 | OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF STATIONERY, LITERATURE,
AND THE FINE ARTS. London Labour and the London Poor, volume 1 |  |
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,
I would not cry young lambs to sell.'
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.]
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,
They dare not even play.'
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.]
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.
[Description: 915EAF. Page 246.]
`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.]
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.'
[Description: 915EAF. Page 248.]
"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.]
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.]
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.
[Description: 915EAF. Blank Page.]
[Description: 915EAF. Page 251.]
"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."
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