University of Virginia Library

13. OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED ARTICLES.

These traders consist of: (1) The vendors of
metal articles; (2) Of chemical articles; (3)
Of China, glass, and stone articles; (4) Of
linen, cotton, and other textile fabrics; and (5)
Of miscellaneous articles. In this classifica-
tion I do not include second-hand articles, nor
yet the traffic of those who make the articles
they sell, and who are indeed street-artizans
rather than street-sellers.

Under the first head are included, the vendors
of razors, table and penknives, tea-trays, dog-
collars, key-rings, articles of hardware, small
coins and medals, pins and needles, jewellery,
snuffers, candlesticks, articles of tin-ware, tools,
card-counters, herring-toasters, trivets, gridirons,
pans, tray-stands (as in the roasting of meat),
and Dutch ovens.

Of the second description are the vendors of
blacking, black-lead, lucifer matches, corn-
salves, grease-removing compositions, china
and glass cements, plating-balls, rat and beetle
poisons, crackers, detonating-balls, and cigar-
lights.

Under the third head come all street-sold
articles of China, glass, or stone manufacture,
including not only "crockery," but vases,
chimney-ornaments, and stone fruit.

The fourth head presents the street-vending
of cotton, silken, and linen-manufactures; such
as sheetings, shirtings, a variety of laces, sew-

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ing cotton, threads and tapes, articles of haber-
dashery and of millinery, artificial flowers
handkerchiefs, and pretended smuggled goods.

Among the fifth class, or the "miscellaneous"
street-sellers, are those who vend cigars, pipes,
tobacco and snuff-boxes and cigar-cases, accor-
dions, spectacles, hats, sponge, combs and hair-
brushes, shirt-buttons and coat-studs, "lots,"
rhubarb, wash-leather, paper-hangings, dolls,
Bristol and other toys, saw-dust, fire-wood,
and pin-cushions.

There are many other manufactured articles
sold in the streets, but their description will be
more proper under the head of Street Artisans.

The street-sellers of manufactured articles
present, as a body, so many and often such
varying characteristics, that I cannot offer to
give a description of them as a whole, as I
have been able to do with other and less diver-
sified classes.

Among them are several distinct and peculiar
street-characters, such as the pack-men, who
carry their cotton or linen goods in packs on
their backs, and are all itinerants. Then there
are duffers, who vend pretended smuggled goods,
handkerchiefs, silks, tobacco or cigars; also, the
sellers of sham sovereigns and sham gold rings
for wagers. The crockery-ware and glass-sellers
(known in the street-trade as "crocks"), are
peculiar from their principle of bartering. They
will sell to any one, but they sell very rarely,
and always clamour in preference for an ex-
change of their wares for wearing-apparel of
any kind. They state, if questioned, that their
reason for doing this is — at least I heard the
statement from some of the most intelligent
among them — that they do so because, if they
"sold outright," they required a hawker's
license, and could not sell or "swop" so
cheap.

Some of the street-sellers of manufactured
articles are also patterers. Among these are
the "cheap Jacks," or "cheap Johns;" the
grease and stain removers; the corn-salve and
plate-ball vendors; the sellers of sovereigns
and rings for wagers; a portion of the lot-
sellers; and the men who vend poison for
vermin and go about the streets with live rats
clinging to, or running about, their persons.

This class of street-sellers also includes many
of the very old and the very young; the diseased,
crippled, maimed, and blind. These poor crea-
tures sell, and sometimes obtain a charitable
penny, by offering to sell such things as boxes of
lucifer-matches; cakes of blacking; boot, stay,
and other laces; pins, and sewing and knit-
ting-needles; tapes; cotton-bobbins; garters;
pincushions; combs; nutmeg-graters; metal
skewers and meat-hooks; hooks and eyes; and
shirt-buttons.

The rest of the class may be described as
merely street-sellers; toiling, struggling, plod-
ding, itinerant tradesmen.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MANUFACTURED
ARTICLES IN METAL.

These street-sellers are less numerous than
might be imagined, when — according to my
present division — the class is confined to the
sellers of articles which they do not manufacture.
The metal wares thus sold I have already enu-
merated, and I have now to describe the charac-
teristics of the sellers.

The result of my inquiries leads me to the
conclusion, that the street-vendors of any article
which is the product of the skill of the handi-
craftsman, have been, almost always, in their
first outset in a street life, connected in some
capacity or other with the trade, the manufac-
tures of which they vend.

One elderly man, long familiar with this
branch of the street-trade, expressed to me his
conviction that when a mechanic sought his
livelihood in the streets, he naturally "gave his
mind to sell what he understood. Now, in my
own case," continued my informant, "I was
born and bred a tinman, and when I was driven
to a street-life, I never thought of selling any-
thing but tins. How could I, if I wished to do
the thing square and proper? — it would be like
trying to speak another language. If I'd started
on slippers — and I knew a poor man who was
set up in the streets by a charitable lady on a
stock of gentlemen's slippers — what could I
have done? Why, no better than he told me he
did. He was a potter down at Deptford, and
knew of nothing but flower-pots, and honey-jars
for grocers, and them red sorts of pottery.
Poor fellow, he might have died of hunger,
only the cholera came quickest. But when
I'm questioned about my tins, I'm my own
man; and it's a great thing, I'm satisfied, in a
street-trade, when there's so many cheap shops,
and the police and all again you, to under-
stand the goods you're talking about."

This statement, I may repeat, is undoubtedly
correct, so far as that a "beaten-out" mechanic,
when driven to the streets, in the first instance
offers to the public wares of which he under-
stands the value and quality. Afterwards, in
the experience or vagaries of a street-life, other
commodities may be, or may appear to be, more
remunerative, and for such the mechanic may
relinquish his first articles of street-traffic.
"Why, sir," I was told, "there was one man
who left razors for cabbages; 'cause one day a
costermonger wot lived in the same house with
him and was taken ill, asked him to go out with
a barrow of summer cabbages — the costermon-
ger's boy went with him — and they went off so
well that Joe [the former razor-seller] managed
to start in the costering line, he was so encou-
raged."

The street-trade in metal manufactured arti-
cles is principally itinerant. Perhaps during
the week upwards of three-fourths of those
carrying it on are itinerant, while on a Saturday
night, perhaps, all are stationary, and almost
always in the street-markets. The itinerant

[Description: 915EAF. Page 325.]

trade is carried on, and chiefly in the suburbs,
by men, women, and children; but the children
are always, or almost always, the offspring of
the adult street-sellers.

The metal sold in the street may be divided
into street-hardware, street-tinware, and street-
jewellery. I shall begin with the former.

The street-sellers of hardware are, I am as-
sured, in number about 100, including single
men and families; for women "take their share"
in the business, and children sell smaller things,
such as snuffers or bread-baskets. The people
pursuing the trade are of the class I have above
described, with the exception of some ten or
twelve who formerly made a living as servants
to the gaming-booths at Epsom, Ascot, &c., &c.,
and "managed to live out of the races, some-
how, most of the year;" since the gaming-booths
have been disallowed, they have "taken to the
street hardware."

All these street-sellers obtain their supplies
at "the swag-shops;" of which I shall speak
hereafter. The main articles of their trade are
tea-boards, waiters, snuffers, candlesticks, bread-
baskets, cheese-trays, Britannia metal tea-pots
and spoons, iron kettles, pans, and coffee-pots.
The most saleable things, I am told by a man
who has been fifteen years in this and similar
street trades, are at present 18-in. tea-boards,
bought at "the swags" at from 10s. 6d. a doz.,
to 4s. each; 24-in. boards, from 20s. the doz. to
5s. each; bread-baskets, 4s. 6d. the doz.; and
Britannia metal tea-pots, 10s. the doz. These
tea-pots have generally what is called "loaded
bottoms;" the lower part of the vessel is "filled
with composition, so as to look as if there was
great weight of metal, and as if the pot would
melt for almost the 18d. which is asked for it,
and very often got."

I learned from the same man, however, and
from others in the trade, that it is far more dif-
ficult now than it was a few years ago, to sell
"rubbish." There used to be also, but not
within these six or eight years, a tolerable profit
realised by the street-sellers of hardware in the
way of "swop." It was common to take an old
metal article, as part payment for a new one;
and if the old article were of good quality, it
was polished and tinkered up for sale in the
Saturday evening street-markets, and often
"went off well." This traffic, however, has
almost ceased to exist, as regards the street-
sellers of hardware, and has been all but mono-
polished by the men who barter "crocks" for
wearing-apparel, or any old metal. Some hard-
ware-men who have become well known on their
"rounds" — for the principal trade is in the suburbs
— sell very good wares, and at moderate profits.

"It's a poor trade, sir, is the hardware," said
one man carrying it on, "and street trades are
mostly poor trades, for I've tried many a one of
them. I was brought up a clown, I may say;
my father died when I was a child, and I might
have been a clown still but for an accident (a
rupture). That's long ago, — I can't say how
long; but I know that before I was fifteen, I
many a time wished I was dead, and I have
many a time since. Why the day before yester-
day, from 9 in the morning to 11 at night, I
didn't take a farthing. Some days I don't
earn 1s., and I have a mother depending upon
me who can do little or nothing. I'm a tee-
totaller; if I wasn't we shouldn't have a meal
a day. I never was fond of drink, and if I'm
ever so weary and out of sorts, and worried
for a meal's meat, I can't say I ever long for
a drop to cheer me up. Sometimes I can't
get coffee, let alone anything else. O, I suffer
terribly. Day after day I get wet through,
and have nothing to take home to my mother at
last. Our principal food is bread and butter,
and tea. Not fish half so often as many poor
people. I suppose, because we don't care for it.
I know that our living, the two of us, stands to
less than 1s. a day, — not 6d. a piece. Then I
have two rents to pay. No, sir, not for two
places; but I pay 2s. a week for a room, a tidy
bit of a chamber, furnished, and 1s. a week rent,
— I call it rent, for a loan of 5s. I've paid 1s. a
week for four weeks on it, and must keep paying
until I can hand over the 5s., with 1s. for rent
added to it, all in one sum. If I could tip up
the 5s. the day after I'd paid the last week's 1s., I
must pay another shilling. The man who lends
does nothing else; he lives by lending, and by
letting out a few barrows to costermongers, and
other street-people. I wish I could take a
farewell sight of them."

The principal traffic carried on by these
street-sellers is in the suburbs. Women con-
stitute their sole customers, or nearly so. Their
profits fluctuate from 20 per cent. to 100 per cent.
The bread-baskets, which they buy at 4s. 6d. the
doz., they retail at 6d. each; for it is very difficult,
I have frequently been told, to get a price be-
tween 6d. and 1s. This, however, relates only
to those things which are not articles of actual
necessity. Half of these street-sellers, I am
assured, take on an average from 20s. to 25s. weekly the year through; a quarter take 15s., and the remaining quarter from 7s. 6d. to 10s. Calculating an average taking of 15s. each per
week, throughout the entire class, men, women,
and children, we find 780l. expended in street-
sold hardwares. Ten years ago, I am told, the
takings were not less than 2,000l.

The following is an extract from accounts
kept, not long ago, by a street-seller of hard-
ware. His principal sale was snuffers, knives
and forks, iron candlesticks, padlocks, and bed-
screws. His stock cost him 35s. on the Monday
morning, and his first week was his best, which
I here subjoin:

               

	Receipts.	Profits.
Monday	8s.	3s.	0d.
Tuesday	5	2	3
Wednesday	4	1	6
Thursday (always a slack day)	3
Friday (a better day about the docks, when people are paid)	7	3	0
Saturday Morning and Even.	23	6	1
	50	15	10

The following is the worst week in the account-
books. The street-seller after this (about half
a year ago) sold his stock to a small shopkeeper,
and went into another business.

                 

	Receipts.		Profits.
	s.	d.	s.	d.
Monday (very cold) a com- mon bed-screw	0	4	0	1¼
Tuesday	—	—	—	—
Wednesday	1	0	0	5
Thursday (sold cheap)	1	1	0	3
Friday	—	—	—	—
Saturday	1	7	0	8
	4	0	1	5¼

OF THE CHEAP JOHNS, OR STREET HAN-
SELLERS.

This class of street-salesmen, who are perhaps
the largest dealers of all in hardware, are not so
numerous as they were some few years ago — the
Excise Laws, as I have before remarked, having
interfered with their business. The principal
portion of those I have met are Irishmen, who,
notwithstanding, generally "hail" from Shef-
field, and all their sales are effected in an attempt
at the Yorkshire dialect, interspersed, however,
with an unmistakeable brogue. The brogue is
the more apparent when cheap John gets a little
out of temper — if his sales are flat, for instance,
he'll say, "By J — s, I don't belaive you've any
money with you, or that you've lift any at home,
at all, at all. Bad cess to you!"

