bread." Of the book-stall proprietors, I have
afterwards spoken more fully.

All the street-sellers in question are what
street estimation pronounces to be educated
men; they can all, as far as I could ascertain,
read and write, and some of them were "keen-
ish politicians, both free-traders, and against
free-trade when they was a-talking of the better
days when they was young." Nearly all are
married men with families.

The divisions into which these street traf-
fickers may be formed are — Odd Number-
sellers — Steamboat Newsvendors — Railway
Newsvendors, (though the latter is now hardly a
street traffic), — the Sellers of Second Editions
(which I have already given as a portion of the
patterers) — Board-workers (also previously de-
scribed, and for the same reason) — Tract-sellers
(of whom I have given the number, character,
&c., and who are regarded by the other street-
sellers as the idlers, beggars, and pretenders of
the trade), — the Sellers of Childrens' Books and
Song Books — Book-auctioneers, and Book-stall-
keepers.

OF THE STREET-SALE OF BACK NUMBERS.

This trade is carried on by the same class of
patterers as work race-cards, second editions, &c.
The collectors of waste-paper frequently find
back numbers of periodicals in "a lot" they
may have purchased at a coffee-shop. These
they sell to warehousemen who serve the street-
sellers. The largest lot ever sold at one time
was some six or seven years ago, of the Pictorial
Times, at least a ton weight. A dealer states —

"I lost the use of this arm ever since I was
three months old. My mother died when I
was ten years of age, and after that my father
took up with an Irishwoman, and turned me
and my youngest sister (she was two years
younger than me) out into the streets. My
youngest sister got employment at my father's
trade, but I couldn't get no work because of
my crippled arm. I walked about, till I fell
down in the streets for want. At last, a man,
who had a sweetmeat-shop, took pity on me.
His wife made the sweetmeats, and minded

[Description: 915EAF. Page 290.]

the shop while he went out a juggling in the
streets, in the Ramo Samee line. He told me
as how, if I would go round the country with
him and sell a few prints while he was a jug-
gling in the public-houses, he'd find me in
wittles, and pay my lodging. I joined him,
and stopped with him two or three year.
After that I went to work for a werry
large waste -paper dealer. He used to buy
up all the old back numbers of the cheap
periodicals and penny publications, and send
me out with them to sell at a farden' a piece.
He used to give me 4d. out of every shilling,
and I done very well with that, till the periodi-
cals came so low, and so many on 'em, that they
wouldn't sell at all. Sometimes I could make
15s. on a Saturday night and a Sunday morn-
ing, a-selling the odd numbers of periodicals, —
such as tales; `Tales of the Wars,' `Lives of the
Pirates,' `Lives of the Highwaymen,' &c. I've
often sold as many as 2,000 numbers on a
Saturday night in the New-cut, and the most
of them was works about thieves, and highway-
men, and pirates. Besides me, there was three
others at the same business. Altogether, I dare
say my master alone used to get rid of 10,000
copies of such works on a Saturday night and a
Sunday morning. Our principal customers was
young men. My master made a good bit of
money at it. He had been about eighteen
years in the business, and had begun with 2s. 6d.
I was with him fifteen year, on and off, and at
the best time. I used to earn my 30s. a week
full at that time. But then I was foolish, and
didn't take care of my money. When I was at
the `odd number business,' I bought a peep-
show, and left the trade to go into that line."

OF THE SALE OF WASTE NEWSPAPERS AT
BILLINGSGATE.

This trade is so far peculiar that it is confined
to Billingsgate, as in that market alone the
demand supplies a livelihood to the man who
carries it on. His principal sale is of news-
papers to the street-fishmongers, as a large sur-
face of paper is required for the purposes of a
fish-stall. The "waste" trade — for "waste"
and not "waste-paper" is the word always ap-
plied — is not carried on with such facility as
might be expected, for I was assured that
"waste" is so scarce that only a very insuffi-
cient supply of paper can at present be ob-
tained. "I hope things will change soon, sir,"
said one collector, gravely to me, "or I shall
hardly be able to keep myself and my family on
my waste."

This difficulty, however, does not affect such
a street-seller as the man at Billingsgate, who
buys of the collectors — "collecting," however,
a portion himself at the neighbouring coffee-
shops, public-houses, &c.; for the wants of a
regular customer must, by some means or other,
be supplied.

The Billingsgate paper-seller carries his paper
round, offering it to his customers, or to those he
wishes to make purchasers; some fishmongers,
however, obtain their "waste" first-hand from
the collectors, or buy it at a news-agent's.

The retail price varies from 2d. to 3½d. the
pound, but 3½d. is only given for "very clean
and prime, and perhaps uncut," newspapers;
for when a newsvendor has, as it is called,
"over-stocked" himself, he sells the uncut
papers at last to the collector, or the "waste" con-
sumer. This happens, I was told, twenty times
as often with the "weeklys" as the "dailys;"
for, said my informant, "suppose it's a wet Sun-
day morning — and all newsvendors as does pray,
prays for wet Sundays, because then people
stays at home and buys a paper, or some
number, to read and pass away the time. Well,
sir, suppose it's a soaker in the morning, the
newsman buys a good lot, an extra nine, or two
extra nines, or the like of that, and then may
be, after all, it comes out a fine day, and so he's
over-stocked; in which case there's some for
the waste."

When they consider it a favourable oppor-
tunity, the workers carry waste to offer to the
Billingsgate salesmen; but the chief trade is
in the hands of the regular frequenter of the
market.

From the best information I could obtain, it
appears that from 70 to 100 pounds weight of
"waste" — about three-fourths being newspapers,
of which some are foreign — is supplied to Bil-
lingsgate market and its visitants. Two num-
bers of the Times, with their supplements, one
paper-buyer told me, "when cleverly damped,
and they're never particularly dry," will weigh
about a pound. The average price is not less
than 2½d. a pound, or from that to 3d. A single
paper is 1d. At 2½d. per pound, and 85 pounds
a day, upwards of 275l. is spent yearly in waste
paper at Billingsgate, in the street or open-air
purchase alone.

OF THE SALE OF PERIODICALS ON THE STEAM-
BOATS AND STEAM-BOAT PIERS.

In this traffic are engaged about 20 men,
"when the days are light until eight o'clock;"
from 10 to 15, if the winter be a hard winter;
and if the river steamers are unable to run —
none at all. This winter, however, there has
been no cessation in the running of the "boats,"
except on a few foggy days. The steam-boat
paper-sellers are generally traders on their own
account (all, I believe, have been connected
with the newsvendors' trade); some few are the
servants of newsvendors, sent out to deal at
the wharfs and on board the boats.

The trade is not so remunerative that any
payment is made to the proprietors of the boats
or wharfs for the privilege of selling papers
there (as in the case of the railways), but it is
necessary to "obtain leave," from those who
have authority to give it.

The steam-boat paper-seller steps on board a
few minutes before the boat starts, when there
are a sufficient number of voyagers assembled.
He traverses the deck and dives into the cabins,
offering his "papers," the titles of which he

[Description: 915EAF. Page 291.]

announces: "Punch, penny Punch, real Punch,
last number for 3d. — comic sheets, a penny —
all the London periodicals — Guide to the
Thames."

From one of these frequenters of steam-boats
for the purposes of his business, I had the
following account:

"I was a news-agent's boy, sir, near a pier,
for three or four year, then I got a start for
myself, and now I serve a pier. It's not such
a trade as you might think, still it's bread and
cheese and a drop of beer. I go on board to
sell my papers. It's seldom I sell a news-
paper; there's no call for it on the river, ex-
cept at the foreign-going ships — a few as is
sold to them — but I don't serve none on 'em.
People reads the news for nothing at the cof-
fee-shops when they breakfasts, I s'pose, and
goes on as if they took in the Times, Chron, and
'Tiser — pubs. we calls the 'Tiser — all to their
own cheek. It's penny works I sell the most
of; indeed, it's very seldom I offer anything
else, 'cause it's little use. Penny Punches is
fair sale, and I calls it `Punch' — just Punch.
It's dead now, I believe, but there's old num-
bers; still they'll be done in time. The real
Punch — I sell from six to twelve a week — I
call that there as the reel Punch. Galleries
of Comicalities is a middling sale; people
take them home with them, I think. Guides to
the Thames is good in summer. They're illus-
trated; but people sometimes grumbles and
calls them catchpennies. It ain't my fault if
they're not all that's expected, but people ex-
pects everything for 1d. Joe Millers and 'Sto-
phelees" (Mephistopheles) "I've sold, and said
they was oppositions to Punch; that's a year or
more back, but they was old, and to be had
cheap. I sell Lloyd's and Reynolds's pennies
— fairish, both of them; so's the Family He-
rald and the London Journal — very fair. I
don't venture on any three-halfpenny books on
anything like a spec., acause people says at
once: `A penny — I'll give you a penny.' I
sell seven out of eight of what I do sell
to gents.; more than that, perhaps; for you'll
not often see a woman buy nothing wots in-
tended to improve her mind. A young woman,
like a maid of all work, buys sometimes
and looks hard at the paper; but I some-
times thinks it's to show she can read. A
summer Sunday's my best time, out and out.
There's new faces then, and one goes on bolder.
I've known young gents. buy, just to offer to
young women, I'm pretty well satisfied. It's a
introduction. I have met with real gentlemen.
They've looked over all I offered for sale and
then said: `Nothing I want, my good fellow,
but here's a penny for your trouble.' I wish
there was more of them. I do sincerely.
Sometimes I've gone on board and not sold one
paper. I buy in the regular way, 9d. for a dozen
(sometimes thirteen to the dozen) of penny
pubs. I don't know what I make, for I keep
no count; perhaps a sov. in a good week and a
half in another."

I am informed that the average earnings of
these traders, altogether, may be taken at 15s. weekly; calculating that twelve carry on the
trade the year through, we find that (assuming
each man to sell at thirty-three per cent. pro-
fit — though in the case of old works it will be
cent. per cent.) upwards of 1,500l. are ex-
pended annually in steam-boat papers.

OF THE SALE OF NEWSPAPERS, BOOKS, &c.,
AT THE RAILWAY STATIONS.

Although the sale of newspapers at the rail-
way termini, &c., cannot strictly be classed as
a street-sale, it is so far an open-air traffic as
to require some brief notice, and it has now
become a trade of no small importance.

The privilege of selling to railway-passengers,
within the precincts of the terminus, is disposed
of by tender. At present the newsvendor on the
North-Western Line, I am informed, pays to
the company, for the right of sale at the Euston-
square terminus, and the provincial stations, as
large a sum as 1,700l. per annum. The amount
usually given is of course in proportion to the
number of stations, and the traffic of the rail-
way.

The purchaser of this exclusive privilege
sends his own servants to sell the newspapers and
books, which he supplies to them in the quantity
required. The men thus engaged are paid from
20s. to 30s. a week, and the boys receive from
6s. to 10s. 6d. weekly, but rarely 10s. 6d.

All the morning and evening papers are sold
at the Station, but of the weekly press, those are
sent for sale which in the manager's judgment
are likely to sell, or which his agent informs
him are "asked for." It is the same with the
weekly unstamped publications. The reason
seems obvious; if there be more than can be
sold, a dead loss is incurred, for the surplusage,
as regards newspapers, is only saleable as waste
paper.

The books sold at railways are nearly all of
the class best known as "light reading," or
what some account light reading. The price
does not often exceed 1s.; and among the books
offered for sale in these places are novels in
one volume, published at 1s. — sometimes in two
volumes, at 1s. each; "monthly parts" of works
issued in weekly numbers; shilling books of
poetry; but rarely political or controversial
pamphlets. One man, who understood this
trade, told me that "a few of the pamphlets
about the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman sold at
first; but in a month or six weeks, people began
to say, `A shilling for that! I'm sick of the
thing.' "

The large sum given for the privilege of an
exclusive sale, shows that the number of books
and papers sold at railway stations must be very
considerable. But it must be borne in mind,
that the price, and consequently the profit on
the daily newspapers, sold at the railways, is
greater than elsewhere. None are charged less
than 6d., the regular price at a news-agent's
shop being 5d., so that as the cost price is 4d.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 292.]

the profit is double. Nor is it unusual for a
passenger by an early train, who grows impa-
tient for his paper, to cry out, "A shilling for
the Times!" This, however, is only the case,
I am told, with those who start very early in
the morning; for the daily papers are obtained
for the railway stations from among the earliest
impressions, and can be had at the accustomed
price as early as six o'clock, although, if there
be exciting news and a great demand, a larger
amount may be given.

OF THE STREET BOOKSELLERS.

The course of my inquiry now leads me to
consider one of the oldest, and certainly not
least important of the street traffics — that of
the book-stalls. Of these there are now about
twenty in the London streets, but in this
number I include only those which are properly street-stalls. Many book-stalls, as in such a
locality as the London-road, are appendages to
shops, being merely a display of wares outside
the bookseller's premises; and with these I do
not now intend to deal.

The men in this trade I found generally to be
intelligent. They have been, for the most part,
engaged in some minor department of the book-
selling or newspaper trade, in the regular way,
and are unconnected with the street-sellers in
other lines, of whose pursuits, habits, and
characters, they seem to know nothing.

The street book-stalls are most frequent in
the thoroughfares which are well-frequented,
but which, as one man in the trade expressed
himself, are not so "shoppy" as others — such
as the City-road, the New-road, and the Old
Kent-road. "If there's what you might call
a recess," observed another street book-stall-
keeper, "that's the place for us; and you'll
often see us along with flower-stands and
pinners-up." The stalls themselves do not
present any very smart appearance; they are
usually of plain deal. If the stock of books
be sufficiently ample, they are disposed on the
surface of the stall, "fronts up," as I heard it
described, with the titles, when lettered on the
back, like as they are presented in a library. If
the "front" be unlettered, as is often the case
with the older books, a piece of paper is
attached, and on it is inscribed the title and
the price. Sometimes the description is ex-
ceeding curt, as, "Poetry," "French," "Re-
ligious," "Latin" (I saw an odd volume, in
Spanish, of Don Quixote, marked "Latin," but
it was at a shop-seller's stall,) "Pamphlets,"
and such like; or where it seems to have been
thought necessary to give a somewhat fuller
appellation, such titles are written out as
"Locke's Understanding," "Watts's Mind," or
"Pope's Rape." If the stock be rather scant,
the side of the book is then shown, and is either
covered with white paper, on which the title
and price are written, or "brushed," or else a
piece of paper is attached, with the necessary
announcement.

Sometimes these announcements are striking
enough, as where a number of works of the
same size have been bound together (which
used to be the case, I am told, more frequently
than it is now); or where there has been a series
of stories in one volume. One such announce-
ment was, "Smollett's Peregrine Pickle Captain
Kyd Pirate Prairie Rob of the Bowl Bamfyeld
Moore Carew 2s." Alongside this miscella-
neous volume was, "Wilberforce's Practical
View of Christianity, 1s.;" "Fenelon's Aven-
tures de Télémaque, plates, 9d.;" "Arres, de
Predestinatione, 1s." (the last-mentioned work,
which, at the first glance, seems as if it were
an odd mixture of French and Latin, was a
Latin quarto); "Coronis ad Collationem Ha-
giensem, &c. &c., Gulielmo Amesio." Another
work, on another stall, had the following de-
scription: "Lord Mount Edgecumbe's Opera
What is Currency Watts's Scripture History
Thoughts on Taxation only 1s. 3d." Another
was, "Knickerbocker Bacon 1s." As a rule,
however, the correctness with which the work
is described is rather remarkable.

At some few of the street-stalls, and at many
of the shop-stalls, are boxes, containing works
marked, "All 1d.," or 2d., 3d., or 4d. Among
these are old Court-Guides, Parliamentary Com-
panions, Railway Plans, and a variety of ser-
mons, and theological, as well as educational
and political pamphlets. To show the charac-
ter of the publications thus offered — not, per-
haps, as a rule, but generally enough, for sale —
I copied down the titles of some at 1d. and 2d.

"All these at 1d. — `Letters to the Right
Honourable Lord John Russell, on State Edu-
cation, by Edward Baines, jun.;' `A Pastoral
Letter to the Clergy and Members of the Pro-
testant Episcopal Church in the United States
of America;' `A Letter to the Protestant Dis-
senters of England and Wales, by the Rev.
Robert Ainslie;' `Friendly Advice to Con-
servatives;' `Elementary Thoughts on the
Principles of Currency and Wealth, and on
the Means of Diminishing the Burthens of
the People, by J. D. Basset, Esq., price 2s. 6d.' "
The others were each published at 1s.

"All these at 2d. — `Poems, by Eleanor Tat-
lock, 1811, 2 vols., 9s.;' `Two Sermons, on the
Fall and Final Restoration of the Jews, by the
Rev. John Stuart;' `Thoughts and Feelings,
by Arthur Brooke, 1820;' `The Amours of
Philander and Sylvia, being the third and last
part of Love-letters between a Nobleman and
his Sister. Volume the Second. The Seventh
Edition. London.' "

From a cursory examination of the last-men-
tioned twopenny volume, I could see nothing of
the nobleman or his sister. It is one of an inane
class of books, originated, I believe, in the latter
part of the reign of Charles II. Such publica-
tions professed to be (and some few were) records
of the court and city scandal of the day, but in
general they were works founded on the reputa-
tion of the current scandal. In short, to adopt
the language of patterers, they were "cocks"
issued by the publishers of that period; and

[Description: 915EAF. Page 293.]

they continued to be published until the middle
of the eighteenth century, or a little later. I
notice this description of literature the more,
particularly as it is still frequently to be met
with in street-sale. "There's oft enough," one
street-bookseller said to me, "works of that sort
making up a `lot' at a sale, and in very respect-
able rooms. As if they were make-weights, or
to make up a sufficient number of books, and so
they keep their hold in the streets."

As many of my readers may have little, if
any, knowledge of this class of street-sold works,
I cite a portion of the "epistle dedicatory,"
and a specimen of the style, of "Philander and
Sylvia," to show the change in street, as well
as in general literature, as no such works are
now published:

The last sentence is very long, so that a
shorter extract may serve as a specimen of the
staple of this book-making:

Having thus described what may be consi-
dered the divisional parts of this stall trade, I
proceed to the more general character of the
class of books sold.

OF THE CHARACTER OF BOOKS OF THE
STREET-SALE.

There has been a change, and in some re-
spects a considerable change, in the character
or class of books sold at the street-stalls, within
the last 40 or 50 years, as I have ascertained
from the most experienced men in the trade.
Now sermons, or rather the works of the old
divines, are rarely seen at these stalls, or if
seen, are rarely purchased. Black-letter edi-
tions are very unfrequent at street book-stalls,
and it is twenty times more difficult, I am
assured, for street-sellers to pick up anything
really rare and curious, than it was in the early
part of the century.

One reason assigned for this change by an
intelligent street-seller was, that black-letter or
any ancient works, were almost all purchased
by the second-hand booksellers, who have shops
and issue catalogues, as they had a prompt sale
for them whenever they could pick them up
at book-auctions or elsewhere. "Ay, indeed,"
said another book-stall keeper, "anything scarce
or curious, when it's an old book, is kept out of
the streets; if it's not particular decent, sir,"
(with a grin), "why it's reckoned all the more
curious, — that's the word, sir, I know, —
`curious.' I can tell how many beans make
five as well as you or anybody. Why, now,
there's a second-hand bookseller not a hun-
dred miles from Holborn — and a pleasant, nice
man he is, and does a respectable business —
and he puts to the end of his catalogue — they
all have catalogues that's in a good way — two
pages that he calls `Facetiæ.' They're titles
and prices of queer old books in all languages —
indecent books, indeed. He sends his catalogues
to a many clergymen and learned people; and
to any that he thinks wouldn't much admire
seeing his `Facetiæ,' he pulls the last leaf out,
and sends his catalogue, looking finished without
it. Those last two pages aren't at all the worst
part of his trade among buyers that's worth
money."

In one respect a characteristic of this trade
is unaltered; I allude to the prevalence of
"odd volumes" at the cheaper stalls, — not the
odd volumes of a novel, but more frequently of
one of the essayists — the "Spectator" especially.
One stall-keeper told me, that if he purchased
an old edition of the "Spectator," in eight vols.,
he could more readily sell it in single volumes,
at 4d. each, than sell the eight vols. altogether
for 2s., or even 1s. 4d., though this was but 2d. a volume.

"There's nothing in my trade," said one
street-bookseller with whom I conversed on the
subject, "that sells better, or indeed so well, as
English classics. I can't offer to draw fine
distinctions, and I'm just speaking of my own
plain way of trade; but I call English clas-
sics such works as the `Spectator,' `Tatler,'
`Guardian,' `Adventurer,' `Rambler,' `Ra-
sellas,' `The Vicar of Wakefield,' `Pere.
grine Pickle,' `Tom Jones, `Goldsmith's His-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 294.]

tories of Greece, Rome, and England' (they
all sell quick), `Enfield's Speaker,' `mixed
plays,' the `Sentimental Journey,' no, sir,
`Tristram Shandy,' rather hangs on hand, the
`Pilgrim's Progress' (but it must be sold very low), `Robinson Crusoe,' `Philip Quarles,'
`Telemachus,' `Gil Blas,' and `Junius's Letters.'
I don't remember more at this moment, such
as are of good sale. I haven't included poetry,
because I'm speaking of English classics, and
of course they must be oldish works to be
classics."