There are, however, many English cheap
Johns, but few of them are natives of Sheffield
or Birmingham, from which towns they inva-
riably "hail." Their system of selling is to
attract a crowd of persons by an harangue after
the following fashion: "Here I am, the original
cheap John from Sheffield. I've not come here
to get money; not I; I've come here merely
for the good of the public, and to let you see
how you've been imposed upon by a parcel of
pompous shopkeepers, who are not content with
less than 100 per cent. for rubbish. They got
up a petition — which I haven't time to read to
you just now — offering me a large sum of money
to keep away from here. But no, I had too much
friendship for you to consent, and here I am,
cheap John, born without a shirt, one day while
my mother was out, in a haystack; consequently
I've no parish, for the cows eat up mine,
and therefore I've never no fear of going to the
workhouse. I've more money than the parson
of the parish — I've in this cart a cargo of useful
and cheap goods; can supply you with any-
thing, from a needle to an anchor. Nobody can sell as cheap as me, seeing that I gets all my
goods upon credit, and never means to pay for
them. Now then, what shall we begin with?
Here's a beautiful guard-chain; if it isn't sil-
ver, it's the same colour — I don't say it isn't
silver, nor I don't say it is — in that affair use
your own judgment. Now, in the reg'lar way
of trade, you shall go into any shop in town,
and they will ask you 1l. 18s. 6d. for an article
not half so good, so what will you say for this
splendid chain? Eighteen and sixpence with-
out the pound? What, that's too much! Well,
then say 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10 shillings;
what, none of you give ten shillings for this
beautiful article? See how it improves a man's
appearance" (hanging the chain round his neck).
"Any young man here present wearing this chain
will always be shown into the parlour instead
of the tap-room; into the best pew in church,
when he and — but the advantages the purchaser
of this chain will possess I haven't time to tell.
What! no buyers? Why, what's the matter
with ye? Have you no money, or no brains?
But I'll ruin myself for your sakes. Say 9s. for this splendid piece of jewellery — 8, 7, 6, 5,
4, 3, 2, 1 — a shilling, will anybody give a shill-
ing? Well, here 11d., 10d., 9d., 8d., 7d., 6½d., 6d.! Is there ever a buyer at sixpence? Now
I'll ask no more and I'll take no less; sell it or
never sell it." The concluding words are spoken
with peculiar emphasis, and after saying them
the cheap John never takes any lower sum. A
customer perhaps is soon obtained for the guard-
chain, and then the vendor elevates his voice:
"Sold to a very respectable gentleman, with
his mouth between his nose and chin, a most
remarkable circumstance. I believe I've just
one more — this is better than the last; I must
have a shilling for this. Sixpence? To you,
sir. Sold again, to a gentleman worth 30,000l. a year; only the right owner keeps him out
of it. I believe I've just one more; yes,
here it is; it's brighterer, longerer, strongerer,
and betterer than the last. I must have at
least tenpence for this. Well then, 9, 8, 7, 6;
take this one for a sixpence. Sold again, to
a gentleman, his father's pet and his mother's
joy. Pray, sir, does your mother know you're
out? Well, I don't think I've any more, but
I'll look; yes, here is one more. Now this
is better than all the rest. Sold again, to a
most respectable gentleman, whose mother keeps
a chandler's shop, and whose father turns
the mangle." In this manner the cheap John
continues to sell his guard-chain, until he has
drained his last customer for that particular
commodity. He has always his remark to make
relative to the purchaser. The cheap John
always takes care to receive payment before he
hazards his jokes, which I need scarcely remark
are ready made, and most of them ancient and
worn threadbare, the joint property of the whole
fraternity of cheap Johns. After supplying his
audience with one particular article, he intro-
duces another: "Here is a carving-knife and
fork, none of your wasters, capital buck-horn
handle, manufactured of the best steel, in a
regular workmanlike manner; fit for carving in
the best style, from a sparrow to a bullock. I
don't ask 7s. 6d. for this — although go over to
Mr. — , the ironmonger, and he will have the
impudence to ask you 15s. for a worse article."
(The cheap Johns always make comparisons as
to their own prices and the shopkeepers, and
sometimes mention their names.) "I say 5s.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 327.]

for the carving-knife and fork. Why, it's an
article that'll almost fill your children's bellies
by looking at it, and will always make 1 lb. of
beef go as far as 6 lb. carved by any other knife
and fork. Well, 4s., 3s., 2s., 1s. 11d., 1s. 10d., 1s. 9d., 1s. 8d., 1s. 7d., 18d. I ask no more, nor
I'll take no less." The salesman throughout
his variety of articles indulges in the same jokes,
and holds out the same inducements. I give
a few.

"This is the original teapot" (producing
one), "formerly invented by the Chinese; the
first that ever was imported by those celebrated
people — only two of them came over in three
ships. If I do not sell this to-day, I intend
presenting it to the British Museum or the
Great Exhibition. It is mostly used for making
tea, — sometimes by ladies, for keeping a little
drop on the sly; it is an article constructed
upon scientific principles, considered to require
a lesser quantity of tea to manufacture the
largest quantity of tea-water, than any other
teapot now in use — largely patronised by the
tea-totallers. Now, here's a fine pair of bellows!
Any of you want to raise the wind? This is a
capital opportunity, if you'll try. I'll tell you
how; buy these of me for 3s. 6d., and go and
pawn them for 7s. Will you buy 'em, sir? No!
well, then, you be blowed! Let's see — I said
3s. 6d.; it's too little, but as I have said it, they
must go; well — 3s.," &c. &c. "Capital article
to chastise the children or a drunken husband.
Well, take 'em for 1s. — I ask no more, and I'll
take no less."

These men have several articles which they
sell singly, such as tea-trays, copper kettles,
fire-irons, guns, whips, to all of which they
have some preamble; but their most attractive
lot is a heap of miscellaneous articles: — "I
have here a pair of scissors; I only want half-
a-crown for them. What! you won't give 1s.?
well, I'll add something else. Here's a most
useful article — a knife with eight blades, and
there's not a blade among you all that's more
highly polished. This knife's a case of instru-
ments in addition to the blades; here's a cork-
screw, a button-hook, a file, and a picker. For
this capital knife and first-rate pair of scissors
I ask 1s. Well, well, you've no more con-
science than a lawyer; here's something else
— a pocket-book. This book no gentleman
should be without; it contains a diary for every
day in the week, an almanack, a ready-reckoner,
a tablet for your own memorandums, pockets to
keep your papers, and a splendid pencil with a
silver top. No buyers! I'm astonished; but
I'll add another article. Here's a pocket-comb.
No young man with any sense of decency
should be without a pocket-comb. What looks
worse than to see a man's head in an uproar?
Some of you look as if your hair hadn't seen a
comb for years. Surely I shall get a customer
now. What! no buyers — well I never! Here,
I'll add half-a-dozen of the very best Britannia
metal tea-spoons, and if you don't buy, you
must be spoons yourselves. Why, you perfectly
astonish me! I really believe if I was to offer
all in the shop, myself included, I should not
draw 1s. out of you. Well, I'll try again.
Here, I'll add a dozen of black-lead pencils.
Now, then, look at these articles" — (he spreads
them out, holding them between his fingers to
the best advantage) — "here's a pair of first-
rate scissors, that will almost cut of themselves,
— this valuable knife, which comprises within
itself almost a chest of tools, — a splendid pocket-
book, which must add to the respectability and
consequence of any man who wears it, — a pocket-
comb which possesses the peculiar property of
making the hair curl, and dyeing it any colour
you wish, — a half-dozen spoons, nothing inferior
to silver, and that do not require half the usual
quantity of sugar to sweeten your tea, — and a
dozen beautiful pencils, at least worth the
money I ask for the whole lot. Now, a
reasonable price for these articles would be
at least 10s. 6d.; I'll sell them for 1s. I ask
no more, I'll take no less. Sold again!"

The opposition these men display to each
other, while pursuing their business, is mostly
assumed, for the purpose of attracting a crowd.
Sometimes, when in earnest, their language is
disgusting; and I have seen them, (says an in-
formant), after selling, try and settle their differ-
ences with a game at fisticuffs: but this occurred
but seldom. One of these men had a wife who
used to sell for him, — she was considered to be
the best "chaffer" on the road; not one of them
could stand against her tongue: but her lan-
guage abounded with obscenity. All the "cheap
Johns" were afraid of her.

They never under-sell each other (unless they
get in a real passion); this but seldom happens,
but when it does they are exceedingly bitter
against each other. I cannot state the language
they use, further than that it reaches the very
summit of blackguardism. They have, however,
assumed quarrels, for the purpose of holding a
crowd together, and chaff goes round, intended
to amuse their expected customers.

"He's coming your way to-morrow," they'll
say one of the other, "mind and don't hang
your husbands' shirts to dry, ladies, he's very
lucky at finding things before they're lost; he
sells very cheap, no doubt — but mind, if you
handle any of his wares, he don't make you a
present of a Scotch fiddle for nothing. His
hair looks as if it had been cut with a knife and
fork."

The Irishmen, in these displays, generally
have the best of it; indeed, most of their jokes
have originated with the Irishmen, who complain
of the piracies of other "cheap Johns," for as
soon as the joke is uttered it is the property of
the commonwealth, and not unfrequently used
against the inventor half an hour after its first
appearance.

A few of them are not over particular as to
the respectability of their transactions. I recol-
lect one purchasing a brick at Sheffield; the
brick was packed up in paper, with a knife tied
on the outside, it appeared like a package of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 328.]

knives, containing several dozens. The "cheap
John" made out that he bought them as stolen
property; the biter was deservedly bitten. A
few of the fraternity are well-known "Fences,"
and some of them pursue the double calling of
"cheap John" and gambler — keeping gambling
tables at races. However the majority are
hard-working men, who unite untiring industry
with the most indomitable perseverance, for the
laudable purpose of bettering their condition.

I believe the most successful in the line have
worked their way up from nothing, gaining ex-
perience as they proceeded. I have known two
or three start the trade with plenty of stock, but,
wanting the tact, they have soon been knocked
off the road. There is a great deal of judgment
required in knowing the best fairs, and even
when there, as to getting a good stand; and
these matters are to be acquired only by prac-
tice.

In the provinces, and in Scotland, there may
be 100 "cheap Johns," or, as they term them-
selves, "Han-sellers." They are generally a most
persevering body of men, and have frequently
risen from small hawkers of belts, braces, &c.
Their receipts are from 5l. to 30l. per day, their
profits from 20 to 25 per cent.; 20l. is con-
sidered a good day's work; and they can take
about three fairs a week during the summer
months. "I have known many of these men,"
a man well acquainted with them informs me,
"who would walk 20 miles to a fair during the
night, hawk the public-houses the whole of the
day, and start again all night for a fair to be
held 20 miles off upon the following day. I
knew two Irish lads, named — , and I watched
their progress with some interest. Each had
a stock of goods worth a few shillings; and
now each has a wholesale warehouse, — one at
Sheffield, in the cutlery line, and the other at
Birmingham, in general wares."

The goods the han-seller disposes of are mostly
purchased at Sheffield and Birmingham. They
purchase the cheapest goods they can obtain.
Many of the han-sellers have settled in various
parts of England as "swag-shop keepers." There
are two or three in London, I am told, who have
done so; one in the Kent-road, a large concern,
— the others I am not aware of their locality.
Their mode of living while travelling is rather
peculiar. Those who have their caravans, sleep
in them, some with their wives and families; they
have a man, or more generally a boy, to look
after the horse, and other drudgery, and some-
times at a fair, to hawk, or act as a button (a decoy), to purchase the first lot of goods put
up. This boy is accommodated with a bed made
between the wheels of the cart or wagon, with
some old canvas hung round to keep the weather
out — not the most comfortable quarters, perhaps,
— but, as they say, "it's nothing when you're
used to it." The packing up occurs when
there's no more chance of effecting sales; the
horse is put to, and the caravan proceeds on
the road towards the next town intended to visit.
After a sufficient days' travel, the "cheap
John" looks out for a spot to encamp for the
night. A clear stream of water, and provender
for the horse, are indispensable; or perhaps the
han-seller has visited that part before, and is
aware of the halting-place. After having re-
leased the horse, and secured his fore-feet, so
that he cannot stray, the next process is to look
for some crack (some dry wood to light a fire);
this is the boy's work. He is told not to despoil
hedges, or damage fences: "cheap John" doesn't
wish to offend the farmers; and during his tem-
porary sojourn in the green lanes, he frequently
has some friendly chat with the yeomen and
their servants, sometimes disposes of goods, and
often barters for a piece of fat bacon or potatoes.
A fire is lighted between the shafts of the cart,
— a stick placed across, upon which is suspended
the cookery utensil. When the meal is con-
cluded, the parties retire to bed, — the master
within the caravan, and the boy to his chamber
between the wheels. Sometimes they breakfast
before they proceed on their journey; at other
times they travel a few miles first.

Those who have children bring them up in
such a manner as may be imagined con-
sidering their itinerant life: but there are very
few who have families travelling with them;
though in most cases a wife; generally the
children of the "cheap John" are stationary,
either out at nurse or with relatives.

Some of the "cheap Johns" have wagons
upon four wheels, others have carts; but both
are fitted up with a wooden roof. The proprie-
tor invariably sleeps within his portable house,
both for the protection of his property and also
upon the score of economy. The vans with
four wheels answer all the purposes of a habi-
tation. The furniture consists of a bed placed
upon boxes, containing the stock in trade. The
bed extends the whole width of the vehicle,
about 6 ft. 6 in., and many generally extend about
5 ft. into the body of the van, and occupies the
farthest end of the machine from the door, —
which door opens out upon the horse. The
four-wheeled vans are 12 ft. long, and the two-
wheeled carts 9 ft. During business hours the
whole of the articles most likely to be wanted
are spread out upon the bed, and the assistant
(either the wife or a boy) hands them out as the
salesman may require them. The furniture, in
addition to the bed, is very scarce; indeed they
are very much averse to carry more than is really
necessary. The pail, the horse takes his corn and
beans from (I don't know why, but they never
use nose-bags,) serves the purpose of a wash-
hand basin or a washing-tub. It is generally
painted the same colour as the van, with the
initials of the proprietor painted upon it, and,
when travelling, hangs upon a hook under the
machine. They mostly begin with a two-
wheeled machine, and if successful a four-
wheeler follows. The tables and chairs are the
boxes in which the goods are packed. A tea-
kettle and saucepan, and as few delf articles
as possible, and corner-cupboard, and these
comprise the whole of the furniture of the van.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 329.]