Concerning the street sale of poetical works
I learned from street book-sellers, that their
readiest sale was of volumes of Shakespeare,
Pope, Thomson, Goldsmith, Cowper, Burns,
Byron, and Scott. "You must recollect, sir,"
said one dealer, "that in nearly all those poets
there's a double chance for sale at book-stalls.
For what with old editions, and new and cheap
editions, there's always plenty in the market,
and very low. No, I can't say I could sell
Milton as quickly as any of those mentioned,
nor `Hudibras,' nor `Young's Night Thoughts,'
nor Prior, nor Dryden, nor `Gay's Fables.'
It's seldom that we have any works of Hood,
or Shelley, or Coleridge, or Wordsworth, or
Moore at street stalls — you don't often see them,
I think, at booksellers' stalls — for they're soon
picked up. Poetry sells very fair, take it
altogether."

Another dealer told me that from twenty to
thirty years ago there were at the street-stalls
a class of works rarely seen now. He had
known them in all parts and had disposed of
them in his own way of business. He specified
the "Messiah" (Klopstock's) as of this class,
the "Death of Abel," the "Castle of Otranto"
("but that's seen occasionally still," he ob-
served), the "Old English Baron" ("and that's
seen still too, but nothing to what it were once"),
the "Young Man's Best Companion" "Zim-
merman on Solitude," and "Burke on the Sub-
lime and Beautiful" ("but I have that yet
sometimes.") These works were of heavy sale
in the streets, and my informant thought they
had been thrown into the street-trade because
the publishers had not found them saleable in
the regular way. "I was dead sick of the
`Death of Abel,' " observed the man, "before
I could get out of him." Occasionally are to
be seen at most of the stalls, works of which
the majority of readers have heard, but may not
have met with. Among such I saw "Laura,"
by Capel Lloftt, 4 vols. 1s. 6d. "Darwin's
Botanic Garden," 2s. "Alfred, an Epic Poem,"
by H. J. Pye, Poet Laureate, 10d. "Cœlebs
in search of a Wife," 2 vols. in one, 1s.

The same informant told me that he had
lived near an old man who died twenty-five
years ago, or it might be more, with whom he
was somewhat intimate. This old man had
been all his life familiar with the street trade
in books, which he had often hawked — a trade
now almost unknown; his neighbour had heard
him say that fifty to seventy years ago, he
made his two guineas a week "without dis-
tressing hisself," meaning, I was told, that he
was drinking every Monday at least. This
old man used to tell that in his day, the
"Whole Duty of Man," and the "Tale of a
Tub," and "Pomfret's Poems," and "Pamela,"
and "Sir Charles Grandison" went off well, but
"Pamela" the best. "And I've heard the old
man say, sir," I was further told, "how he
had to tread his shoes straight about what books
he showed publicly. He sold `Tom Paine' on
the sly. If anybody bought a book and would
pay a good price for it, three times as much as
was marked, he'd give the `Age of Reason' in.
I never see it now, but I don't suppose any-
body would interfere if it was offered. A sly
trade's always the best for paying, and for
selling too. The old fellow used to laugh and
say his stall was quite a godly stall, and he
wasn't often without a copy or two of the
`Anti-Jacobin Review,' which was all forChurch
and State and all that, though he had `Tom
Paine' in a drawer."

The books sold at the street-stalls are pur-
chased by the retailers either at the auctions
of the regular trade, or at "chance," or general
auctions, or of the Jews or others who may
have bought books cheap under such cir-
cumstances. Often, however, the stall-keeper
has a market peculiarly his own. It is not
uncommon for working men or tradesmen, if
they become "beaten-down and poor" to carry
a basket-full of books to a stall-keeper, and
say, "Here, give me half-a-crown for these."
One man had forty parts, each issued at 1s., of a Bible, offered to him at 1d. a part, by a
mechanic who could not any longer afford to
"take them in," and was at last obliged to
sell off what he had. Of course such things
are nearly valueless when imperfect. Very few
works are bought for street-stall sale of the
regular booksellers.

OF THE EXPERIENCE OF A STREET BOOK-
SELLER.

I now give a statement, furnished to me by an
experienced man, as to the nature of his trade,
and the class of his customers. Most readers
will remember having seen an account in the
life of some poor scholar, having read — and oc-
casionally, in spite of the remonstrances of
the stall-keeper — some work which he was too
needy to purchase, and even of his having read
it through at intervals. That something of this
kind is still to be met with will be found from
the following account:

"My customers, sir, are of all sorts," my
informant said. "They're gentlemen on their
way from the City, that have to pass along
here by the City-road. Bankers' clerks, very
likely, or insurance-office clerks, or such like.
They're customers, but they often screw
me. Why only last month a gentleman I know
very well by sight, and I see him pass in his
brougham in bad weather, took up an old Latin
book — if I remember right it was an odd volume

[Description: 915EAF. Page 295.]

of a French edition of Horace — and though it
was marked only 8d., it was long before he
would consent to give more than 6d. And I
should never have got my price if I hadn't heard
him say quite hastily, when he took up the book,
`The very thing I've long been looking for!'
Mechanics are capital customers for scientific or
trade books, such as suit their business; and so
they often are for geography and history, and
some for poetry; but they're not so screwy. I
know a many such who are rare ones for search-
ing into knowledge. Women buy very little of
me in comparison to men; sometimes an odd
novel, in one volume, when its cheap, such as
`The Pilot,' or `The Spy,' or `The Farmer of
Inglewood Forest,' or `The Monk.' No doubt
some buy `The Monk,' not knowing exactly what
sort of a book it is, but just because it's a ro-
mance; but some young men buy it, I know,
because they have learned what sort it's like.
Old three vol. novels won't sell at all, if they're
ever so cheap. Boys very seldom buy of me,
unless it's a work about pigeons, or something
that way.

"I can't say that odd vols. of Annual Regis-
ters are anything but a bad sale, but odd vols.
of old Mags. (magazines), a year or half-year
bound together, are capital. Old London Mags.,
or Ladies', or Oxford and Cambridges, or Town
and Countrys, or Universals, or Monthly Re-
views, or Humourists, or Ramblers, or Europe-
ans, or any of any sort, that's from 40 to 100
years old, no matter what they are, go off rapidly
at from 1s. 6d. to 3s. 6d. each, according to size,
and binding, and condition. Odd numbers of
Mags. are good for little at a stall. The old Mags.
in vols. are a sort of reading a great many
are very fond of. Lives of the Princess Char-
lotte are a ready penny enough. So are Queen
Carolines, but not so good. Dictionaries of all
kinds are nearly as selling as the old Mags.,
and so are good Latin books. French are only
middling; not so well as you might think."

My informant then gave me a similar account
to what I had previously received concerning
English classics, and proceeded: "Old religious
books, they're a fair trade enough, but they're
not so plentiful on the stalls now, and if they're
black-letter they don't find their way from the
auctions or anywhere to any places but the shops
or to private purchasers. Mrs. Rowe's `Know-
ledge of the Heart' goes off, if old. Bibles, and
Prayer-books, and Hymn-books, are very bad."
[This may be accounted for by the cheapness
of these publications, when new, and by the
facilities afforded to obtain them gratuitously.]
"Annuals are dull in going off; very much so,
though one might expect different. I can hardly
sell `Keepsakes' at all. Children's books, such
as are out one year at 2s. 6d. apiece, very nicely
got up, sell finely next year at the stalls for
from 6d. to 10d. Genteel people buy them of
us for presents at holiday times. They'll give
an extra penny quite cheerfully if there's `Price
2s. 6d.' or `Price 3s. 6d.' lettered on the back
or part of the title-page. School-books in good
condition don't stay long on hand, especially
Pinnock's. There's not a few people who
stand and read and read for half an hour or
an hour at a time. It's very trying to the
temper when they take up room that way, and
prevent others seeing the works, and never lay
out a penny theirselves. But they seem quite
lost in a book. Well, I'm sure I don't know
what they are. Some seem very poor, judging
by their dress, and some seem shabby genteels.
I can't help telling them, when I see them
going, that I'm much obliged, and I hope that
perhaps next time they'll manage to say `thank
ye,' for they don't open their lips once in twenty
times. I know a man in the trade that goes
dancing mad when he has customers of this
sort, who aren't customers. I dare say, one day
with another, I earn 3s. the year through; wet
days are greatly against us, for if we have a
cover people won't stop to look at a stall. Per-
haps the rest of my trade earn the same." This
man told me that he was not unfrequently asked,
and by respectable people, for indecent works,
but he recommended them to go to Holywell-
street themselves. He believed that some of
his fellow-traders did supply such works, but
to no great extent.

An elderly man, who had known the street
book-trade for many years, but was not con-
cerned in it when I saw him, told me that he
was satisfied he had sold old books, old plays
often, to Charles Lamb, whom he described as
a stuttering man, who, when a book suited him,
sometimes laid down the price, and smiled and
nodded, and then walked away with it in his
pocket or under his arm, without a word having
been exchanged. When we came to speak of
dates, I found that my informant — who had only
conjectured that this was Lamb — was unques-
tionably mistaken. One of the best customers
he ever had for anything old or curious, and in
Italian, if he remembered rightly, as well as
in English, was the late Rev. Mr. Scott, who
was chaplain on board the Victory, at the time
of Nelson's death at Trafalgar. "He had a
living in Yorkshire, I believe it was," said the
man, "and used to come up every now and then
to town. I was always glad to see his white
head and rosy face, and to have a little talk with
him about books and trade, though it wasn't
always easy to catch what he said, for he spoke
quick, and not very distinct. But he was a
pleasant old gentleman, and talked to a poor
man as politely as he might to an admiral. He
was very well known in my trade, as I was then
employed."

The same man once sold to a gentleman, he
told me, and he believed it was somewhere about
twenty-five years ago, if not more, a Spanish or
Portuguese work, but what it was he did not
know. It was marked 1s. 9d., being a good-
sized book, but the stall-keeper was tired of
having had it a long time, so that he gladly
would have taken 9d. for it. The gentleman in
question handed him half-a-crown, and, as he
had not the change, the purchaser said: "O,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 296.]

don't mind; it's worth far more than half-a-
crown to me." When this liberal customer had
walked away, a gentleman who had been stand-
ing at the stall all the time, and who was an
occasional buyer, said, "Do you know him?"
and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he
rejoined, "That's Southey."