In the four-wheeled wagons there is always a
fire-place similar to those the captains of ships
have in their cabins, but in the two-wheeled
carts fire-places are dispensed with. These are
mostly brass ones, and are kept very bright;
for the "cheap Johns" are proud of their van
and its contents. They are always gaudily
painted, sometimes expensively; indeed they
are most expensive articles, and cost from 80l. to 120l. The principal person for making
these machines is a Mr. Davidson of Leeds.
The showman's caravans are still more ex-
pensive; the last purchased by the late Mr.
Wombwell cost more than 300l., and is really a
curiosity. He termed it, as all showmen do
— the living wagon; viz. to live in — it has par-
lour and kitchen, and is fitted up most hand-
somely; its exterior presents the appearance of
a first-class railway-carriage. The front exterior
of the van during the trading operations of the
"cheap Johns," is hung round with guns, saws,
tea-trays, bridles, whips, centre-bits, and other
articles, displayed to the best advantage. The
name of the proprietor is always prominently
displayed along the whole side of the vehicle,
added to which is a signification that he is a
wholesale hardwareman, from Sheffield, York-
shire, or Birmingham, Warwickshire, and some-
times an extra announcement.

"The original cheap John."

I do not know any class of men who are
more fond of the good things of this life than
"cheap John;" his dinner, during a fair, is
generally eaten upon the platform outside his
van, where he disposes of his wares, and inva-
riably consists of a joint of baked meat and
potatoes — that is where they can get a dinner
baked. As little time as possible is occupied
in eating, especially if trade is good. At a hill
fair (that is where the fair is held upon a hill
away from a town), a fire is made behind the
cart, the pot is suspended upon three sticks,
and dinner prepared in the usual camp
fashion. The wife or boy superintends this.
Tea and coffee also generally find their way to
their table; and if there's no cold meat a plentiful
supply of bacon, beef-steaks, eggs, or some-
thing in the shape of a relish, seem to be with
"cheap John" indispensable. His man or
boy (if John is unmarried) appears to be upon
an equality with the master in the eating depart-
ment; he is not allowanced, neither has he to
wait until his superior has finished. Get it over
as quick as you can seems to be the chief ob-
ject. Perhaps from the circumstance of their
selling guns, and consequently always having
such implements in their possession, these men,
when they have time on their hands, are fond of
the sports of the field, and many a hare finds
its way into the camp-kettle of "cheap John."
I need not say that they practise this sport with
but little respectful feeling towards the Game-
laws; but they are careful when indulging in
such amusement, and I never heard of one get-
ting into a hobble.

During the winter (since the "cheap John"
has been obliged to become a licensed auc-
tioneer), some of them take shops and sell their
goods by auction, or get up mock-auctions. I
have been told by them that sometimes its a
better game than "han-selling."

The commencement of the "cheap John's"
season is at Lynn in Norfolk; there is a mart
there commencing 14th February, it continues
fourteen days. After this, there is Wisbeach,
Spalding, Grantham, and other marts in Nor-
folk and Lincolnshire; which bring them up to
Easter. At Easter there are many fairs — Man-
chester, Knott Mill, Blackburn, Darlington,
Newcastle, &c., &c. The "cheap Johns" then
disperse themselves through different parts of
the country. Hill-fairs are considered the best;
that is cattle-fairs, where there are plenty of
farmers and country people. Hirings for ser-
vants are next to them. It may appear curious,
but Sheffield and Birmingham fairs are two of
the best for the "cheap John's" business in
England. There are two fairs at each place
during the year. Sheffield, at Whitsuntide and
November; Birmingham, Whitsuntide and
September. Nottingham, Derby, Leeds, New-
castle, Bristol, Glasgow — in fact, where the
greatest population is, the chances for business
are considered the best, and if I may judge
from the number of traders in this line, who
attend the largest towns, I shonld say they suc-
ceed better than in smaller towns.

If we calculate that there are 100 "cheap
Johns" in London and in the country, and they
are more or less itinerant, and that they each
take 4l. per day for nine months in the year, or
24l. per week; this amounts to 2,400l. per week,
or about 90,000l. in nine months. Supposing
their profits to be 20 per cent., it would leave
18,000l. clear income. Say that during the
winter there are seventy-five following the busi-
ness, and that their receipts amount to 15l. each
per week, this amounts to 3,500l. additional;
and, at the rate of 20 per cent. profit, comes
to 700l., — making throughout the year the
profits of the 100 "cheap Johns" 25,000l., or
250l. a man.

The "cheap Johns" seldom frequent the
crowded thoroughfares of London. Their usual
pitches in the metropolis are, King's-cross, St.
George's-in-the-East, Stepney, round about the
London Docks, Paddington, Kennington, and
such like places.

THE CRIPPLED STREET-SELLER OF NUTMEG-GRATERS.

I now give an example of one of the classes
driven to the streets by utter inability to labour.
I have already spoken of the sterling inde-
pendence of some of these men possessing the
strongest claims to our sympathy and charity,
and yet preferring to sell rather than beg. As I
said before, many ingrained beggars certainly use
the street trade as a cloak for alms-seeking, but
as certainly many more, with every title to our
assistance, use it as a means of redemption from

[Description: 915EAF. Page 330.]

beggary. That the nutmeg-grater seller is a
noble example of the latter class, I have not the
least doubt. I have made all due inquiries to
satisfy myself as to his worthiness, and I feel con-
vinced that when the reader looks at the portrait
here given, and observes how utterly helpless the
poor fellow is, and then reads the following plain
unvarnished tale, he will marvel like me, not only
at the fortitude which could sustain him under all
his heavy afflictions, but at the resignation (not to
say philosophy) with which he bears them every
one. His struggles to earn his own living (not-
withstanding his physical incapacity even to put
the victuals to his mouth after he has earned
them), are instances of a nobility of pride that
are I believe without a parallel. The poor
creature's legs and arms are completely withered;
indeed he is scarcely more than head and trunk.
His thigh is hardly thicker than a child's wrist.
His hands are bent inward from contraction of
the sinews, the fingers being curled up and al-
most as thin as the claws of a bird's foot He
is unable even to stand, and cannot move from
place to place but on his knees, which are shod
with leather caps, like the heels of a clog, strap-
ped round the joint; the soles of his boots are
on the upper leathers, that being the part always
turned towards the ground while he is crawling
along. His countenance is rather handsome
than otherwise; the intelligence indicated by his
ample forehead is fully borne out by the testimony
as to his sagacity in his business, and the mild
expression of his eye by the statements as to his
feeling for all others in affliction.

"I sell nutmeg-graters and funnels," said the
cripple to me; "I sell them at 1d. and 1½d. a
piece. I get mine of the man in whose house I
live. He is a tinman, and makes for the street-
trade and shops and all. I pay 7d. a dozen for
them, and I get 12d. or 18d. a dozen, if I can
when I sell them, but I mostly get only a penny
a piece — it's quite a chance if I have a customer
at 1½d. Some days I sell only three — some days
not one — though I'm out from ten o'clock till six.
The most I ever took was 3s. 6d. in a day. Some
weeks I hardly clear my expenses — and they're
between 7s. and 8s. a week; for not being able to
dress and ondress myself, I'm obligated to pay
some one to do it for me — I think I don't clear
more than 7s. a week take one week with another.
When I don't make that much, I go without —
sometimes friends who are kind to me give me
a trifle, or else I should starve. As near as I
can judge, I take about 15s. a week, and out of
that I clear about 6s. or 7s. I pay for my
meals as I have them — 3d. or 4d. a meal. I
pay every night for my lodging as I go in, if
I can; but if not my landlady lets it run a
night or two. I give her 1s. a week for my
washing and looking after me, and 1s. 6d. for
my lodging. When I do very well I have
three meals a day, but it's oftener only two —
breakfast and supper — unless of Sunday. On
a wet day when I can't get out, I often go
without food. I may have a bit of bread and
butter give me, but that's all — then I lie a-bed.
I feel miserable enough when I see the rain
come down of a week day, I can tell you. Ah,
it is very miserable indeed lying in bed all
day, and in a lonely room, without perhaps a
person to come near one — helpless as I am —
and hear the rain beat against the windows, and
all that without nothing to put in your lips.
I've done that over and over again where I
lived before; but where I am now I'm more
comfortable like. My breakfast is mostly bread
and butter and tea; and my supper, bread and
butter and tea with a bit of fish, or a small bit
of meat. What my landlord and landlady has
I share with them. I never break my fast from
the time I go out in the morning till I come
home — unless it is a halfpenny orange I buy in
the street; I do that when I feel faint. I have
only been selling in the streets since this last
winter. I was in the workhouse with a fever
all the summer. I was destitute afterwards, and
obliged to begin selling in the streets. The
Guardians gave me 5s. to get stock. I had
always dealt in tin ware, so I knew where to go
to buy my things. It's very hard work indeed
is street-selling for such as me. I can't walk
no distance. I suffer a great deal of pains in my
back and knees. Sometimes I go in a barrow,
when I'm travelling any great way. When
I go only a short way I crawl along on my
knees and toes. The most I've ever crawled is
two miles. When I get home afterwards, I'm
in great pain. My knees swell dreadfully, and
they're all covered with blisters, and my toes
ache awful. I've corns all on top of them.

"Often after I've been walking, my limbs and
back ache so badly that I can get no sleep.
Across my lines it feels as if I'd got some great
weight, and my knees are in a heat, and throb,
and feel as if a knife was running into them.
When I go up-stairs I have to crawl upon the
back of my hands and my knees. I can't lift
nothing to my mouth. The sinews of my hands
is all contracted. I am obliged to have things
held to my lipe for me to drink, like a child. I
can use a knife and fork by leaning my arm on
the table and then stooping my head to it. I
can't wash nor ondress myself. Sometimes I
think of my helplessness a great deal. The
thoughts of it used to throw me into fits at one
time — very bad. It's the Almighty's will that
I am so, and I must abide by it. People says, as
they passes me in the streets, `Poor fellow, it's
a shocking thing;' but very seldom they does
any more than pity me; some lays out a half-
penny or a penny with me, but the most of 'em
goes on about their business. Persons looks at
me a good bit when I go into a strange place.
I do feel it very much, that I haven't the power
to get my living or to do a thing for myself, but
I never begged for nothing. I'd sooner starve
than I'd do that. I never thought that people
whom God had given the power to help their-
selves ought to help me. I have thought that
I'm as I am — obliged to go on my hands and
knees, from no fault of my own. Often I've
done that, and I've over and over again laid in

[Description: 915EAF. Page 331.]

bed and wondered why the Almighty should
send me into the world in such a state; often
I've done that on a wet day, with nothing to
eat, and no friend to come a-nigh me. When
I've gone along the streets, too, and been in
pain, I've thought, as I've seen the people pass
straight up, with all the use of their limbs, and
some of them the biggest blackguards, cussing
and swearing, I've thought, Why should I be
deprived of the use of mine? and I've felt angry
like, and perhaps at that moment I couldn't
bring my mind to believe the Almighty was so
good and merciful as I'd heard say; but then
in a minute or two afterwards I've prayed to
Him to make me better and happier in the next
world. I've always been led to think He's
afflicted me as He has for some wise purpose or
another that I can't see. I think as mine is so
hard a life in this world, I shall be better off in
the next. Often when I couldn't afford to pay a
boy, I've not had my boots off for four or five
nights and days, nor my clothes neither. Give
me the world I couldn't take them off myself,
and then my feet has swollen to that degree
that I've been nearly mad with pain, and I've
been shivering and faint, but still I was obliged
to go out with my things; if I hadn't I should
have starved. Such as I am can't afford to
be ill — it's only rich folks as can lay up, not
we; for us to take to our beds is to go with-
out food altogether. When I was without
never a boy, I used to tie the wet towel round
the back of one of the chairs, and wash myself
by rubbing my face up against it. I've been
two days without a bit of anything passing
between my lips. I couldn't go and beg for
victuals — I'd rather go without. Then I used
to feel faint, and my head used to ache dreadful.
I used then to drink a plenty of water. The
women sex is mostly more kinder to me than
the men. Some of the men fancies, as I goes
along, that I can walk. They often says to me,
`Why, the sole of your boot is as muddy as
mine;' and one on 'em is, because I always
rests myself on that foot — the other sole, you
see, is as clean as when it was first made. The
women never seem frightened on me. My trade
is to sell brooms and brushes, and all kinds of
cutlery and tin-ware. I learnt it myself. I
never was brought up to nothing, because I
couldn't use my hands. Mother was a cook
in a nobleman's family when I were born. They
say as I was a love-child. I was not brought
up by mother, but by one of her fellow-
servants. Mother's intellects was so weak,
that she couldn't have me with her. She used
to fret a great deal about me, so her fellow-
servant took me when she got married. After
I were born, mother married a farmer in
middling circumstances. They tell me as my
mother was frightened afore I was born. I
never knew my father. He went over to Buonos
Ayres, and kept an hotel there — I've heard
mother say as much. No mother couldn't love
a child more than mine did me, but her feelings
was such she couldn't bear to see me. I never
went to mother's to live, but was brought up by
the fellow-servant as I've told you of. Mother
allowed her 30l. a-year. I was with her till two
years back. She was always very kind to me —
treated me like one of her own. Mother used to
come and see me about once a-year — sometimes
not so often: she was very kind to me then.
Oh, yes; I used to like to see her very much.
Whatever I wished for she'd let me have; if I
wrote to her, she always sent me what I wanted.
I was very comfortably then. Mother died four
years ago; and when I lost her I fell into a fit
— I was told of it all of a sudden. She and the
party as I was brought up with was the only
friends as I had in the world — the only persons
as cared anything about a creature like me.
I was in a fit for hours, and when I came to,
I thought what would become of me: I knew
I could do nothing for myself, and the only
friend as I had as could keep me was gone.
The person as brought me up was very good,
and said, while she'd got a home I should
never want; but, two years after mother's
death, she was seized with the cholera, and
then I hadn't a friend left in the world.
When she died I felt ready to kill myself;
I was all alone then, and what could I do
— cripple as I was? She thought her
sons and daughters as I'd been brought up
with — like brothers and sisters — would look
after me; but it was not in their power —
they was only hard-working people. My
mother used to allow so much a year for my
schooling, and I can read and write pretty well."
(He wrote his name in my presence kneeling
at the table; holding the pen almost as one
might fancy a bird would, and placing the
paper sideways instead of straight before him.)
"While mother was alive, I was always foraging
about to learn something unbeknown to her.
I wanted to do so, in case mother should leave
me without the means of getting a living. I
used to buy old bedsteads, and take them to
a man, and get him to repair them, and then
I'd put the sacking on myself; I can hold a
hammer somehow in my right hand. I used to
polish them on my knees. I made a bench
to my height out of two old chairs. I used to
know what I should get for the bedsteads, and
so could tell what I could afford to give the
man to do up the parts as I couldn't manage.
It was so I got to learn something like a busi-
ness for myself. When the person died as had
brought me up, I could do a little; I had then
got the means. Before her death I had opened
a kind of shop for things in the general line; I
sold tin-ware, and brass-work, and candlesticks,
and fire-irons, and all old furniture, and gown-
prints as well. I went into the tally business,
and that ruined me altogether. I couldn't get
my money in; there's a good deal owing to me
now. Me and a boy used to manage the whole.
I used to make all my account-books and
everything. My lodgers didn't pay me my
rent, so I had to move from the house, and
live on what stock I had. In my new lodging

[Description: 915EAF. Page 332.]