Another stall-keeper told me that his cus-
tomers — some of whom he supplied with any
periodical in the same way as a newsvendor —
had now and then asked him, especially "the
ladies of the family," who glanced, when they
passed, at the contents of his stall, why he had
not newer works? "I tell them," said the
stall-keeper, "that they haven't become cheap
enough yet for the streets, but that they would
come to it in time." After some conversation
about his trade, which only confirmed the state-
ments I have given, he said laughingly, "Yes,
indeed, you all come to such as me at last.
Why, last night I heard a song about all the
stateliest buildings coming to the ivy, and I
thought, as I listened, it was the same with
authors. The best that the best can do is the
book-stall's food at last. And no harm, for he's
in the best of company, with Shakespeare, and
all the great people."

Calculating 15s. weekly as the average earn-
ings of the street book-stall keepers — for further
information induces me to think that the street
bookseller who earned 18s. a week regularly,
cleared it by having a "tidy pitch" — and reckon-
ing that, to clear such an amount, the book-
seller takes, at least, 1l. 11s. 6d. weekly, we find
5,460 guineas yearly expended in the purchase
of books at the purely street-stalls, indepen-
dently of what is laid out at the open-air stalls
connected with book-shops.

OF STREET BOOK-AUCTIONEERS.

The sale of books by auction, in the streets, is
now inconsiderable and irregular. The "auc-
tioning" of books — I mean of new books — some
of which were published principally with a view
to their sale by auction, was, thirty to forty
years ago, systematic and extensive. It was not
strictly a street-sale. The auctioneer offered his
books to the public, nine cases out of ten, in
town, in an apartment (now commonly known
as a "mock-auction room"), which was so far
a portion of the street that access was rendered
easier by the removal of the door and window of
any room on a ground-floor, and some of the
bidders could and did stand in the street and
take part in the proceedings. In the suburbs —
which at that period were not so integral a portion
of the metropolis as at present — the book-auction
sales were carried on strictly in the open air, gene-
rally in front of a public-house, and either on a
platform erected for the purpose, or from a co-
vered cart; the books then being deposited in
the vehicle, and the auctioneer standing on a
sort of stage placed on the propped-up shafts.
In the country, however, the auction was often
carried on in an inn.

The works thus sold were generally standard
works. The poems were those of Pope, Young,
Thomson, Goldsmith, Falconer, Cowper, &c.
The prose writings were such works as "The
Pilgrim's Progress," "The Travels of Mr.
Lemuel Gulliver," "Johnson's Lives of the
Poets," "The Vicar of Wakefield," the most
popular of the works of Defoe, Fielding, and
Smollett, and "Hervey's Meditations among the
Tombs" (at one time highly popular). These
books were not correctly printed, they were
printed, too, on inferior paper, and the frontis-
piece — when there was a frontispiece — was often
ridiculous. But they certainly gave to the pub-
lic what is called an "impetus" for reading.
Some were published in London (chiefly by the
late Mr. Tegg, who at one time, I am told, him-
self "offered to public competition," by auction,
the works he published); others were printed in
Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Newcastle-upon-Tyne,
Ipswich, Bungay, &c.

One of my informants remembered being
present at a street-sale, about twenty or thirty
years ago; he perfectly remembered, however,
the oratory of the auctioneer, of whom he pur-
chased some books. The sale was in one of the
streets in Stoke Newington, a door or two from
a thoroughfare. My informant was there — as
he called it — "accidentally," and knew little of
the neighbourhood. The auctioneer stood at
the door of what appeared to have been a coach-
house, and sold his books, which were arranged
within, very rapidly: "Byron," he exclaimed;
"Lord Byron's latest and best po'ms. Sixpence!
Sixpence! Eightpence! I take penny bids
under a shilling. Eightpence for the poems
written by a lord — Gone! Yours, sir" (to my
informant). The auctioneer, I was told, "spoke
very rapidly, and clipped many of his words."
The work thus sold consisted of some of Byron's
minor poems. It was in the pamphlet form, and
published, I have no doubt, surreptitiously; for
there was, in those days, a bold and frequent
piracy of any work which was thought distaste-
ful to the Government, or to which the Court of
Chancery might be likely to refuse the protec-
tion of the law of copyright.

The auctioneer went on: "Coop'r — Coop'r!
Published at 3s. 6d., as printed on the back.
Superior to Byron — Coop'r's `Task.' No
bidders? Thank you, sir. One -and -six, —
your's, sir. Young — `Young's Night Thoughts.
Life, Death, and Immortality,' — great subjects.
London edition, marked 3s. 6d. Going! — last
bidder — two shillings — gone!" The purchaser
then complained that the frontispiece — a man
seated on a tombstone — was exactly the same as
to a copy he had of "Hervey's Meditations,"
but the auctioneer said it was impossible.

I have thus shown what was the style and
nature of the address of the street book-auc-
tioneer, formerly, to the public. If it were not
strictly "patter," or "pompous oration," it cer-
tainly partook of some of the characteristics of
patter. At present, however, the street book-
auctioneer may be described as a true patterer.

It will be seen from the account I have

[Description: 915EAF. Blank Page.]

[Description: 915EAF. Page 297.]

given, that the books were then really "sold
by auction" — knocked down to the highest
bidder. This however was, and is not always
the case. Legally to sell by auction, necessi-
tates the obtaining of a licence, at an annual
cost of 5l.; and if the bookseller conveys
his stock of books from place to place, a
hawker's licence is required as well, — which
entails an additional expenditure of 4l. The
itinerant bookseller evades, or endeavours to
evade, the payment for an auctioneer's licence,
by "putting-up" his books at a high price,
and himself decreasing the terms, instead of
offering them at a low price, and allowing the
public to make a series of "advances." Thus,
a book may be offered by a street-auctioneer at
half-a-crown — two shillings — eighteenpence — a
shilling — tenpence, and the moment any one
assents to a specified sum, the volume handed
to him; so that there is no competition — no
bidding by the public one in advance of ano-
ther. Auction, however, is resorted to as often
as the bookseller dares.

One experienced man in the book-stall trade
calculated that twenty years ago there might
be twelve book-auctioneers in the streets of
London, or rather, of its suburbs. One of
these was a frequenter of the Old Kent-road;
another, "Newington way;" and a third re-
sorted to "any likely pitch in Pimlico" — all
selling from a sort of van. Of these twelve,
however, my informant thought that there were
never more than six in London at one time, as
they were all itinerant; and they have gradually
dwindled down to two, who are now not half
their time in town. These two traders are
brothers, and sell their books from a sort of
platform erected on a piece of waste-ground, or
from a barrow. The works they sell are gene-
rally announced as new, and are often uncut.
They are all recommended as explanatory of
every topic of the day, and are often set forth
as "spicy." Three or four years ago, a gentle-
man told me how greatly he was amused with
the patter of one of these men, who was selling
books at the entrance of a yard full of caravans,
not far from the School for the Blind, Lambeth.
One work the street-auctioneer announced at
the top of his voice, in the following terms, as
far as a good memory could retain them: " `The
Rambler!' Now you rambling boys — now you
young devils, that's been staring those pretty
girls out of countenance — here's the very book
for you, and more shame for you, and perhaps
for me too; but I must sell — I must do busi-
ness. If any lady or gen'lman 'll stand treat
to a glass of brandy and water, `warm with,'
I'll tell more about this `Rambler' — I'm too
bashful, as it is. Who bids? Fifteen-pence —
thank'ee, sir. Sold again!" The "Rambler"
was Dr. Johnson's!

The last time one of my informants heard
the "patter" of the smartest of the two bro-
thers, it was to the following effect: "Here is
the `History of the Real Flying Dutchman,'
and no mistake; no fiction, I assure you, upon
my honour. Published at 10s. — who bids half-
a-crown? Sixpence; thank you, sir. Nine-
pence; going — going! Any more? — gone!"

A book-stall-keeper, who had sold goods to a
book-auctioneer, and attended the sales, told
me he was astonished to hear how his own
books — "old new books," he called them, were
set off by the auctioneer: "Why, there was a
vol. lettered `Pamphlets,' and I think there was something about Jack Sheppard in it, but it
was all odds and ends of other things, I know.
`Here's the real Jack Sheppard,' sings out the
man, `and no gammon!' The real edition — no
spooniness here, but set off with other interesting
histories, valuable for the rising generation and
all generations. This is the real Jack. This
will

"Then he went on: `Goldsmith's History of
England. Continued by the first writers of the
day — to the very last rumpus in the palace, and
no mistake. Here it is; genuine.' Well, sir,"
the stall-keeper continued, "the man didn't
do well; perhaps he cleared 1s. 6d. or a little
more that evening on books. People laughed
more than they bought. But it's no wonder
the trade's going to the dogs — they're not
allowed to have a pitch now; I shouldn't be
surprised if they was not all driven out of
London next year. It's contrary to Act of
Parliament to get an honest living in the streets
now-a-days."

A man connected with the street book-trade
considered that if one of these auctioneers
earned a guinea in London streets in the six
days it was a "good week." Half-a-guinea
was nearer the average, he thought, "looking
at the weather and everything." What amount
is expended to enable this street-dealer to earn
his guinea or half-guinea, is so uncertain, from
the very nature of an auction, that I can obtain
no data to rely upon.

The itinerant book-auctioneer is now con-
fined chiefly to the provincial towns, and espe-
cially the country markets. The reason for
this is correctly given in the statement above
cited. The street-auction requires the gather-
ing of so large a crowd that the metropolitan
police consider the obstruction to the public
thoroughfares warrants their interference. The
two remaining book-auctioneers in London
generally restrict their operations to the out-
skirts — the small space which fronts "the
George Inn" in the Commercial-road, and
which lays a few yards behind the main
thoroughfare, and similar suburban "retreats"
being favourite "pitches." The trade is, as
regards profits, far from bad — the books sold
consisting chiefly of those picked up in cheap
"lots" at the regular auctions; so that what
fetches 6d. in the streets has generally been
purchased for less than a penny. The average
rate of profit may be taken at 250l. per cent.
at the least. Exorbitant however as this re-
turn may appear, still it should be remembered

[Description: 915EAF. Page 298.]

that the avocation is one that can be pursued
only occasionally, and that solely in fine wea-
ther. Books are now more frequently sold in
the London streets from barrows. This change
of traffic has been forced upon the street-
sellers by the commands of the police — that
the men should "keep moving." Hence the
well-known light form of street conveyance is
now fast superseding not only the book-auc-
tioneer, but the book-stall in the London
streets. Of these book-barrowmen there is now
about fifty trading regularly in the metropolis,
and taking on an average from 3s. to 5s. 6d. a day.