I went on as well as I could for a little while;
but about eighteen months ago I could hold on
no longer. Then I borrowed a little, and went
hawking tin-ware and brushes in the country.
I sold baking-dishes, Dutch ovens, roasting-
jacks, skewers and gridirons, teapots, and sauce-
pans, and combs. I used to exchange some-
times for old clothes. I had a barrow and a
boy with me; I used to keep him, and give him
1s. a week. I managed to get just a living
that way. When the winter came on I gave it
up; it was too cold. After that I was took bad
with a fever; my stock had been all gone a
little while before, and the boy had left because
I couldn't keep him, and I had to do all for
myself. All my friends was dead, and I had no
one to help me, so I was obligated to lay about
all night in my things, for I couldn't get them
off alone; and that and want of food brought on
a fever. Then I was took into the workhouse,
and there I stopped all the summer, as I told
you. I can't say they treated me bad, but
they certainly didn't use me well. If I could
have worked after I got better, I could have
had tea; but 'cause I couldn't do nothing, they
gave me that beastly gruel morning and night.
I had meat three times a week. They would
have kept me there till now, but I would die in
the streets rather than be a pauper. So I told
them, if they would give me the means of
getting a stock, I would try and get a living
for myself. After refusing many times to let me
have 10s., they agreed to give me 5s. Then I
came out, but I had no home, and so I crawled
about till I met with the people where I am now,
and they let me sit up there till I got a room of
my own. Then some of my friends collected for
me about 15s. altogether, and I did pretty well
for a little while. I went to live close by the
Blackfriars-road, but the people where I lodged
treated me very bad. There was a number of girls
of the town in the same street, but they was too
fond of their selves and their drink to give nothing.
They used to buy things of me and never pay
me. They never made game of me, nor played
me any tricks, and if they saw the boys doing it
they would protect me. They never offered to
give me no victuals; indeed, I shouldn't have
liked to have eaten the food they got. After
that I couldn't pay my lodgings, and the parties
where I lodged turned me out, and I had to crawl
about the streets for four days and nights. This
was only a month back. I was fit to die with
pain all that time. If I could get a penny I
used to go into a coffee-shop for half-a-pint of
coffee, and sit there till they drove me out,
and then I'd crawl about till it was time for me
to go out selling. Oh! dreadful, dreadful, it
was to be all them hours — day and night — on
my knees. I couldn't get along at all, I was
forced to sit down every minute, and then I
used to fall asleep with my things in my hand,
and be woke up by the police to be pushed
about and druv on by them. It seemed like
as if I was walking on the bare bones of my
knees. The pain in them was like the cramp,
only much worse. At last I could bear it no
longer, so I went afore Mr. Secker, the magis-
trate, at Union Hall, and told him I was destitute,
and that the parties where I had been living
kept my bed and the few things I had, for 2s. 6d. rent, that I owed them. He said he couldn't
believe that anybody would force me to crawl
about the streets, for four days and nights,
cripple as I was, for such a sum. One of the
officers told him I was a honest and striving
man, and the magistrate sent the officer, with
the money, to get my things, but the landlady
wouldn't give them till the officer compelled
her, and then she chucked my bed out into
the middle of the street. A neighbour took
it in for me and took care of it till I found
out the tinman who had before let me sit
up in his house. I should have gone to him
at first, but he lived farther than I could
walk. I am stopping with him now, and he
is very kind to me. I have still some rela-
tions living, and they are well to do, but, being
a cripple, they despise me. My aunt, my
mother's sister, is married to a builder, in
Petersham, near Richmond, and they are rich
people — having some houses of their own besides
a good business. I have got a boy to wheel me
down on a barrow to them, and asked assistance
of them, but they will have nothing to do with
me. They won't look at me for my affliction.
Six months ago they gave me half-a-crown. I
had no lodgings nor victuals then; and that I
shouldn't have had from them had I not said
I was starving and must go to the parish. This
winter I went to them, and they shut the door
in my face. After leaving my aunt's, I went
down to Ham Common, where my father-in-law
lives, and there his daughter's husband sent for
a policeman to drive me away from the place.
I told the husband I had no money nor food;
but he advised me to go begging, and said I
shouldn't have a penny of them. My father-
in-law was ill up-stairs at the time, but I don't
think he would have treated me a bit better —
and all this they do because the Almighty has
made me a cripple. I can, indeed, solemnly
say, that there is nothing else against me, and
that I strive hard and crawl about till my limbs
ache enough to drive me mad, to get an honest
livelihood. With a couple of pounds I could, I
think, manage to shift very well for myself.
I'd get a stock, and go into the country with a
barrow, and buy old metal, and exchange tin
ware for old clothes, and with that, I'm almost
sure I could get a decent living. I'm accounted
a very good dealer."

In answer to my inquiries concerning the
character of this man, I received the following
written communication:

"C — H — , Tinman."

From the writer of the above testimonial I

[Description: 915EAF. Page 333.]

received the following account of the poor
cripple: —

"He is a man of generous a disposition, and
very sensitive for the afflictions of others. One
day while passing down the Borough he saw
a man afflicted with St. Vitus's dance shaking
from head to foot, and leaning on the arm of a
woman who appeared to be his wife." The
cripple told my informant that he should never
forget what he felt when he beheld that poor
man. "I thought," he said, "what a blessing
it is I am not like him." Nor is the cripple, I
am told, less independent than he is generous.
In all his sufferings and privations he never
pleads poverty to others; but bears up under
the trials of life with the greatest patience and
fortitude. When in better circumstances he
was more independent than at present, having
since, through illness and poverty, been much
humbled.

"His privations have been great," adds my
informant. "Only two months back, being in a
state of utter destitution and quite worn out
with fatigue, he called at the house of a person
(where my informant occupied a room) about
ten o'clock at night, and begged them to let him
rest himself for a short while, but the inhuman
landlady and her son laid hold of the wretched
man, the one taking him by the arms and the
other by the legs, and literally hurled him into
the street. The next morning," my informant
continued, "I saw the poor creature leaning
against a lamp-post, shivering with the cold,
and my heart bled for him; and since that he
has been living with me."

OF THE SWAG-SHOPS OF THE METROPOLIS.

By those who are not connected with the street
trade, the proprietors of the swag-shops are often
called "warehousemen" or "general dealers,"
and even "slaughterers." These descriptions
apply but partially. "Warehousemen" or
"general dealers" are vague terms, which I
need not further notice. The wretchedly under-
paid and over-worked shoe-makers, cabinet-
makers and others call these places "slaughter-
houses," when the establishment is in the hands
of tradesmen who buy their goods of poor work-
men without having given orders for them. On
Saturday afternoons pale-looking men may be
seen carrying a few chairs, or bending under
the weight of a cheffonier or a chest of drawers,
in Tottenham-court Road, and thoroughfares of
a similar character in all parts. These are
"small masters," who make or (as one man said
to me, "No, sir, I don't make these drawers, I
put them together, it can't be called making;
it's not workmanship") who "put together" in
the hastiest manner, and in any way not posi-
tively offensive to the eye, articles of household
furniture. The "slaughterers" who supply
all the goods required for the furniture of a
house, buy at "starvation prices" (the common
term), the artificer being often kept waiting for
hours, and treated with every indignity. One
East-end "slaughterer" (as I ascertained in a
former inquiry) used habitually to tell that he
prayed for wet Saturday afternoons, because it
put 20l. extra into his pocket! This was owing
to the damage sustained in the appearance of
any painted, varnished, or polished article, by
exposure to the weather; or if it had been pro-
tected from the weather, by the unwillingness
of the small master to carry it to another
slaughter-house in the rain. Under such cir-
cumstances — and under most of the circum-
stances of this unhappy trade — the poor work-
man is at the mercy of the slaughterer.

I describe this matter more fully than I might
have deemed necessary, had I not found that
both the "small masters" spoken of — for I
called upon some of them again — and the
street-sellers, very frequently confounded the
"swag-shop" and the "slaughter-house." The
distinction I hold to be this: — The slaughterer
buys as a rule, with hardly an exception, the
furniture, or whatever it may be, made for the
express purpose of being offered to him on
speculation of sale. The swag shop-keeper
orders his goods as a rule, and buys, as an
exception, in the manner in which the slaught-
erer buys ordinarily. The slaughterer sells by
retail; the swag-shop keeper only by whole-
sale.

Most of the articles, of the class of which I
now treat, are "Brummagem made." An
experienced tradesman said to me: "All these
low-priced metal things, fancy goods and all,
which you see about, are made in Birming-
ham; in nineteen cases out of twenty at the
least. They may be marked London, or
Sheffield, or Paris, or any place — you can
have them marked North Pole if you will —
but they're genuine Birmingham. The car-
riage is lower from Birmingham than from
Sheffield — that's one thing."

The majority of the swag-shop proprietors
are Jews. The wares which they supply to the
cheap shops, the cheap John's, and the street-
sellers, in town and country, consist of every
variety of article, apart from what is eatable,
drinkable, or wearable, in which the trade class
I have specified can deal. As regards what is
wearable, indeed, such things as braces, garters,
&c., form a portion of the stock of the swag-
shop.

In one street (a thoroughfare at the east-end
of London) are twenty-three of these establish-
ments. In the windows there is little attempt
at display; the design aimed at seems to be
rather to crowd the window — as if to show the
amplitude of the stores within, "the wonderful
resources of this most extensive and universal
establishment" — than to tempt purchasers by
exhibiting tastefully what may have been taste-
fully executed by the artificer, or what it is
desired should be held to be so executed.

In one of these windows the daylight is
almost precluded from the interior by what may
be called a perfect wall of "pots." A street-
seller who accompanied me called them merely
"pots" (the trade term), but they were all pot

[Description: 915EAF. Page 334.]

ornaments. Among them were great store of
shepherdesses, of greyhounds of a gamboge
colour. of what I heard called "figures"
(allegorical nymphs with and without birds or
wreaths in their hands), very tall-looking
Shaksperes (I did not see one of these win-
dows without its Shakspere, a sitting figure),
and some "pots" which seem to be either
shepherds or musicians; from what I could
learn, at the pleasure of the seller, the buyer,
or the inquirer. The shepherd, or musician is
usually seated under a tree; he wears a light
blue coat, and yellow breeches, and his limbs,
more than his body, are remarkable for their
bulk; to call them merely fat does not suffi-
ciently express their character, and in some
"pots," they are as short and stumpy as they
are bulky. On my asking if the dogs were
intended for Italian greyhounds, I was told,
"No, they are German." I alluded however
to the species of the animal represented; my
informant to the place of manufacture, for the
pots were chiefly German. A number of mugs
however, with the Crystal Palace very well
depicted upon them, were unmistakably Eng-
lish. In another window of the same establish-
ment was a conglomeration of pincushions,
shaving-brushes, letter-stamps (all in bone),
cribbage-boards and boxes (including a pack of
cards), necklaces, and strings of beads.

The window of a neighbouring swag-shop
presented, in the like crowding, and in greater
confusion, an array of brooches (some in co-
loured glass to imitate rubies, topazes, &c.,
some containing portraits, deeply coloured, in
purple attire, and red cheeks, and some being
very large cameos), time-pieces (with and with-
out glasses), French toys with moveable figures,
telescopes, American clocks, musical boxes,
shirt-studs, backgammon-boards, tea-trays (one
with a nondescript bird of most gorgeous green
plumage forming a sort of centrepiece), razor-
strops, writing-desks, sailors' knives, hair-
brushes, and tobacco-boxes.

Another window presented even a more
"miscellaneous assortment;" dirks (apparently
not very formidable weapons), a mess of steel
pens, in brown-paper packages and cases, and
of black-lead pencils, pipe-heads, cigar-cases,
snuff-boxes, razors, shaving-brushes, letter-
stamps, metal tea-pots, metal tea-spoons, glass
globes with artificial flowers and leaves within
the glass (an improvement one man thought on
the old ornament of a reel in a bottle), Peel
medals, Exhibition medals, roulette-boxes,
scent bottles, quill pens with artificial flowers in
the feathery part, fans, side-combs, glass pen-
holders, and pot figures (caricatures) of Louis
Philippe, carrying a very red umbrella, Mar-
shal Haynau, with some instrument of torture
in his hand, while over all boomed a huge
English seaman, in yellow waistcoat and with a
brick-coloured face.

Sometimes the furniture of a swag-shop
window is less plentiful, but quite as hetero-
genous. In one were only American clocks,
French toys (large), opera-glasses, knives and
forks, and powder-flasks.