OF THE STREET-SALE OF SONG-BOOKS, AND
OF CHILDREN'S BOOKS.

The sale of song-books in the streets, at 1d. and
at ½d. each, is smaller than it was two years ago.
One reason that I heard assigned was that the
penny song-books — styled "The Universal Song-
book," "The National," "The Bijou," &c. —
were reputed to be so much alike (the same
songs under a different title), that people who
had bought one book were averse to buy another.
"There's the `Ross' and the `Sam Hall' song-
books," said one man, "the `eighteenth series,'
and I don't know what; but I don't like to ven-
ture on working them, though they're only a
penny. There's lots to be seen in the shop-
windows; but they might be stopped in the
street, for they an't decent — 'specially the flash
ones."

One of the books which a poor man had found
the most saleable is entitled, "The Great Exhi-
bition Song-book; a Collection of the Newest
and Most Admired Songs. Embellished with
upwards of one Hundred Toasts and Sentiments."
The toasts and sentiments are given in small
type, as a sort of border to the thirty-two pages
of which the book consists. The toast on the
title-page is as follows:

To show the nature of the songs in street de-
mand, I cite those in the book: "The Gather-
ing of the Nations," "Bloom is on the Rye,"
"Wilt thou Meet me there, Love?" "Minna's
Tomb," "I'll Love thee ever Dearly" (Arnold),
"When Phœbus wakes the Rosy Hours," "Mo-
ney is your Friend," "Julia and Caspar" (G.
M. Lewis), "That pretty word, Yes" (E.
Mackey), "Farewell, Forget me Not," "The
Queen and the Navy" (music published by H.
White, Great Marlborough-street), "I resign
Thee every Token" (music published by Duff
and Co.), "Sleep, gentle Lady;" a serenade (H.
J. Payne), "The Warbling Waggoner," "The
Keepsake," "A Sequel to the Cavalier,"
"There's room enough for All" (music at Mr.
Davidson's), "Will you Come to the Dale?"
"Larry O'Brian," "Woman's Love," "Afloat
on the Ocean" (sung by Mr. Weiss, in the Opera
of the "Heart of Mid Lothian," music published
by Jefferys, Soho-square), "Together, Dearest,
let us Fly" (sung by Mr. Braham, in the Opera
of the "Heart of Mid Lothian," music published
by Jefferys, Soho-square), "The Peremptory
Lover" (Tune — "John Anderson, my Joe").
There are forty-seven songs in addition to those
whose titles I have quoted, but they are all of
the same character.

The penny song-books (which are partly in-
decent), and entitled the "Sam Hall" and
"Ross" Songsters, are seldom or never sold in
the streets. Many of those vended in the shops
outrage all decency. Some of these are styled
the "Coal-Hole Companion," "Cider-Cellar
Songs," "Captain Morris's Songs," &c. (the
filthiest of all.) These are generally marked
1s. and sold at 6d.; and have a coloured folded
frontispiece. They are published chiefly by H.
Smith, Holywell-street. The titles of some of
the songs in these works are sufficient to indi-
cate their character. "The Muff," "The Two
Miss Thys," "George Robins's Auction,"
"The Woman that studied the Stars," "A
Rummy Chaunt" (frequently with no other
title), "The Amiable Family," "Joe Buggins'
Wedding," "Stop the Cart," "The Mot that can
feel for another," "The Irish Giant," "Taylor
Tim," "The Squire and Patty."

Some titles are unprintable.

The children's books in best demand in the
street-trade, are those which have long been
popular: "Cinderella," "Jack the Giant-
killer," "Baron Munchausen," "Puss and
the Seven-leagued Boots," "The Sleeping
Beauty," "The Seven Champions of Chris-
tendom," &c. &c. "There's plenty of `Henry
and Emmas,' " said a penny bookseller, "and
`A Present for Christmas,' and `Pictorial
Alphabets,' and `Good Books for Good Boys
and Girls;' but when people buys really for
their children, they buys the old stories — at
least they does of me. I've sold `Penny
Hymns' (hymn-books) sometimes; but when
they're bought, or `Good Books' is bought,
it's from charity to a poor fellow like me, more
than anything else."

The trade, both in songs and in children's
books, is carried on in much the same way as I
have described of the almanacks and memo-
randum-books, but occasionally the singers of
ballads sell books. Sometimes poor men, old
or infirm, offer them in a tone which seems
a whine for charity rather than an offer for
sale, "Buy a penny book of a poor old man —
very hungry, very hungry." Children do the
same, and all far more frequently in the
suburbs than in the busy parts of the metro-
polis. Those who purchase really for the sake of
the books, say, one street-seller told me, "Give
me something that'll interest a child, and set
him a-thinking. They can't understand — poor
little things! — your fine writing; do you under-
stand that?" Another man had said, "Fairy
tales! bring me nothing but fairies; they set
children a-reading." The price asked is most
frequently a penny, but some are offered at a
halfpenny, which is often given (without a pur-
chase) out of compassion, or to be rid of im-
portunity. The profit is at least cent. per cent.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF ACCOUNT-BOOKS.

The sale of account-books is in the hands of
about the same class of street-sellers as the
stationery, but one man in the trade thought
the regular hands were more trusted, if any-
thing, than street-stationers. "People, you
see," he said, "won't buy their `accounts' of
raff; they won't have them of any but respect-
able people." The books sold are bought at 4s. the dozen, or 4½d. a piece, up to 70s. the dozen,
or 5s. 9d., or 6s. a piece. It is rarely, however,
that the street account-bookseller gives 4s. 9d., and very rarely that he gives as much as 5s. 9d. for his account-books. His principal sale is
of the smaller "waste," or "day-books," kept
by the petty traders; the average price of these
being 1s. 9d. The principal purchasers are the
chandlers, butchers, &c., in the quieter streets,
and more especially "a little way out of town,
where there ain't so many cheap shops." A
man, now a street-stationer, with a "fixed
pitch," had carried on the account-book trade
until an asthmatic affliction compelled him to
relinquish it, as the walking became impossible
to him, and he told me that the street-trade
was nothing to what it once was. "People,"
he said, "aren't so well off, I think, sir; and
they'll buy half a quire of outside foolscap, or
outside post, for from 5d., to 8d., and stitch it
together, and rule it, and make a book of it.
Rich tradesmen do that, sir. I bought of a sta-
stioner some years back, and he told me that
he was a relation of a rich grocer, and had
befriended him in his (the grocer's) youth, but
he wouldn't buy account-books, for he said, the
make-shift books that his shopman stitched
together for him opened so much easier. People
never want a good excuse for acting shabby."

There are now, I am informed, twelve men
selling account-books daily, which they carry in
a covered basket, or in a waterproof bag, or, in
fine weather, under the arm. Some of these
street-sellers are not itinerant when there is a
congregation of people for business, or indeed
for any purpose; at other times they "keep
moving." The fixed localities are, on market
days, at Smithfield and Mark-lane: and to
Hungerford-market, an old man, unable to
"travel," resorts daily. The chief trade, how-
ever, is in carrying, or hawking these account-
books from door to door. A man, "having a
connection," does best "on a round;" if he be
known, he is not distrusted, and sells as cheap,
or rather cheaper, than the shop-keepers.

The twelve account-book selers (with con-
nections) may clear 2s. 6d. a day each, taking,
for the realisation of such profit, 7s. per diem.
Thus 1,310l. will be taken by these street-
sellers in the course of a year. The capital
required to start is, stock-money, 15s.; basket,
3s. 6d. waterproof bag, 2s. 6d; 21s. in all.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF GUIDE-BOOKS,
&c.

This trade, as regards a street-sale, has only
been known for nine or ten years, and had its
origination in the exertions of Mr. Hume, M.P.,
to secure to persons visiting the national exhi-
bitions the advantage of a cheap catalogue.
The guide-books were only sold, prior to this
time, within any public exhibition; and the pro-
fits — as is the case at present — were the perqui-
site of some official. When the sale was a
monopoly, the profit must have been consider-
able, as the price was seldom less than 6d., and
frequently 1s. The guide-books, or, as they are
more frequently called, catalogues, are now
sold by men who stand at the entrance, the ap-
proaches, at a little distance on the line, or at
the corners of the adjacent streets, at the fol-
lowing places: — the National Gallery, the
Vernon Gallery, the British Museum, West-
minster Abbey, the House of Lords, the
Society of Arts (occasionally), the Art-Union
(when open "free"), Greenwich Hospital, the
Dulwich Gallery, Hampton Court, Windsor
Castle, and Kew Gardens.

At any temporary exhibition, also, the same
trade is carried on — as it was largely when the
"designs," &c., for the decoration of the New
Houses of Parliament were exhibited in West-
minster Hall. There are, of course, very many
other catalogues, or explanatory guides, sold to
the visitors of other exhibitions, but I speak
only of the street-sale.

There are now, at the National Gallery,
three guidebook-sellers plying their trade in
the streets; eight at the British Museum; two
at Westminster Abbey; one at the House of
Lords, but only on Saturdays, when the House
is shown, by orders obtained gratuitously at the
Lord Chamberlain's office, or "when appeals
are on;" one at the Vernon Gallery; two at
Dulwich (but not regularly, as there are none
at present), two at Hampton Court, "one near
each gate;" and one, and sometimes three, at
Windsor (generally sent out by a shopkeeper
there). There used to be one at the Thames
Tunnel, but "it grew so bad at last," I was
told, "that a rat couldn't have picked up his
grub at it — let alone a man."

Among all these sellers I heard statements
of earning a most wretched pittance, and all
attributed it to the same cause. By the
National Gallery is a board, on which is an
announcement that the only authorized cata-
logue of the works of art can be obtained
in the hall. There are similar announcements
at other public places. One man who had been
in this street trade, but had abandoned it, spoke
of these "boards," as he called them, with
intense bitterness. "They're the ruin of any
trade in the streets," he said. "You needn't
think because I'm out of it now, that I have a
pleasure in abusing the regulations; no, sir, I
look at it this way. Mr. Hume had trouble
enough, I know, to get the public a cheap
catalogue, and poor men were allowed to earn
honest bread by selling them in the streets, and
honest bread they would earn still, if it weren't
for the board. I declare solemnly a man can't

[Description: 915EAF. Page 300.]

get a living at the trade. The publishers can't
prepare their catalogues without leave, and when
they've got leave, and do prepare and print
them, why isn't a man allowed to sell them in
the streets, as I've sold second editions of the
Globe without ever the office putting out a
notice that the only authorized copy was to be
had within? God bless your soul, sir, it's
shocking, shocking, poor men being hindered
every way. Anybody that looks on the board
looks on us as cheats and humbugs, and thinks
that our catalogues are all takes-in. But I've
heard gentlemen, that I'm sure knew what they
were talking about, say, in case they'd bought
in the street first, and then seen the board and
bought within after, so as to be sure of the real
thing — I've heard gentlemen, say, sir, — `Why
what we got in the street is the best after all.'
Free trade! There's plenty said about free
trade, but that board, sir, or call it what you
please, gives a monopoly against us. What I
have said, when I was starving on catalogues,
is this: Kick us out of the streets, commit us
for selling catalogues, as rogues and vagabonds;
or give us a fair chance. If we may sell, why
is the only authorised catalogue sold only
within? I wish Mr. Hume, or Mr. Cobden,
either, only understood the rights of the matter
— it's of no account to me myself now — and I
think they'd soon set it to rights. Free trade!
Over the left, and with more hooks than one."