In some windows the predominant character
is jewellery. Ear-drops (generally gilt), rings
of all kinds, brooches of every size and shade
of coloured glass, shawl-pins, shirt-studs, neck-
laces, bead purses, small paintings of the
Crystal-palace, in "burnished `gold' frames,"
watch-guards, watch-seals (each with three im-
pressions or mottoes), watch-chains and keys,
"silver" tooth-picks, medals, and snuff-boxes.
It might be expected that the jewellery shops
would present the most imposing display of any;
they are, on the contrary, among the dingiest,
as if it were not worth the trouble to put clean
things in the window, but merely what sufficed
to characterise the nature of the trade carried
on.

Of the twenty-three swag-shops in question,
five were confined to the trade in all the branches
of stationery. Of these I saw one, the large
window of which was perfectly packed from
bottom to top with note-paper, account and
copy-books, steel-pens, pencils, sealing-wax,
enamelled wafers (in boxes), ink-stands, &c.

Of the other shops, two had cases of watches,
with no attempt at display, or even arrange-
ment. "Poor things," I was told by a person
familiar with the trade in them, "fit only to
offer to countrymen when they've been drinking
at a fair, and think themselves clever."

I have so far described the exterior of these
street-dealers' bazaars, the swag-shops, in what
may be called their head-quarters. Upon en-
tering some of these places of business, spacious
rooms are seen to extend behind the shop or
warehouse which opens to the street. Some are
almost blocked up with what appears a litter of
packing-cases, packages, and bales — but which
are no doubt ordered systematically enough —
while the shelves are crammed with goods in
brown paper, or in cases or boxes. This uni-
formity of package, so to speak, has the effect of
destroying the true character of these swag
store-rooms; for they present the appearance of
only three or four different kinds of merchandise
being deposited on a range of shelves, when,
perhaps, there are a hundred. In some of these
swag-shops it appears certain, both from what
fell under my own observation, and from what I
learned through my inquiries of persons long
familiar with such places, that the "litter" I
have spoken of is disposed so as to present the
appearance of an affluence of goods without the
reality of possession.

In no warehouses (properly "swag," or
wholesale traders) is there any arranged display
of the wares vended. "Ve don't vant people
here," one street-seller had often heard a swag-
shopkeeper say, "as looks about them, and
says, ` 'Ow purty! — Vot nice things!' Ve
vants to sell, and not to show. Ve is all for
bisness, and be d — d." All of these places
which I saw were dark, more or less so, in the
interior, as if a customer's inspection were un-
cared for.

Some of the swag-shop people present cards, or
"circulars with prices," to their street and other
customers, calling attention to the variety of their
wares. These circulars are not given without
inquiry, as if it were felt that one must not be
wasted. On one I find the following enumera-
tion: —

It must not be thought that swag-shops are
mainly repositories of "fancy" articles, for such is
not the case. I have described only the "win-
dows" and outward appearances of these places —
the interior being little demonstrative of the busi-
ness; but the bulkier and more useful articles of
swag traffic cannot be exposed in a window. In
the miscellaneous (or Birmingham and Sheffield)
shops, however, the useful and the "fancy" are
mixed together; as is shown by the following
extracts from the Circular of one of the principal
swag-houses. I give each head, with an occa-
sional statement of prices. The firm describe
themselves as "Wholesale, Retail, and Export
Furnishing Ironmongers, General Hardwaremen,
Manufacturers of Clocks, Watches, and Steel Pens,
and Importers of Toys, Beads, and other Foreign
Manufactures."

Table Cutlery.

           

	s.	d.
Common knives and forks, per doz	2	0
Ivory-handle table knives and fork, per set of fifty-pieces	30	0
Tables, per doz	15	0
Desserts, per doz	11	3
Carvers, per pair	4	0

Fire-Irons.

   

Strong wrought-iron for kitchens, per set 2s. to	6	0
Ditto for parlours or libraries, bright pans, 4s. 6d. to	7	0

Fenders.

   

Kitchen fenders, 3 ft. long, with sliding bar	3	0
Green ditto, brass tops, for bed rooms	1	8

"Britannia Metal Goods" (tea-pots, &c.), "German
Silver Goods" (tea-spoons, 1s. to 2s. per dozen, &c.).

Bellows.

   

Kitchen, each	10d. to 2	0
Parlour ditto, brass pipes and nails	2s 3d. to 3	0

Japanned goods, brass goods, iron saucepans, oval iron
pots, iron tea-kettles, &c., iron stew-pans, &c. The
prices here run very systematically: —

             

	s.	d.
One quart	1	2
Three pints	1	8
Two quarts	2	0
Three quarts	3	0
Four quarts	3	9
Five quarts	4	0

Patent enamelled saucepans, oval tin boilers, tin
saucepans, tea-kettles, coffee-pots. In all these
useful articles the prices range in the same way
as in the iron stew-pans. Copper goods (kettles,
coal-scoops, &c.), tin fish-kettles, dish-covers, rose-
wood workboxes, glass, brushes (tooth, hair,
clothes, scrubbing, stove, shoe, japanned hearth,
banister, plate, carpet, and dandy), tools, plated
goods (warranted silver edges), snuffers, beads,
musical instruments (accordions from 1s. to 5s., &c.). Then come dials and clocks, combs, optics,
spectacles, eye-glasses, telescopes, opera glasses,
each 10d. to 10s., China ornaments, lamps, sun-
dries (these I give verbatim, to show the nature
of the trade), crimping and goffering-machines,
from 14s., looking-glasses, pictures, &c., beads of
every kind, watch-guards, shaving-boxes, guns,
pistols, powder-flasks, belts, percussion caps, &c.,
corkscrews, 6d. to 2s., nut-cracks, 6d. to 1s. 6d., folding measures, each 2s. to 4s., silver spoons,
haberdashery, skates per pair 2s. to 10s., carpet
bags, each 3s. to 10s., egg-boilers, tapers, flat and
box irons, Italian irons and heaters, earthenware
jugs, metal covers, tea-pots, plaited straw baskets,
sieves, wood pails, camera-obscuras, medals, amu-
lets, perfumery and fancy soaps of all kinds,
mathematical instruments, steel pens, silver and
German silver patent pencil-cases and leads, snuff-
boxes "in great variety," strops, ink, slates, metal
eyelet-holes and machines, padlocks, braces, belts,
Congreves, lucifers, fuzees, pocket-books, bill-cases,
bed-keys, and a great variety of articles too nume-
rous to mention.

Notwithstanding the specific character and
arrangement of the "Circulars with prices," it is
common enough for the swag-shop proprietors to
intimate to any one likely to purchase that those
prices are not altogether to be a guidance, as
thirty-five per cent. discount is allowed on the
amount of a ready-money purchase. One of the
largest "swags" made such an allowance to a
street-seller last week.

The swag-shops (of which I state the numbers
in a parenthesis) are in Houndsditch (their prin-
cipal locality) (23), Minories (4), Whitechapel
(2), Ratcliffe-highway (20), Shoreditch (1), Long-
lane, Smithfield (4), Fleet-lane (2), Holywell-
street, Strand (1), Tothill-street (4), Compton-
street, Soho (1), Hatton-garden (2), Clerkenwell
(10), Kent-street, Borough (8), New-cut (6),
Blackman-street (2), Tooley-street (3), London-
road (3), Borough-road (1), Waterloo-road (4) —
in all 101; but a person who had been upwards
of twenty years a frequenter of these places
counted up fifty others, many of them in obscure
courts and alleys near Houndsditch, Ratcliffe
Highway, &c., &c. These "outsiders" are gene-
rally of a smaller class than those I have described;
"and I can tell you, sir," the same man said,
"some of them — ay, and some of the big ones,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 336.]

too — are real swag-shops still, — partly so, that is;
you understand me, sir." The word "swag," I
should inform my polite readers, means in slang
language, "plunder."

It may be safely calculated, then, that there
are 150 swag-shops to which the different classes
of street-sellers resort for the purchase of stock.
Among these establishments are pot swag, sta-
tionery swag, haberdashery swag, jewellery swag,
and miscellaneous swag — the latter comprise far
more than half of the entire number, and consti-
tute the warehouses which are described by their
owners as "Birmingham and Sheffield," or "Eng-
lish and Foreign," or "English and German." It
is in these last-mentioned "swags" that the class
I now treat of — the street-sellers of metal manu-
factures — find the commodities of their trade. To
this, however, there is one exception. Tins for
household use are not sold at the general swag-
shops; but "fancy tins," such as japanned and
embellished trays, are vended there extensively.
The street-sellers of this order are supplied at the
"tin-shops," — the number of the wholesale tin-
men supplying the street-sellers is about fifty.
The principle on which the business is conducted
is precisely that of the more general swag-shop;
but I shall speak of them when I treat of the
street-sellers of tins.

An intelligent man, who had been employed in
different capacities in some of the principal swag-
shops, told me of one which had been carried on
by the same family, from father to son, for more
than seventy years. In the largest of the "swags"
about 200 "hands" are employed, in the various
capacities of salesmen, buyers, clerks, travellers,
unpackers, packers, porters, &c., &c. On some
mornings twenty-five large packages — some of
small articles entirely — are received from the
carriers. In one week, when my informant
assisted in "making up the books," the receipts
were upwards of 3000l. "In my opinion, sir,"
he said, "and it's from an insight into the busi-
ness, Mr. — 's profit on that 3000l. was not
less than thirty-five per cent.; for he's a great
capitalist, and pays for everything down upon the
nail; that's more than 1000l. profit in a week.
Certainly it was an extra week, and there's the
200 hands to pay, — but that wouldn't range
higher than 300l., indeed, not so high; and
there's heavy rent and taxes, and rates, no doubt,
and he (the proprietor is a Jew) is a fair man to
the trade, and not an uncharitable man — but he
will drive a good bargain where it's possible; so
considering everything, sir, the profits must be
very great, and they are mostly made out of poor
buyers, who sell it to poor people in the streets,
or in small shops. It's a wonderful trade."

From the best information I could obtain I
come to the conclusion that, including small and
large shops, 3000l. yearly is the average receipt
of each — or, as it is most frequently expressed,
that sum is "turned over" by the swag-shop
keepers yearly. There is great competition in the
trade, and much of what is called "cutting," or
one tradesman underselling another. The profit
consequently varies from twenty to thirty-five and
(rarely) fifty per cent. Sometimes a swag-shop
proprietor is "hung-up" with a stock the demand
for which has ceased, and he must dispose of it as
"a job lot," to make room for other goods, and
thus is necessarily "out of pocket." The smaller
swag-shops do not "turn over" 500l. a year. The
calculation I have given shows an outlay, yearly,
of 450,000l. at the swag-shops of London; "but,"
said a partner in one of these establishments,
"what proportion of the goods find their way into
the streets, what to the shops, what to the coun-
try, and what for shipping, I cannot form even a
guess, for we never ask a customer for what pur-
pose he wants the goods, though sometimes he
will say, `I must have what is best for such or
such a trade.' Say half a million turned over in
a year, sir, by the warehousemen who sell to the
street-people, among others, and you're within the
mark."

I found the street-sellers characterize the
"swags" as hard and grinding men, taking every
advantage "in the way of trade." There is, too,
I was told by a man lately employed in a swag-
shop, a constant collision of clamour and bargain-
ing, not to say of wits, between the smarter street-
sellers — the pattering class especially — and the
swag-men with whom they are familiar.

The points in which the "swag-shops" re-
semble the "slaughter-houses," are in the traffic in
work-boxes, desks, and dressing-cases.

OF THE LIFE OF A CHEAP-JOHN.

The following narrative, relative to this curious
class, who, in many respects, partake of the cha-
racteristics which I have pointed out as proper to
the mountebank of old, was taken from one of
the fraternity. It may be cited as an example
of those who are bred to the streets: — "My
father and mother," said he, "both followed a
travelling occupation, and were engaged in vend-
ing different things, from the old brimstone
matches up to clothes lines, clothes props, and
clothes pegs. They never got beyond these, — the
other articles were thread, tapes, nutmeg graters,
shoe-ties, stay-laces, and needles. My father, my
mother used to tell me, was a great scholard, and
had not always been a travelling vagrant. My
mother had never known any other life. I, how-
ever, did not reap any benefit from my father's
scholarship. At a very early age, five or six per-
haps, I recollect myself a poor little neglected
wretch, sent out each day with a roll of matches,
with strict injunctions not to come home without
selling them, and to bring home a certain sum of
money, upon pain of receiving a sound thrashing,
which threat was mostly put into execution when-
ever I failed to perform the task imposed upon
me. My father seldom worked, that is, seldom
hawked, but my mother, poor thing, had to travel
and work very hard to support four of us — my
father, myself, and a sister, who is since dead. I
was but little assistance, and sometimes when I
did not bring home the sum required, she would
make it up, and tell my father I had been a good
boy. My father was an inveterate drinker, and a
very violent temper. My mother, I am sorry to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 337.]

say, used to drink too, but I believe that ill-usage
drove her to it. They led a dreadful life; I
scarcely felt any attachment for them; home we
had none, one place was as good another to us. I
left my parents when scarcely eight years old. I
had received a thrashing the day before for being
a defaulter in my sale, and I determined the fol-
lowing morning to decamp; and accordingly, with
my nine-pennyworth of matches (the quantity
generally allotted me), I set out to begin the
world upon my own account. Although this oc-
curred 25 years ago, I have never met my parents
since. My father, I heard, died a few years after
my leaving, but my mother I know not whether
she be living or dead. I left my parents at Dover,
and journeyed on to London. I knew there were
lodging-houses for travellers in every town, some
of them I had stopped at with my father and
mother. I told the people of these houses that
my parents would arrive the following day,
and paid my 2d. for the share of a third, fourth,
fifth, or even sixth part of a bed, according to the
number of children who inhabited the lodging-
house upon that particular night. My matches I
could always sell if I tried, but I used to play my
time away, and many times night has arrived be-
fore I thought of effecting sales sufficient to pay
my expenses at the beggar's hotel. Broken
victuals I got in abundance, indeed more than
sufficient for my own consumption. The money I
received for the matches, after paying my lodging,
and purchasing a pennyworth of brimstone to
make more (the wood I begged at the carpenters),
I gambled away at cards. Yes, young as I was,
I understood Blind Hookey. I invariably lost;
of course I was cheated.

"I remained in a lodging house in Mill-lane,
Deptford, for two years, discontinued the match-
selling, and, having a tidy voice, took to hawking
songs through the public-houses. The sailors used
to ask me to sing, and there were few days that I
did not accumulate 2s. 6d., and from that to 4s., especially when I chose to be industrious; but my
love of pitch and toss and blind hookey always
kept me poor. I often got into debt with my
landlady, and had no difficulty in doing so, for I
always felt a pride in paying. From selling the
printed songs, I imbibed a wish to learn to
read, and, with the assistance of an old soldier,
I soon acquired sufficient knowledge to make
out the names of each song, and shortly after-
wards I could study a song and learn the
words without any one helping me. I stopped
in Deptford until I was something more than
twelve years old. I had then laid the songs
aside, and taken to hawking small wares, tapes,
thread, &c.; and in the winter season I was a
buyer of rabbit and hare skins. I kept at this
for about three years, sometimes entirely without
a stock. I had run it out, perhaps gambled it
away; and at such times I suffered great priva-
tions. I never could beg. I have often tried, but
never could. I have approached a house with a
begging intention, knocked at the door, and when it
has been opened I have requested a drink of water.
When I was about 16 I joined in partnership with
a man who used to make phosphorus boxes. I
sold them for him. A piece of phosphorus was
stuck in a tin tube, the match was dipped into
the phosphorus, and it would ignite by friction.
I was hawking these boxes in Norwich,
when the constable considered they were dread-
ful affairs, and calculated to encourage and assist
thieves and burglars. He took me before the
magistrate, at the beak's own private house,
and he being equally horrified, I was sent to
prison for a month. I have often thought
since that the proceeding was illegal. What
would be said now if a man was to be sent to
jail for selling lucifer matches? In Norwich prison
I associated with the rest, and if I had been in-
clined to turn thief I had plenty of opportunities
and offers of gratuitous instruction. The separate
or silent system was not in vogue then. I worked
on the treadmill. Dinner was allowed to be sent
in on the Sunday by the prisoner's friends. My
dinner was sent in on the first Sunday by the man
I sold the boxes for, as it was on the second, third,
and fourth; but I had lost it before I received
it. I had always gambled it away, for there
were plenty of opportunities of doing so in the
prisons then. On leaving the jail I received
1s.; with this I purchased some songs and
travelled to Yarmouth. I could do best among
sailors. After a few weeks I had accumu-
lated about 8s., and with that sum I purchased
some hardware at the swag-shop, commenced
hawking, and cut the vocal department altogether;
still I gambled and kept myself in poverty. In
the course of time, however, I had amassed a
basket of goods, worth, perhaps, 3l. I gambled
and lost them all in one night. I was so down-
cast and unhappy from this circumstance, that it
caused me to reflect seriously, and I made an oath
that I never would gamble again. I have kept
it, and have reason to bless the day that I made
so good a resolution. After losing my basket of
goods, the winner gave me articles amounting to a
few shillings, and I began the world once more.
Shortly afterwards I commenced rag gatherer, and
changed my goods for old rags, of course not
refusing cash in payment. My next step was to
have some bills printed, whereon I requested all
thrifty wives to look out their old rags or old
metal, or old bones, &c.; stating at the bottom
that the bill would be called for, and that a
good price in ready money would be given for
all useless lumber, &c. Some months at this
business realized me a pretty sum of money.
I was in possession of nearly 5l. Then I dis-
continued the rag-gathering; not that the trade
was declining, but I did not like it — I was am-
bitious. I purchased a neat box, and started to
sell a little Birmingham jewellery. I was now
respectably dressed, was getting a living, and had
entirely left off stopping at common lodging-houses;
but I confined my visits to small villages — I was
afraid of the law; and as I was pursuing my call-
ing near Wakefield, a constable inquired for my
hawker's licence. I had none to produce. He
took me into custody, and introduced me to a
magistrate, who committed me to prison for a

[Description: 915EAF. Page 338.]

month, and took away my box of goods. I
endured the month's imprisonment upon the silent
system; they cut my hair short; and at the
expiration of the term I was thrust out upon the
world heart-broken, without a shilling, to beg, to
steal, or to starve.

"I proceeded to Leeds, the fair was on at this
time. I got engaged to assist a person, from whom
I had been accustomed occasionally to purchase
goods. He was a `Cheap-John.' In the course of
the day he suggested that I should have a try at
the hand-selling. I mounted the platform, and
succeeded beyond my own expectations or that of
my master. He offered me a regular engagement,
which I accepted. At times I would help him
sell, and at other times I hawked with his licence.
I had regular wages, besides all I could get above
a certain price that he placed upon each of the
goods. I remained with this person some fifteen
months, at the end of which period I commenced
for myself, having saved nearly 25l. I began at
once the hand-selling, and purchased a hawker's
licence, which enabled me to sell without danger.
Then I always called at the constable's house, and
gave a louder knock at his door than any other
person's, proud of my authority, and assured of
my safety. At first I borrowed an empty cart,
in which I stood and sold my wares. I could
chaff as well as the best, and was as good
a salesman as most of them. After that I pur-
chased a second-hand cart from a person who had
lately started a waggon. I progressed and im-
proved in circumstances, and at last bought a very
handsome waggon for myself. I have now a
nice caravan, and good stock of goods, worth at
least 500l. Money I have but little. I always
invest it in goods. I am married, and have got a
family. I always travel in the summer, but re-
main at home during the winter. My wife never
travels. She remains behind, and manages a
little swag-shop, which always turns in at least
the family expenses."

THE STREET-SELLERS OF CUTLERY.

The cutlery sold in the streets of London con-
sists of razors, pen-knives, pocket-knives, table
and carving-knives and forks, scissors, shears,
nail-filers, and occasionally (if ordered) lancets.
The knives are of various kinds — such as sailors'
knives (with a hole through the handle), butchers'
knives, together with choppers and steels (sold
principally at Newgate and Billinsgate Markets,
and round about the docks), oyster and fish-
knives (sold principally at Billinsgate and Hun-
gerford Markets), bread-knives (hawked at the
bakers' shops), ham and beef knives (hawked at
the ham and beef shops), cheese-knives with
tasters, and ham-triers, shoemakers' knives, and a
variety of others. These articles are usually pur-
chased at the "swag-shops," and the prices of
them vary from 2½d. to 1s. 1½d. each. They are
bought either by the dozen, half-dozen, or singly,
according to the extent of the street-seller's stock-
money. Hence it would appear that the street-seller
of cutlery can begin business with only a few
pence; but it is only when the swag-shop keeper
has known the street-seller that he will consent
to sell one knife alone "to sell again;" to street-
sellers with whom he is unacquainted, he will
not vend less than half-a-dozen. Even where the
street-seller is known, he has, if "cracked-up," to
beg hard, I am told, before he can induce the ware-
houseman to let him have only one article. "The
swag-shops won't be bothered with it," say the
men — "what are our troubles to them? if the
rain starves us out and makes us eat up all our
stock-money, what is it to such folks? they
wouldn't let us have even a row of pins without
the money for 'em — no, not if we was to drop
down dead for want of bread in their shops.
They have been deceived by such a many that
now they won't listen to none." I subjoin a list
of the prices paid and received by the street-
sellers of cutlery for the principal articles in which
they deal:

               

	Lowest price paid per half- dozen.		Sold at in streets.		Highest price paid per half- dozen.		Sold at in streets.
	s.	d.	s.	d.	s.	d.	s. #d.
Table-knives and forks	1	3	2	0	5	0	7 #6
Ditto, without forks	0	9	1	3	4	0	6 #0
Pocket-knives	1	0	1	6	4	0	6 #0
Pen-knives	1	9	2	6	2	6	3 #9
Razors	1	9	2	6	5	0	7 #6
Scissors	0	3½	0	6	1	9	2 #6

Their usual rate of profit is 50 per cent., but
rather than refuse a ready sale the street cutlery-
seller will often take much less. Many of the
sellers only pursue the trade for a few weeks in
the year. A number of the Irish labourers take
to it in the winter-time when they can get no work.
Some few of the sellers are countrymen, but these
mostly follow the business continuously. "I don't
see as there is hardly one upon the list as has ever
been a cutler by trade," said one street-seller to me,
"and certainly none of the cutlery-sellers have ever
belonged to Sheffield — they may say so, but its
only a dodge." The cutlery street-sellers are not
one-quarter so numerous as they were two
years back. "The reason is," I am told, "that
things are got so bad a man can't live by
the trade — mayhap he has to walk three miles
now before he can sell for 1s. a knife that
has cost him 8½d., and then mayhap he is faint,
and what's 3½d., sir, to keep body and soul toge-
ther, when a man most likely has had no victuals
all the day before." If they had a good bit of
stock they might perhaps get a crust, they say.
"Things within the last two or three years," to
quote the words of one of my informants, "have
been getting much worse in the streets; 'specially
in the cutlery line. I can't give no account for
it, I'm sure, sir; the sellers have not been half as
many as they were. What's become of them
that's gone, I can't tell; they're in the work-
house, I dare say." But, notwithstanding this
decrease in the number of sellers, there is a greater
difficulty to vend their goods now than formerly.
"It's all owing to the times, that's all I can say.
People, shopkeepers, and all says to me, I can't
tell why things is so bad, and has been so bad in

[Description: 915EAF. Page 339.]

trade; but so they is. We has to walk farther
to sell our goods, and people beat us down so
terrible hard, that we can't get a penny out of
them when we do sell. Sometimes they offers
me 9d., yes, and often 6d. for an 8½d. knife; and
often enough 4d. for one that stands you in 3d. — a ¼d. profit, think of that, sir. Then they say,
`Well, my man, will you take my money?' and so
as to make you do so, they'll flash it before your
eyes, as if they knew you was a starving, and would
be sure to be took in by the sight of it. Yes,
sir, it is a very hard life, and we has to put up
with a good deal — a good deal — starvation and
hard-dealing, and insults and knockings about,
and all. And then you see the swag-shops is
almost as hard on us as the buyers. The swag-
men will say, if you merely makes a remark, that
a knife they've sold you is cracked in the handle,
`Oh, is it; let me see whereabouts;' and when
you hands it to 'em to show it 'em, they'll put it
back where they took it from, and tell you, `You're
too particular by half, my man. You'd better
go and get your goods somewhere else; here
take your money, and go on about your business,
for we won't sarve you at all.' They'll do just
the same with the scissors too, if you complains
about their being a bit rusty. `Go somewhere
else,' they'll say, `We won't sarve you.' Ah, sir,
that's what it is to be a poor man; to have your
poverty flung in your teeth every minute. People
says, `to be poor and seem poor is the devil;' but
to be poor, and be treated like a dog merely
because you are poor, surely is ten thousand times
worse. A sreet-seller now-a-days is looked upon
as a `cadger,' and treated as one. To try to get
a living for one's self is to do something shameful
in these times."

The man then gave me the following history
of himself. He was a kindly-looking and hearty
old man. He had on a ragged fustian jacket, over
which he wore a black greasy-looking and tattered
oilskin coat — the collar of this was torn away, and
the green baize lining alone visible. His waist-
coat was patched in every direction, while his
trousers appeared to be of corduroy; but the
grease and mud was so thick upon them, that it
was difficult to tell of what material they were
made. His shoes — or rather what remained of
them — were tied on his feet with pieces of string.
His appearance altogether denoted great poverty.

"My father was a farmer, sir. He had two
farms, about 800 acres in all. I was one of
eleven (ten sons and one daughter). Seven years
before my father's death he left his farm, and
went to live on his money. He had made a
good bit at farming; but when he died it was all
gone, and we was left to shift as we could. I had
little or no education. My brothers could read
and write, but I didn't take to it; I went a bird's-
nesting, boy-like, instead, so that what little I did
larn I have forgot. I am very sorry for that
now. I used to drive the plough, and go a har-
rowing for father. I was brought up to nothing
else. When father died, I thought as I should
like to see London. I was a mere lad — about
20 — and so I strolled up to town. I had 10s. with me, and that, with a bundle, was all
that I possessed in the world. When I got to
London I went to lodge at a public-house — the
Red Lion — in Great Wild-street; and while I
was there I sought about for work, but could not
get any; when all was gone, I was turned out
into the streets, and walked about for two days
and two nights, without a bed, or a bit to eat,
unless what I picked out of the gutter, and eat
like a dog — orange-peel and old cabbage-stumps,
indeed anything I could find. When I was very
hard put to it, I was coming down Drury-lane,
and I looked in, quite casual like, to ask for a job
of work at the shop of Mr. Bolton, the needle-
maker from Redditch. I told him as how I was
nigh starving, and would do anything to get a
crust; I didn't mind what I put my hand to. He
said he would try me, and gave me two packets of
needles to sell — they was the goolden-eyed ones
of that time of day — and he said when I had got
rid of them I was to come back to him, and I
should have two packets more. He told me the
price to ask — sixpence a paper — and away I went
like a sand-boy, and got rid of the two in an hour
and a half. Then I went back, and when I told
him what I'd done, he shook hands with me, and
said, as he burst out laughing, "Now, you see
I've made a man of you." Oh, he was an un-
common nice gentleman! Then he told me
to keep the shilling I had taken, and said he
would trust me with two more packets. I
sold them, and two others besides, that day.
Then, he says, `I shall give you something else,
and he let me have two packets of tailors' needles
and half a dozen of tailors' thimbles. He told me
how to sell them, and where to go, and on them I
did better. I went round to the tailors' shops
and sold a good lot, but at last they stopped me,
because I was taking the bread out of the mouths
of the poor blind needle-sellers what supplies the
journeymen tailors at the West-end. Then Mr.
Bolton sent me down to one of his relations, a
Mr. Crooks, in Fetter Lane, who was a Sheffield
man, and sold cutlery to the hawkers; and Mr.
Crooks and Mr. Bolton sot me up between them,
and so I've followed the line ever since. I dare say
I shall continue in it to my dying day. After I
got fairly set agoing, I used to make — take good
and bad, wet and dry days together — 18s. a week;
three shillings a day was what I calculated on at
the least, and to do that I was obligated to take
between 2l. and 3l. a week, or about eight or nine
shillings each day. I went on doing this for upwards
of thirty year. I have been nearly forty years,
altogether, in the streets, selling cutlery. I did
very tidy till about 4 years back — I generally
made from 18s. to 1l. a week up to that time.
I used to go round the country — to Margate,
Brighton, Portsmouth — I mostly travelled by
the coast, calling at all the sea-port towns,
for I always did best among the sailors. I went
away every Spring time, and came to London
again at the fall of the year. Sixteen year ago,
I married the widow of a printer — a pressman —
she had no money, but you see I had no home,
and I thought I should be more comfortable, and so

[Description: 915EAF. Page 340.]