I have no doubt that this representation and
this opinion would have been echoed by the
street catalogue-sellers, but they were evidently
unwilling to converse freely on this branch of
the subject, knowing the object for which I
questioned them, and that publicity would fol-
low. I attribute this reluctance chiefly to the
fact that, all these poor men look forward to the
opening of the Great Exhibition with earnest
hope and anxiety that the influx of visiters will
add greatly to their sale and profits; and they
are unwilling to jeopardise their privilege of
sale.

One man told me that he believed, from his
own knowledge, for he had not always "sold
outside," that the largest buyers of these publi-
cations were country people, sight-seeing in
London, for they bought the book not only as
an explanatory guide, but to preserve as a
memento of their visit. Such customers, how-
ever, I heard from several quarters, the moment
they saw a "notice" as to the only authorised
copy, looked upon the street-sellers as a sys-
tematised portion of the London sharpers, seek-
ing whom they might devour, and so bought
their catalogues "within."

The best customers in the streets for the cata-
logues are, I am assured, the working-classes,
who visit the national exhibitions on a holiday.
"I've oft enough heard them say," one man
stated, " `I'd rather pay a poor man 2d. any day,
when I can spare it, than rich people 1d. I
know what it is to fight for a crust.' "

At the National Gallery, the street-sold cata-
logues are 1d., 3d., and 6d., in the hall, the
authorised copy is sold at 4d. and 1s. At the
British Museum, the street-charges are 3d. and
6d.; there were 1d. catalogues of this institu-
tion, but they have been discontinued for the
last half-year, being found too meagre. At the
Vernon Gallery, the charge is 1d.; but the 6d. guide-book to the National Gallery contains also
an account of the pictures in the Vernon Gal-
lery. At Westminster Abbey the price is 6d., and the same at the House of Lords. At
Hampton-court it is 2d., 4d., and 6d., and at
the same rate as regards the other places men-
tioned. At Hampton-court, I was told, the
street-sellers were not allowed to approach the
palace nearer than a certain space. One man
told me that he was threatened with being
"had in for trespassing, and Mr. G — would
make him wheel a roller. Of course," the man
continued, "there's an authorised catalogue
there."

The best sale of catalogues in the streets was
at the exhibition of the works of art for the
Houses of Parliament. The sellers, then —
about 20 in number, among whom were four
women — cleared 2s. and 2s. 6d. each daily. At
present, I am assured, that a good week is
considered one in which 5s. is made, but that 3s. is more frequently the weekly earning. It must
be borne in mind, that at the two places most
resorted to — the National Gallery and the Bri-
tish Museum — the street sale is only for four
days in the week at the first mentioned, and
three days at the second. "You may think
that more is made," said one man, "but it
isn't. Sweeping a good crossing is far better,
far. Bless your soul, only stand a few minutes
looking on, any day, and see what numbers and
numbers of people pass in and out of a free
admission place without ever laying out 1d. Why, only last Monday and Wednesday (March
17 and 19, both very rainy days) I took only 5d. I didn't take more than 5d., and I leave you to
judge the living I shall clear out of that; and I
know that the man with the catalogue at ano-
ther place, didn't take 1d. It's sad work, sir,
as you stand in the wet and cold, with no dinner
for yourself, and no great hope of taking one
home to your family."

These street-sellers contrive, whenever they
can, to mix up other avocations with catalogue
selling, as the public institutions close early.
One, on every occasion, sells second editions of
the newspapers; another has "odd turns at
portering;" a third sells old umbrellas in the
streets; some sold exhibition cards in the Park,
on Sundays, until the sale was stopped; another
sells a little stationery; and nearly the whole of
them resort, on favourable opportunities, to the
sale of "books of the play," or of "the
opera."

Reckoning that there are regularly sixteen
street-sellers of guide-books — they do not inter-
fere with each other's stations — and that each
clears 4s. weekly, we find £832 expended in
this street traffic. I have calculated only on the
usual bookseller's allowance of 25 per cent.,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 301.]

though, in some instances, these sellers are
supplied on lower terms — besides having, in
some of the catalogues, thirteen to the dozen;
but the amount specified does not exceed the
mark.

The greatest number of these guide-books
which I heard of as having been sold, in any
one day, was four dozen, disposed of on a fine
Whit-Monday, and for these the street-seller
only took 6s. 8d. There are, I was informed,
half as many more "threepennies" as "six-
pennies" sold, and three times as many "pen-
nies" as the other two together.

The capital required to start is what may
suffice to "lay in" a stock of books — 5s. gene-
rally.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF FINE ARTS.

These traders may be described as partaking
more of the characteristics of the street stationers
than of the "paper-workers," as they are not
patterers. The trade is less exclusively than
the "paper-trade" in the hands of men. Those
carrying on this branch of the street-traffic
may be divided into the sellers of pictures
in frames, and of engravings (of all kinds), in
umbrellas. Under this head may also be
ranked the street-artists (though this is a trade
associated with street-life rather than forming
an integrant part of it), I allude more parti-
cularly to the illustrated "boards" which are
prepared for the purposes of the street-pat-
terers, and are adapted for no other use. The
same artist that executes the greater portion of
the street-art, also prepares the paintings which
decorate the exterior of shows. There are also
the writers of manuscript music, and the makers
and sellers of "images" of all descriptions,
but this branch of the subject I shall treat
under the head of the street-Italians. Under
the same curious head I shall also speak of
the artists whose skill produces the street-sold
medallions, in wax or plaster, they being of the
same class as the "image" men. In both
"images" and "casts" and "moulded" pro-
ductions of all kinds the change and improve-
ment that have taken place, from the pristine
rudeness of "green parrots" is most remark-
able and creditable to the taste of working
people, who are the chief purchasers of the
smaller articles.

OF STREET ART.

The artists who work for the street-sellers are
less numerous than the poets for the same trade.
Indeed, there is now but one man who can be
said to be solely a street-artist. The inopportune
illustration of ballads of which specimens have
already been given — or of any of the street
papers — are the work of cheap wood-engravers,
who give the execution of these orders to their
boys. But it is not often that illustrations are
prepared expressly for anything but what I
have described as "Gallows literature." Of
these, samples have also been furnished. The
one of a real murder, and the other of a fabulous
one, or "cock," together with a sample (in the
case of Mr. Patrick Connor) of the portraits
given in such productions. The cuts for the
heading of ballads are very often such as have
been used for the illustration of other works.
and are "picked up cheap."

The artist who works especially for the street
trade — as in the case of the man who paints the
patterers' boards — must address his art plainly
to the eye of the spectator. He must use the
most striking colours, be profuse in the appli-
cation of scarlet, light blue, orange — not yellow
I was told, it ain't a good candlelight colour —
and must leave nothing to the imagination.
Perspective and back-grounds are things of but
minor consideration. Everything must be sacri-
ficed for effect.

These paintings are in water colours, and are
rubbed over with a solution of some gum-resin
to protect them from the influence of rainy
weather. Two of the subjects most in demand of
late for the patterers' boards were "the Sloanes"
and "the Mannings." The treatment of Jane
Wilbred was "worked" by twenty boardmen,
each with his "illustration" of the subject. The
illustrations were in six "compartments." In
the first Mr. and Mrs. Sloane are "picking
out" the girl from a line of workhouse chil-
dren. She is represented as plump and healthy,
but with a stupid expression of countenance.
In another compartment, Sloane is beating the
girl, then attenuated and wretched-looking, with
a shoe, while his wife and Miss Devaux (a
name I generally heard pronounced among the
street-people as it is spelt to an English reader)
look approvingly on. The next picture was
Sloane compelling the girl to swallow filth.
The fourth represented her as in the hospital,
with her ribs protruding from her wasted body
— "just as I've worked Sarah Simpole," said a
patterer, "who was confined in a cellar and fed
on 'tato peels. Sarah was a cock, sir, and a
ripper." Then came the attack of the people
on Sloane, one old woman dressed after the
fashion of Mrs. Gamp, "prodding" him with
a huge and very green umbrella. The sixth
and last was, as usual, the trial.

I have described the "Sloanes' board" first,
as it may be more fresh in the remembrance of
any reader observant of such things. In the
"Mannings' board" there were the same num-
ber of compartments as in the Sloanes'; show-
ing the circumstances of the murder, the dis-
covery of the body of Connor, the trial, &c.
One standing patterer, who worked a Mannings'
board, told me that the picture of Mrs. Manning,
beautifully "dressed for dinner" in black satin,
with "a low front," firing a pistol at Connor,
who was "washing himself," while Manning, in
his shirt sleeves, looked on in evident alarm,
was greatly admired, especially out of town.
"The people said," observed the patterer, " ` O,
look at him a-washing hisself; he's a doing it so
nattral, and ain't a-thinking he's a-going to be
murdered. But was he really so ugly as that?
Lor! such a beautiful woman to have to do with

[Description: 915EAF. Page 302.]

him.' You see, sir, Connor weren't flattered
and perhaps Mrs. Manning was. I have heard
the same sort of remarks both in town and
country. I patters hard on the women such
times, as I points them out on my board in mur-
ders or any crimes. I says: `When there's
mischief a woman's always the first. Look at
Mrs. Manning there on that werry board — the
work of one of the first artists in London — it's
a faithful likeness, taken from life at one of her
examinations, look at her. She fires the pistol,
as you can see, and her husband was her tool.'
I said, too, that Sloane was Mrs. Sloane's tool.
It answers best, sir, in my opinion, going on that
patter. The men likes it, and the women doesn't
object, for they'll say: `Well, when a woman
is bad, she is bad, and is a disgrace to her sex.'
There's the board before them when I runs on
that line of patter, and when I appeals to the
'lustration, it seems to cooper the thing. They
must believe their eyes."

When there is "a run" on any particular
subject, there are occasionally jarrings — I was
informed by a "boardman" — between the artist
and his street-customers. The standing patterers
want "something more original" than their fel-
lows, especially if they are likely to work in the
same locality, while the artist prefers a faith-
ful copy of what he has already executed. The
artist, moreover, and with all reasonableness,
will say: "Why, you must have the facts. Do
you want me to make Eliza Chestney killing
Rush?" The matter is often compromised by
some change being introduced, and by the cha-
racters being differently dressed. One man told
me, that in town and country he had seen Mrs.
Jermy shot in the following costumes, "in light
green welwet, sky-blue satin, crimson silk, and
vite muslin." It was the same with Mrs.
Manning.

For the last six or eight years, I am told, the
artist in question has prepared all the boards in
demand. Previously, the standing patterers pre-
pared their own boards, when they fancied them-
selves capable of such a "reach of art," or had
them done by some unemployed painter, whom
they might fall in with at a lodging-house, or
elsewhere. This is rarely done now, I am told;
not perhaps more than six times in a twelve-
month, and when done it is most frequently
practised of "cock-boards;" for, as was said to
me, "if a man thinks he's getting up a fake-
ment likely to take, and wants a board to help
him on with it, he'll try and keep it to hisself,
and come out with it quite fresh."

The charge of the popular street-artist for the
painting of a board is 3s. or 3s. 6d., according
to the simplicity or elaborateness of the details;
the board itself is provided by the artist's em-
ployer. The demand for this peculiar branch
of street art is very irregular, depending entirely
upon whether anything be "up" or not; that
is, whether there has or has not been perpetrated
any act of atrocity, which has riveted, as it is
called, the public attention. And so great is the
uncertainty felt by the street-folk, whether "the
most beautiful murder will take or not," that it
is rarely the patterer will order, or the artist
will speculate, in anticipation of a demand, upon
preparing the painting of any event, until satis-
fied that it has become "popular." A deed of
more than usual daring, deceit, or mystery, may
be at once hailed by those connected with mur-
der-patter, as "one that will do," and some
speculation may be ventured upon; as it was,
I am informed, in the cases of Tawell, Rush,
and the Mannings; but these are merely excep-
tional. Thus, if the artist have a dozen boards
ordered "for this ten days, he may have two,
or one, or none for the next ten;" so uncertain,
it appears, is all that depends, without intrinsic
merit, on mere popular applause.

I am unable to give — owing to the want of
account-books, &c., which I have so often had
to refer to as characteristic of street-people —
a precise account of the average number of
boards thus prepared in a year. Perhaps it may
be as close to the fact as possible to conclude
that the artist in question, who, unlike the
majority of the street-poets, is not a street-seller,
but works, as a professional man, for but not in the streets, realises on his boards a profit of
7s. 6d. weekly. The pictorial productions for
street-shows will be more appropriately described
in the account of street-performers and showmen.

This artist, as I have shown concerning some
of the street-professors of the sister art of poesy,
has the quality of knowing how to adapt his
works exactly to the taste of his patrons the
sellers, and of their patrons, the buyers in the
streets.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF ENGRAVINGS,
ETC., IN UMBRELLAS, ETC.

The sale of "prints," "pictures," and "en-
gravings" — I heard them designated by each
term — in umbrellas in the streets, has been
known, as far as I could learn from the street-
folk for some fifteen years, and has been general
from ten to twelve years. In this traffic the
umbrella is inverted and the "stock" is dis-
posed within its expanse. Sometimes narrow
tapes are attached from rib to rib of the um-
brella, and within these tapes are placed the
pictures, one resting upon another. Sometimes
a few pins are used to attach the larger prints
to the cotton of the umbrella, the smaller ones
being "fitted in at the side" of the bigger.
"Pins is best, sir, in my opinion," said a little
old man, who used to have a "print umbrella"
in the New Cut; "for the public has a more
unbrokener display. I used werry fine pins,
though they's dearer, for people as has a penny
to spare likes to see things nice, and big pins
makes big holes in the pictures."

This trade is most pursued on still summer
evenings, and the use of an inverted umbrella
seems so far appropriate that it can only be so
used, in the street, in dry weather. "I used
to keep a sharp look-out, sir," said the same
informant, "for wind or rain, and many's the
time them devils o' boys — God forgive me,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 303.]

they's on'y poor children — but they is devils —
has come up to me and has said — one in par-
ticler, standin' afore the rest: `It'll thunder
in five minutes, old bloke, so hup with yer
humbereller, and go 'ome; hup with it jist as
it is; it'll show stunnin; and sell as yer goes.'
O, they're a shocking torment, sir; nobody can
feel it like people in the streets, — shocking."

The engravings thus sold are of all descrip-
tions. Some have evidently been the frontis-
pieces of sixpenny or lower-priced works. These
works sometimes fall into hands of the "waste
collectors," and any "illustrations" are ex-
tracted from the letter-press and are disposed of
by the collectors, by the gross or dozen, to those
warehousemen who supply the small shop-
keepers and the street-sellers. Sometimes, I
was informed, a number of engravings, which had
for a while appeared as "frontispieces" were
issued for sale separately. Many of these were
and are found in the "street umbrellas;" more
especially the portraits of popular actors and
actresses. "Mr. J. P. Kemble, as Hamlet" —
"Mr. Fawcett, as Captain Copp" — "Mr.
Young, as Iago" — "Mr. Liston, as Paul
Pry" — "Mrs. Siddons, as Lady Macbeth" —
"Miss O'Neil, as Belvidera," &c., &c. In
the course of an inquiry into the subject nearly
a year and a half ago, I learned from one
"umbrella man" that, six or seven years pre-
viously, he used to sell more portraits of "Mr.
Edmund Kean, as Richard III.," than of any-
thing else. Engravings, too, which had first
been admired in the "Annuals" — when half-
a-guinea was the price of the "Literary
Souvenir," the "Forget-me-not," "Friend-
ship's Offering," the "Bijou," &c., &c. — are
frequently found in these umbrellas; and
amongst them are not unfrequently seen por-
traits of the aristocratic beauties of the day,
from "waste" "Flowers of Loveliness" and
old "Court Magazines," which "go off very
fair." The majority of these street-sold "en-
gravings" are "coloured," in which state the
street-sellers prefer them, thinking them much
more saleable, though the information I received
hardly bears out their opinion.

The following statement, from a middle-aged
woman, further shows the nature of the trade,
and the class of customers:

"I've sat with an umbrella," she said,
"these seven or eight years, I suppose it is.
My husband's a penny lot-seller, with just a
middling pitch" [the vendor of a number of
articles, sold at a penny "a lot"] "and in the
summer I do a little in engravings, when I'm
not minding my husband's `lots,' for he has
sometimes a day, and oftener a night, with
portering and packing for a tradesman, that's
known him long. Well, sir, I think I sell most
`coloured.' `Master Toms' wasn't bad last
summer. `Master Toms' was pictures of cats,
sir — you must have seen them — and I had them
different colours. If a child looks on with its
father, very likely, it'll want `pussy,' and if the
child cries for it, it's almost a sure sale, and
more, I think, indeed I'm sure, with men than
with women. Women knows the value of money
better than men, for men never understand what
housekeeping is. I have no children, thank
God, or they might be pinched, poor things.
`Miss Kitties' was the same sale. Toms is
hes, and Kitties is she cats. I've sometimes
sold to poor women who was tiresome; they
must have just what would fit over their
mantel-pieces, that was papered with pic-
tures." [My readers may remember that
some of the descriptions I have given, long
previous to the present inquiry, of the rooms of
the poor, fully bear out this statement.] "I
seldom venture on anything above 1d., I mean
to sell at 1d. I've had Toms and Kitties at
2d. though. `Fashions' isn't worth umbrella
room; the poorest needlewoman won't be satis-
fied with them from an umbrella. `Queens'
and `Alberts' and `Wales's' and the other
children isn't near so good as they was. There's
so many `fine portraits of Her Majesty,' or the
others, given away with the first number of this
or of that, that people's overstocked. If a
working-man can buy a newspaper or a num-
ber, why of course he may as well have a
picture with it. They gave away glasses of gin
at the opening of that baker's shop there, and
it's the same doctrine" [The word she used].
"I never offer penny theatres, or comic exhibi-
tions, or anything big; they spoils the look of
the umbrella, and makes better things look
mean. I sell only to working people, I think;
seldom to boys, and seldomer to girls; seldom
to servant-maids and hardly ever to women of
the town. I have taken 6d. from one of them
though. I think boys buy pictures for picture
books. I never had what I suppose was old
pictures. To a few old people, I've known,
`Children' sell fairly, when they're made
plump, and red cheeked, and curly haired.
They sees a resemblance of their grandchildren,
perhaps, and buys. Young married people does
so too, but not so oft, I think. I don't remember
that ever I have made more than 1s. 10d. on an
evening. I don't sell, or very seldom indeed,
at other times, and only in summer, and when
its fine. If I clear 5s. I counts that a good
week. It's a great help to the lot-selling. I
seldom clear so much. Oftener 4s."

The principal sale of these "pictures," in
the streets, is from umbrellas. Occasionally, a
street-stationer, or even a miscellaneous lot-
seller, when he has met with a cheap lot,
especially of portraits of ladies, will display a
collection of prints, pyramidally arranged on
his stall, — but these are exceptions. Some-
times, too, an "umbrella print-seller" will have
a few "pictures in frames," on a sort of stand
alongside the umbrella.

The pictures for the umbrellas are bought at
the warehouse, or the swag-shops, of which I
have before spoken. At these establishments
"prints" are commonly supplied from 3d. to
5s. the dozen. The street-sellers buy at 5d. and 6d. the dozen, to sell at a 1d. a piece; and

[Description: 915EAF. Page 304.]

at 3d. to sell at ½d. None of the pictures thus
sold are prepared expressly for the streets.

In so desultory and — as one intelligent street-
seller with whom I conversed on the subject
described it — so weathery a trade, it is difficult
to arrive at exact statistics. From the best data
at my command, it may be computed, that for
twelve weeks of the year, there are thirty um-
brella print-sellers (all exceptional traders
therein included) each clearing 6s. weekly, and
taking 12s. Thus it appears that 216l. is yearly
expended in the streets in this purchase. Many
of the sellers are old or infirm; one who was
among the most prosperous before the changes
in the streets of Lambeth, was dwarfish, and
was delighted to be thought "a character."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF PICTURES IN
FRAMES.