I have been — a great deal more comfortable — and
so I should be now, if things hadn't got so bad.
Four year ago, as I was a telling you, it was just
after the railways had knocked off work, things
began to get uncommon bad — before then, I had
as good as 30s. or 40s. stock, and when things
got slack, it went away, little by little. I couldn't
make profit enough to support me and my old
woman — she has got the rheumatics and can't
earn me a halfpenny or a farden in the world;
she hasn't done so for years. When I didn't
make enough to live upon, of course I was
obligated to break into my stock; so there it kept
going shilling by shilling, and sixpence by six-
pence, until I had got nothing left to work upon
— not a halfpenny. You see, four or five months
ago, I was took very bad with the rheumatic
fever and gout. I got wet through in the
streets, and my clothes dried on me, and the next
day I was taken bad with pains in my limbs,
and then everything that would fetch me a
penny went to the pawn-shop; all my own
and my old woman's clothes went to get us
food — blankets, sheets and all. I never would
go nigh the parish; I couldn't bring myself
to have the talk about it. When I got well
and out into the streets again, I borrowed 2s. or 3s. of my landlady — I have lived with her
these three years — to get my stock again, but you
see that got me so few things, that I couldn't
fetch myself up. I lost the greater portion of my
time in going backards and forrards to the shop
to get fresh goods as fast as I sold them, and
so what I took wasn't enough to earn the com-
monest living for me and my missus. Since De-
cember we have been nearly starving, and that's
as true as you have got the pen in your very
hand. Sunday after Sunday we have been with-
out a bit of dinner, and I have laid a-bed all day
because we have had no coal, and then been obli-
gated to go out on Monday morning without a bit
of victuals between my lips. I've been so faint I
couldn't hardly walk. I've picked the crusts off
the tables of the tap-rooms where I have been to
hawk my goods, and put them in my pocket to
eat them on the sly. Wet and dry I'm obligated
to be out; let it come down ever so hard I must
be in it, with scarcely a bit of shoe, and turned
60 years old, as I am. Look here, sir," he
said, holding up his foot; "look at these shoes,
the soles is all loose, you see, and let water. On
wet days I hawk my goods to respectable shops;
tap-rooms is no good, decent people merely get
insulted there. But in most of the shops as I
goes to people tells me, `My good man it is as
much as we can do to keep ourselves and our
family in these cutting times.' Now, just to show
you what I done last week. Sunday, I laid a-bed
all day and had no dinner. Monday, I went out
in the morning without a morsel between my lips,
and with only 8½d. for stock-money; with that I
bought a knife and sold it for a shilling, and then
I got another and another after that, and that was
my day's work — three times 3½d. or 10½d. in all,
to keep the two of us. Tuesday, I sold a pair of
small scissors and two little pearl-handled knives,
at 6d. each article, and cleared 10½d. on the
whole, and that is all I did. Wednesday, I sold a
razor-strop for 6d., a four-bladed knife for a shil-
ling, and a small hone for 6d.; by these I cleared
10d. altogether. Thursday, I sold a pair of razors
for a shilling, clearing by the whole 11½d. Fri-
day, I got rid of a pair of razors for 1s. 9d., and
got 9d. clear." I added up the week's profits and
found they amounted to 4s. 3½d. "That's about
right," said the man, "out of that I shall have to
pay 1s. for my week's rent; we've got a kitchen,
so that I leave you to judge how we two can live
out of what's remaining." I told him it would'nt
average quite 6d. a day. "That's about it," he
replied, "we have half a loaf of bread a day, and
that thank God is only five farthings now. This
lasts us the day, with two-penny-worth of bits of
meat that my old woman buys at a ham-shop,
where they pare the hams and puts the parings by
on plates to sell to poor people; and when she can't
get that, she buys half a sheep's head, one that's
three or four days old, for then they sells 'em to
the poor for 1½d. the half; and these with ¾d. worth of tea, and ½d. worth of sugar, ¼d. for a
candle, 1d. of coal — that's seven pounds — and ¾d. worth of coke — that's half a peck — makes up all
we gets." These items amount to 6½d. in all.
"That's how we do when we can't get it, and
when we can't, why we lays in bed and goes
without altogether."

OF THE BLIND STREET-SELLERS OF TAILORS
NEEDLES, ETC.

It is customary with many trades, for the journey-
men to buy such articles as they require in their
business of those members of their craft who have
become incapacitated for work, either by old age,
or by some affliction. The tailors — the shoe-
makers — the carpenters — and many others do
this. These sellers are, perhaps, the most exem-
plary instances of men driven to the streets, or to
hawking for a means of living; and they, one and
all, are distinguished by that horror of the work-
house which I have before spoken of as consti-
tuting a peculiar feature in the operative's cha-
racter. At present I purpose treating of the
street-sellers of needles and "trimmings" to the
tailors.

There are, I am informed, two dozen "broken-
down" journeymen tailors pursuing this avocation
in and around London. "There may be more,"
said one who had lost his sight stitching, "but I
get my information from the needle warehouse,
where we all buy our goods; and the lady there
told me she knew as many as twenty-four hawkers
who were once tailors. These are all either de-
cayed journeymen, or their widows. Some are
vioapicated by age, being between sixty and
seventy years old; the greater part of the aged
journeymen, however, are inmates of the tailors'
almshouses. I am not aware," said my inform-
ant, "of there being more than one very old man
hawking needles to the tailors, though there may
be many that I know nothing about. The one I
am acquainted with is close upon eighty, and he
is a very respectable man, much esteemed in St.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 341.]

James's and St. George's; he sells needles, and
`London Labour and the London Poor' to the jour-
neymen: he is very feeble indeed, and can scarcely
get along." Of the two dozen needle-sellers above
mentioned, there are only six who confine their
"rounds" solely to the metropolis. Out of these
six my informant knew two who were blind
beside himself (one of these sells to the journey-
men in the city). There are other blind tailors
who were formerly hawkers of needles, but being
unable to realize a subsistence thereby, have been
obliged to become inmates of the workhouses; others
have recently gained admission into the almshouses.
Last February, I am assured, there were two blind
needle-sellers, and two decrepit, in St. James's
workhouse. There are, moreover, two widows sell-
ing tailors' needles in London. One of these, I am
told, is wretchedly poor, being "eat up with the
rheumatics, and scarcely able to move" — she is
the relict of a blind journeyman, and well known
in St. James's. The other widow is now in St.
Pancras Workhouse, having been unable, to use
the words of my informant, "to get anything to
keep life and soul together at the needle trade;"
she, too, I am told, is well known to the journey-
men. The tailors' needle-sellers confining them-
selves more particularly to London consist of, at
present, one old man, three blind, one paralyzed,
and one widow; besides these, there are now in
the alms-houses, two decrepit and one paralyzed;
and one widow in the workhouse, all of whom,
till recently, were needle-sellers, and originally
connected with the trade.

"That is all that I believe are now in Lon-
don," said one to me, "I should, I think, know
if there were more; for it is not from one place
we get our articles, but many; and there I hear
that six is about the number of tailors' hawkers in
town; the rest of the two dozen hawkers that I
spoke of go a little way out into the suburbs.
The six, however, stick to London altogether."
The needle-sellers who go into the country, I am
told, travel as far as Reading, westward, and to
Gravesend, in the opposite direction, or Brent-
wood, in Essex, and they will keep going
back'ards and for'ards to the metropolis imme-
diately their stock is exhausted. These persons
sell not only tailors' needles, but women's needles
as well, and staylaces and cottons, and small ware
in general, which they get from Shepherd's, in
Compton Street; they have all been tailors, and
are incapacitated from labour, either by old age or
some affliction. There was one widow of a tailor
among the number, but it is believed she is now
either too old to continue her journeys, or else
that she is deceased. The town-sellers con-
fine their peregrinations mostly to the parishes
of St. James's and St. George's (my informant
was not aware that any went even into Mary-
lebone). One travels the City, while the other
five keep to the West End; they all sell
thimbles, needles, inch-measures, bodkins, inch
sticks, scissars ("when they can get them," I was
told, "and that's very seldom"), and bees'-wax,
basting cotton, and, many of them, publications.
The publications vended by these men are princi-
pally the cheap periodicals of the day, and two of
these street-sellers, I am informed, do much better
with the sale of publications than by the "trim-
mings." "They get money, sir," said one man to
me, "while we are starving. They have their set
customers and have only to go round and leave
the paper, and then to get their money on the
Monday morning."

The tailors' hawkers buy their trimmings mostly
at the retail shops. They have not stock-money
sufficient, I am assured, to purchase at the whole-
sale houses, for "such a thing as a paper of
needles large tradesmen don't care about of
selling us poor men." They tell me that if they
could buy wholesale they could get their goods one-
fourth cheaper, and to be "obligated" to purchase
retail is a great drawback on their profits. They
call at the principal tailors' workshops, and solicit
custom of the journeymen; they are almost all
known to the trade, both masters and men, and,
having no other means of living, they are allowed
to enter the masters' shops, though some of the
masters, such as Allen, in Bond-street; Curlewis,
Jarvis, and Jones, in Conduit-street, and others,
refuse the poor fellows even this small privilege.
The journeymen treat them very kindly, the
needle-sellers tell me, and generally give them
part of the provisions they have brought with
them to the shop. If it was not for this the
needle-sellers, I am assured, could hardly live at
all. "There's that boy there," said a blind
tailor, speaking of the youth who had led him
to my house, and who sat on the stool fast asleep
by the fire, — "I'm sure he must have starved
this winter if it hadn't been for the goodness of
the men to us, for it's little that me and his
mother has to give him; she's gone almost as
blind as myself working at the `sank work'
(making up soldiers' clothing). Oh, ours is a
miserable life, sir! — worn out — blind with over
work, and scarcely a hole to put one's head in, or a
bit to put in one's mouth. God Almighty knows
that's the bare truth, sir." Sometimes the hawkers
go on their rounds and take only 2d., but that is
not often; sometimes they take 5s. in a day, and
"that is the greatest sum," said my informant,
"I ever took; what others might do I can't say,
but that I'm confident is about the highest
takings." In the summer three months the average
takings rise to 4s. per day; but in the winter
they fall to 1s., or at the outside 1s. 6d. The
business lasts only for three hours and a half each
day, that is from eight till half-past eleven in
the morning; after that no good is to be
done. Then the needle-sellers, I am told, go
home, and the reason of this is, I am told, if
they appear in the public streets selling or so-
liciting alms, the blind are exempted from be-
coming recipients of the benefits of many of the
charitable institutions. The blind man whom I saw,
told me that after he had done work and returned
home, he occupied himself with pressing the
seams of the soldiers' clothes when his "missus"
had sewed them. The tailors' needle-sellers are
all married, and one of the wives has a mangle;
and "perhaps," said my informant, "the blind

[Description: 915EAF. Page 342.]

husband turns the mangle when he goes home,
but I can't say." Another wife is a bookfolder,
but she has no work. The needles they usually
sell five a penny to the journeymen, but the most
of the journeymen will take but four; they say
"we can't get a living at all if we sell the needles
cheaper. The journeymen are mostly very con-
siderate — very indeed; much more than the
masters; for the masters won't hardly look at
us. I don't know that a master ever gave me a
farden — and yet there's some of them very sooth-
ing and kind in speaking." The profit in the
needles, I am told, is rather more than 100 per
cent.; "but," say the sellers, "only think, sir, we
must get rid of 150 needles even to take 3s.
The most we ever sell in one shop is 6d. worth —
and the usual amount is 2d. worth. You can
easy tell how many shops we must travel round
to, in order to get rid of 3s. worth." Take one shop
with another, the good with the bad, they tell
me they make about 1d. profit from each they
visit. The profit on the rest of the articles they
vend is about 20 per cent., and they calculate
that all the year round, summer and winter, they
may be said to take 2s. a day, or 12s. a week;
out of which they clear from 5s. to 5s. 6d. They
sell far more needles than anything else. Some of
the blind needle-sellers make their own bees'-wax
into "shapes," (pennyworths) themselves, melting
into and pouring into small moulds.