From about 1810, or somewhat earlier, down
to 1830, or somewhat later, the street-sale of
pictures in frames was almost entirely in the
hands of the Jews. The subjects were then
nearly all scriptural: "The Offering up of
Isaac;" "Jacob's Dream;" "The Crossing
of the Red Sea;" "The Death of Sisera;"
and "The Killing of Goliath from the Sling
of the youthful David." But the Jew traders
did not at all account it necessary to confine
the subjects of their pictures to the records
of the Old — their best trade was in the illus-
trations of the New Testament. Perhaps the
"Stoning of St. Stephen" was their most
saleable "picture in a frame." There were
also "The Nativity;" "The Slaying of
the Children, by order of Herod" (with the
quotation of St. Matthew, chap. ii. verse 17,
"Then was fulfilled that which was spoken by
Jeremy the prophet"); "The Sermon on the
Mount;" "The Beheading of John the Baptist;"
"The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem;" "The
Raising of Lazarus;" "The Betrayal on the
part of Judas;" "The Crucifixion;" and "The
Conversion of St. Paul." There were others,
but these were the principal subjects. All
these pictures were coloured, and very deeply
coloured. St. Stephen was stoned in the lightest
of sky-blue short mantles. The pictures were
sold in the streets of London, mostly in the way
of hawking; but ten times as extensively, I am
told, in the country, as in town. Indeed, at
the present time, many a secluded village ale-
house has its parlour walls decorated with these
scriptural illustrations, which seem to have
superseded.

mentioned by Goldsmith as characteristic of a
village inn. These "Jew pictures" are now
yielding to others.

Most of these articles were varnished, and 2s. or 2s. 6d. each was frequently the price asked,
1s. 6d. being taken "if no better could be
done," and sometimes 1s. A smaller amount
per single picture was always taken, if a set
were purchased. These productions were pre-
pared principally for street-sale and for hawkers.
The frames were narrower and meaner-looking
than in the present street-pictures of the kind;
they were stained like the present frames, in imi-
tation of maple, but far less skilfully. Some-
times they were a black japan; sometimes a
sorry imitation of mahogany.

In the excitement of the Reform Bill era, the
street-pictures in frames most in demand were
Earl Grey, Earl Spencer's (or Lord Althorp),
Lord Brougham's, and Lord John Russell's.
O'Connell's also "sold well," as did William
IV. "Queen Adelaide," I was told, "went
off middling, not much more than half as good
as William." Towards the close of King Wil-
liam's life, the portraits of the Princess Vic-
toria of Kent were of good sale in the streets,
and her Royal Highness was certainly repre-
sented as a young lady of undue plumpness,
and had hardly justice done to her portraiture.
The Duchess of Kent, also, I was informed,
"sold fairish in the streets." In a little time,
the picture in a frame of the Princess Victoria
of Kent, with merely an alteration in the title,
became available as Queen Victoria I., of Great
Britain and Ireland. Since that period, there
have been the princes and princesses, her Ma-
jesty's offspring, who present a strong family
resemblance.

The street pictures, so to speak, are not un-
frequently of a religious character. Pictures
of the Virgin and Child, of the Saviour seated
at the Last Supper, of the Crucifixion, or of
the different saints, generally coloured. The
principal purchasers of these "religious pic-
tures" are the poorer Irish. I remember see-
ing, in the course of an inquiry among street-
performers last summer, the entire wall of a
poor street-dancer's one room, except merely
the space occupied by the fireplace, covered
with small coloured pictures in frames, the
whole of which, the proprietor told me, with
some pride, he had picked up in the streets,
according as he could spare a few pence. Among
them were a crucifix (of bone), and a few me-
dallions, of a religious character, in plaster or
wax. This man was of Italian extraction; but
I have seen the same thing in the rooms of the
Roman Catholic Irish, though never to the
same extent.

The general subjects now most in demand for
street-sale are, "Lola Montes," "Louis Philippe
and his Queen," "The Sailor's Return," "The
Soldier's Return," and the "Parting" of the
same individuals, Smugglers, in different situa-
tions, Poachers also; "Turpin's Ride to York,"
the divers feats attributed to Jack Sheppard (but
less popular than "Turpin's Ride,") "Court-
ship," "Marriage" (the one a couple caressing,
and the other bickering), "Father Mathew" (in
very black large boots), "Napoleon Bonaparte
crossing the Alps," and his "Farewell to his
Troops at Fontainebleau," "Scenes of Piracy."
None of these subjects are modern; "Lola
Montes" (a bold-faced woman, in a riding-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 305.]

habit), being the newest. "Why," said one
man familiar with the trade, "there hasn't
been no Louis Napoleon in a frame-picture for
the streets, nor Cobdens, nor Feargus O'Con-
nors, nor Sir John Franklins; what is wanted
for us is something exciting."

The prices of frame-pictures (as I sometimes
heard them called) made expressly for street-
sale, vary from 1d. to 1s. a pair. The 1d. a pair
are about six inches by four, very rude, and on
thin paper, and with frames made of lath-wood
(stained), but put together very compactly.
The cheaper sorts are of prints bought at the
swag-shops, or of waste-dealers, sometimes
roughly coloured, and sometimes plain. The
greatest sale is of those charged from 2d. to 4d. the pair.

Some of the higher-priced pictures are painted
purposely for the streets, but are always copies
of some popular engraving, and their sale is not
a twentieth of the others. These frame-pictures
were, and are, generally got up by a family, the
girls taking the management of the paper-work,
the boys of the wood. The parents have, many
of them, been paper-stainers. This division of
labour is one reason of the exceeding cheapness
of this street branch of the fine arts. These
working artists — or whatever they are to be
called — also prepare and frame for street-sale
the plates given away in the first instance with
a number of a newspaper or a periodical, and
afterwards "to be had for next to nothing."
The prevalence of such engravings has tended
greatly to diminish the sale of the pictures pre-
pared expressly for the streets.

Ten years ago this trade was ten times greater
than it is now. The principal sale still is, and
always was, at the street-markets on Saturday
evenings. They are sold piled on a small stall,
or carried under the arm. To sell 10s. worth on
a Saturday night is an extraordinary sale, and
2s. 6d. is a bad one, and the frame-picturer
must have "middling patter to set them off at
all. `Twopence a pair!' he'll say; `only two-
pence a pair! Who'd be without an ornament
to his dwelling?' "

There are now about fifty persons engaged in
this sale on a Saturday night, of whom the
majority are the artists or preparers of the pic-
tures. On a Monday evening there are about
twenty sellers; and not half that number on
other evenings — but some "take a round in the
suburbs."

If these people take 10s. weekly for frame-
pictures the year through, 1,040l. is yearly
expended in this way. I estimate the average
number at twenty daily. Their profits are
about cent. per cent.; boys and working people
buy the most. The trade is often promoted by
a raffle at a public-house. Many mechanics,
I was told, now frame their own pictures.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUSCRIPT
AND OTHER MUSIC.

This trade used to be more extensively carried
on in the streets than it is at present. The
reasons I heard assigned for the decadence were
the greater cheapness of musical productions
generally, and the present fondness for litho-
graphic embellishments to every polka, waltz,
quadrille, ballad, &c., &c. "People now hates,
I do believe, a bare music-sheet," one street-
seller remarked.

The street manuscript-music trade was, cer-
tainly, and principally, piratical. An air
became popular perhaps on a sudden, as it was
pointed out to me, in the case, of "Jump, Jim
Crow." At a musical publisher's, such an
affair in the first bloom of its popularity, would
have been charged from 2s. to 3s. 6d., twenty-
five years ago, and the street-seller at that time,
often also a book-stall keeper, would employ, or
buy of those who offered them for sale, and who
copied them for the purpose, a manuscript of
the demanded music, which he could sell cheap
in comparison.

A man who, until the charges of which I
have before spoken, kept a second-hand book-
stall, in a sort of arched passage in the New
Cut, Lambeth, sold manuscript-music, and was
often "sadly bothered," he said, at one time by
the musical propensities of a man who looked
like a journeyman tailor. This man, whenever
he had laid out a trifle at the book-stall, looked
over the music, and often pulled a small flute
from his pocket, and began to play a few bars
from one of the manuscripts, and this he con-
tinued doing, to the displeasure of the stall-
keeper, until a crowd began to assemble, think-
ing, perhaps, that the flute-player was a street-
musician; he was then obliged to desist. Of
the kind of music he sold, or of its mode of
production, this street-bookseller knew nothing.
He purchased it of a man who carried it to his
stall, and as he found it sell tolerably well, he
gave himself no further trouble concerning it.
The supplier of the manuscript pencilled on
each sheet the price it was to be offered at,
allowing the stall-keeper from 50 to 150 per
cent. profit, if the price marked was obtained.
"I haven't seen anything of him, sir," said the
street-bookseller, "for a long while. I dare
say he was some poor musicianer, or singer, or
a reduced gentleman, perhaps, for he always
came after dusk, or else on bad dark days."

Although but partially connected with street-
art, I may mention as a sample of the music
sometimes offered in street-sale, that a book-
stall keeper, three weeks ago showed me a pile
of music which he had purchased from a
"waste collector," about eight months before,
at 2½d. the pound. Among this was some MS.
music, which I specify below, and which the
book-stall keeper was confident, on very in-
sufficient grounds, I think, had been done for
street-sale.

The music had, as regards three-fourths of it,
evidently been bound, and had been torn from
the boards of the book, as only the paper por-
tion is purchased for "waste." Some, however,
were loose sheets, which had evidently never
been subjected to the process of stitching. I

[Description: 915EAF. Page 306.]

now cite some of the titles of this street-sale:
"Le Petit Tambour. Sujet d'un Grand Ron-
deau pour le Piano Forte. Composé par L. Zer-
bini," (MS.) "Di Tanti Palpiti. The Cele-
brated Cavatina, by Rossini, &c." "Twenty
Short Lessons, or Preludes in the most Con-
venient Keys for the Harp. Composed and
Respectfully Dedicated to Lady Ann Collins.
By John Baptist Meyer. Price 5s." "An
Cota Caol (given in the ancient Irish character.)
The Slender Coat," (MS.) "Cailin beog chruite
na mbo (also in Irish). The Pretty Girl Milk-
ing the Cow," (MS.)

There are now no persons regularly employed
in preparing MS. music for the streets. But
occasionally a person skilled in music writing
will, when he or she, I was told, had nothing
better in hand, do a little for the street sale,
disposing of the MSS. to any street-stationer or
bookseller. If four persons are this way em-
ployed, receiving 4s. a week each, the year
through — which I am assured is the extent —
we find upwards of 40l. thus earned, and
about twice that sum taken by the street re-
tailers.