The blind needle-seller whom I saw was a
respectable-looking man, with the same delicacy of
hand as is peculiar to tailors, and which forms
so marked a contrast to the horny palms of
other workmen. He was tall and thin, and had
that upward look remarkable in all blind men.
His eyes gave no signs of blindness (the pupils
being full and black), except that they appeared
to be directed to no one object, and though fixed,
were so without the least expression of observation.
His long black surtout, though faded in colour, was
far from ragged, having been patched and stitched
in many places, while his cloth waistcoat and
trowsers were clean and neat — very different from
the garments of street-sellers in general. In his
hand he carried his stick, which, as he sat, he
seemed afraid to part with, for he held it fast
between his knees. He came to me accompanied
by his son, a good-looking rough-headed lad,
habited in a washed-out-blue French kind of
pinafore, and whose duty it was to lead his
blind father about on his rounds. Though the
boy was decently clad, still his clothes, like those
of his father, bore many traces of that respectable
kind of poverty which seeks by continuous
mending to hide its rags from the world. The
face of the father, too, was pinched, while there
was a plaintiveness about his voice that told
of a wretched spirit-broken and afflicted man.
Altogether he was one of the better kind of handi-
craftsmen — one of those fine specimens of the
operatives of this country — independent even in
their helplessness, scorning to beg, and proud to
be able to give some little equivalent for the
money bestowed on them. I have already given
accounts of the "beaten-out" mechanic from those
who certainly cannot be accused of an excess of sym-
pathy for the poor — namely the Poor Law Commis-
sioners and masters of workhouses; and I can only
add, that all my experience goes fully to bear out
the justice of these statements. As I said before,
the class who are driven to the streets to which
the beaten-out or incapacitated operative belongs,
is, of all others, the most deserving of our sympathy;
and the following biography of one of this order is
given to teach us to look with a kindly eye upon
the many who are forced to become street-sellers as
the sole means of saving themselves from the de-
gradation of pauperism or beggary.

"I am 45 years of age next June," said
the blind tailor. "It is upwards of 30 years
since I first went to work at the tailoring trade in
London. I learnt my business under one of the
old hands at Mr. Cook's, in Poland-street, and
after that went to work at Guthrie's, in Bond-
street. I belonged to the Society held at the
Old White Hart. I continued working for the
honourable trade and belonging to Society for
about 15 years. My weekly earnings then ave-
raged 1l. 16s. a week while I was at work, and for
several years I was seldom out of work, for when
I got into a shop it was a long time before I got out
again. I was not married them. I lived in a first
floor back room, well-furnished, and could do very
comfortably indeed. I saved often my 15s. or 16s. in a week, and was worth a good bit of money up
to the time of my first illness. At one period I had
nearly 50l. by me, and had it not been for "vaca-
tions" and "slack seasons" I should have put by
more; but you see to be out of work even a few
weeks makes a large hole in a journeyman's
savings. All this time I subscribed regularly to
Society, and knew that if I got superannuated I
should be comfortably maintained by the trade.
I felt quite happy with the consciousness of being
provided for in my old age or affliction then, and
if it had not been for that perhaps I might have
saved more even than I did. I went on in this
way, as I said before, for 15 years, and no one
could have been happier than I was — not a
working man in all England couldn't. I had
my silver watch and chain. I could lay out my
trifle every week in a few books, and used to have
a trip now and then up and down the river, just
to blow the London smoke off, you know. About
15 years ago my eyes began to fail me without
any pain at all; they got to have as it were a
thick mist, like smoke, before them. I couldn't see
anything clear. Working by gas-light at first
weakened and at last destroyed the nerve altoge-
ther. I'm now in total darkness. I can only tell
when the gas is lighted by the heat of it.

"It is not the black clothes that is trying to the
sight — black is the steadiest of all colours to work
at; white and all bright colours makes the eyes
water after looking at 'em for any long time; but of
all colours scarlet, such as is used for regimentals,
is the most blinding, it seems to burn the eye-
balls, and makes them ache dreadful. After
working at red there's always flying colours
before the eyes; there's no steady colour to be
seen in anything for some time. Everything

[Description: 915EAF. Page 343.]

seems all of a twitter, and to keep changing its
tint. There's more military tailors blind than any
others. A great number of tailors go blind, but
a great many more has lost their sight since gas-
light has come up. Candle-light was not half so
pernicious to the sight. Gas-light is so very
heating, and there's such a glare with it that it
makes the eyes throb, and shoot too, if you work
long by it. I've often continued working past
midnight with no other light than that, and
then my eyes used to feel like two bits of burning
coals in my head. And you see, sir, the worst of
it was, as I found my sight going bad I was
obliged to try it more, so as to keep up with my
mates in the shop. At last my eyes got so
weak that I was compelled to give up work, and
go into the country, and there I stopped, living
on my savings, and unable to do any work for
fear of losing my sight altogether. I was away
about three years, and then all my money was
gone, and I was obligated, in spite of my eyes, to
go back to work again. But then, with my
sight defective as it was, I could get no employ-
ment at the honourable trade, and so I had to
take a seat in a shop at one of the cheap houses
in the city, and that was the ruin of me entirely;
for working there, of course I got "scratched"
from the trade Society, and so lost all hope of
being provided for by them in my helplessness.
The workshop at this cheap house was both
small and badly ventilated. It was about seven
foot square, and so low, that as you sot on the
floor you could touch the ceiling with the tip
of your finger. In this place seven of us
worked — three on each side and one in the
middle. Two of my shopmates were boys, or
else I am sure it would not have held us
all. There was no chimney, nor no window that
could be opened to let the air in. It was lighted
by a skylight, and this would neither open nor
shut. The only means for letting out the foul
air was one of them working ventilators — like
cockades, you know, sir — fixed in one of the
panes of glass; but this wouldn't work, so there
we were, often from 5 in the morning till 10 at
night, working in this dreadful place. There was
no fire in the winter, though we never needed
one, for the workshop was over-hot from the
suffocation, and in the summer it was like an
oven. This is what it was in the daytime, but
mortal tongue can't tell what it was at night, with
the two gas-lights burning away, and almost
stifling us. Many a time some of the men has
been carried out by the others fainting for air.
They all fell ill, every one of them, and I lost
my eyes and my living entirely by it. We spoke
to the master repeatedly, telling him he was
killing us, and though when he came up to the
workshop hisself, he was nearly blown back by
the stench and heat, he would not let us
have any other room to work in — and yet
he'd plenty of convenience up stairs. He paid
little more than half the regular wages, and
employed such men as myself — only those who
couldn't get anything better to do. What with ill-
ness and all, I don't think my wages there averaged
above 12s. a week: sometimes I could make
1l. in the week, but then, the next week, maybe
I'd be ill, and would get but a few shillings. It
was impossible to save anything then — even to
pay one's way was a difficulty, and, at last, I was
seized with rheumatics on the brain, and obliged
to go into St. Thomas's Hospital. I was there
eleven months, and came out stone blind. I am
convinced I lost my eyesight by working in that
cheap shop; nothing on earth will ever persuade
me to the contrary, and what's more, my master
robbed me of a third of my wages and my sight
too, and left me helpless in the world, as, God
knows, I am now. It is by the ruin of such men
as me that these masters are enabled to undersell
the better shops; they get hold of the men whose
eyes are just beginning to fail them, like mine did,
because they know they can get them to cheapwork,
and then, just at the time when a journeyman re-
quires to be in the best of shops, have the best of
air, and to work as little by gas-light as possible,
they puts him into a hole of a place that would
stifle a rat, and keeps him working there half the
night through. That's the way, sir, the cheap
clothes is produced, by making blind beggars of
the workmen, like myself, and throwing us on the
parish in our old age. You are right, sir, they
not only robs the men but the ratepayers too.

"Well, sir, as I said, I come out of the hospi-
tal stone blind, and have been in darkness ever
since, and that's near upon ten years ago. I often
dream of colours, and see the most delightful pic-
tures in the world; nothing that I ever beheld
with my eyes can equal them — they're so brilliant,
and clear and beautiful. I see then the features
and figures of all my old friends, and I can't tell
you how pleasureable it is to me. When I have
such dreams they so excite me that I am ill all
the next day. I often see, too, the fields, with the
cows grazing on a beautiful green pasture, and the
flowers, just at twilight like, closing up their
blossoms as they do. I never dream of rivers;
nor do I ever remember seeing a field of corn in
my visions; it's strange I never dreamt in any
shape of the corn or the rivers, but maybe I
didn't take so much notice of them as of the others.
Sometimes I see the sky, and very often indeed
there's a rainbow in it, with all kinds of beautiful
colours. The sun is a thing I often dream about
seeing, going down like a ball of fire at the close
of the day. I never dreamt of the stars, nor the
moon — it's mostly bright colours that I see.

"I have been under all the oculists I could hear
of — Mr. Turnbull, in Russell-square, but he did
me no good; then I went to Charing-cross, under
Mr. Guthrie, and he gave me a blind certificate,
and made me a present of half-a-sovereign; he
told me not to have my eyes tampered with again,
as the optic nerve was totally decayed. Oh, yes;
if I had all the riches in the world I'd give them
every one to get my sight back, for it's the
greatest pressure to me to be in darkness. God
help me! I know I am a sinner, and believe
I'm so afflicted on account of my sins. No, sir,
it's nothing like when you shut your eyes; when
I had my sight, and closed mine, I remember I

[Description: 915EAF. Page 344.]

could still see the light through the lids, the very
same as when you hold your hand up before the
candle; but mine's far darker than that — pitch
black. I see a dark mass like before me, and
never any change — everlasting darkness, and no
chance of a light or shade in this world. But I
feel consolated some how, now it is settled; al-
though it's a very poor comfort after all. I go along
the streets in great fear. If a baby have hold
of me, I am firm, but by myself, I reel about
like a drunken man. I feel very timid unless
I have hold of something — not to support me,
but to assure me I shall not fall. If I was
going down your staircase, sir, I should be all
right so long as I touched the bannister, but if I
missed that, I'm sure I should grow so giddy and
nervous I should fall from the top to the bottom.
After losing my sight, I found a great difficulty
in putting my food into my mouth, for a long
time — six months or better — and I was obliged to
have some one to guide my hand, for I used often
to put the fork up to my forehead instead of
my mouth. Shortly after my becoming quite blind,
I found all my other senses much quickened —
my hearing — feeling — and reckoning. I got to like
music very much indeed; it seemed to elevate me
— to animate and cheer me much more than it
did before, and so much so now, that when it
ceases, I feel duller than ever. It sounds as if it
was in a wilderness to me — I can't tell why, but
that's all I can compare it to; as if I was quite
alone with it. My smell and taste is very acute"
(he was given some violets to smell) — "Oh, that's
beautiful," he cried, "very reviving indeed. Often
of an evening, I can see things in my imagination,
and that's why I like to sit alone then; for
of all the beautiful thoughts that ever a man
possessed, there's none to equal a blind man's,
when he's by hisself.

"I don't see my early home, but occurrences
that has recently took place. I see them all plain
before me, in colours as vivid as if I had my
sight again, and the people all dressed in the
fashion of my time; the clothes seem to make a
great impression on me, and I often sit and see in
my mind master tailors trying a coat on a gen-
tleman, and pulling it here and there. The figures
keep passing before me like soldiers, and often
I'm so took by them that I forget I'm blind, and
turn my head round to look after them as they
pass by me. But that sort of thinking would
throw me into a melancholly — it's too exciting
while it lasts, and then leaves me dreadful dull
afterwards. I have got much more melancholy
since my blindness; before then, I was not se-
riously given, but now I find great consolation in
religion. I think my blindness is sent to try my
patience and resignation, and I pray to the Al-
mighty to give me strength to bear with my
affliction. I was quick and hot-tempered before I
was blind, but since then, I have got less hasty
like; all other troubles appears nothing to me.
Sometimes I revile against my affliction — too fre-
quently — but that is at my thoughtless moments,
for when I'm calm and serious, I feel thankful
that the Almighty has touched me with his cor-
recting rod, and then I'm happy and at peace
with all the world. If I had run my race, and
not been stopped, I might never have believed
there was a God. My wife works at the
`sank work.' She makes soldiers' coats; she
gets 1s. 1d. for making one, and that's nearly
a day and a half's work; then she has to
find her own trimmings, and they're 1d. It
takes her 16 hours to finish one garment, and
the over-work at that is beginning to make her
like as I was myself. If she takes up a book to
read to me now, it's all like a dirty mass before
her, and that's just as my sight was before I lost
it altogether. She slaves hard to help me; she's
anxious and willing — indeed too much so. If she
could get constant work, she might perhaps make
about 7s. a week; but as it is, her earnings are,
take one week with another, not more than 3s.
Last week she earned 5s.; but that was the first
job of work she'd had to do for two months. I
think the two of us make on an average about 8s.; and out of that there is three people to keep — our
two selves and our boy. Our rent is 2s. 6d., so
that after paying that, we has about 5s. 6d. left
for food, firing, and clothing for the whole of us.
How we do it I can't tell; but I know we live
very, very hard: mostly on pieces of bread that
the men gives to me and my boy, as we go round
to the workshops. If we was any of us to fall ill,
we must all go to the parish; if my boy was to
go sick, I should be left without any one to lead
me about, and that would be as bad as if I was
laid-up myself; and if anything was to happen to
my wife, I'd be done clean altogether. But yet
the Lord is very good, and we'd get out of that,
I dare say. If anything was to drive me to the
parish, I should lose all hopes of getting some
help from the blind institutions; and so I dread
the workhouse worse than all. I'd sooner die
on the step of a door, any time, than go there
and be what they call well kept. I don't know
why I should have a dislike to going there, but
yet I do possess it. I do believe, that any one
that is willing to work for their bread, hates a
workhouse; for the workhouse coat is a slothful,
degrading badge. After a man has had one on
his back, he's never the same. I would'nt go for
an order for relief so long as I could get a half-
penny loaf in twenty-four hours. If I could only
get some friend to give me a letter of recommenda-
tion to Mr. Day's Charity for the Blind, I should
be happy for the rest of my days. I could give
the best of references to any one who would take
pity on me in my affliction."

THE PUBLIC-HOUSE HAWKERS OF METAL
SPOONS, ETC.

The public-house hawkers are never so pros-
perous as those who confine their calling to private
houses; they are often invited to partake of
drink; are not the most industrious class of
hawkers, and, to use their own language, are more
frequently hard up than those who keep away
from tap-room selling. The profits of the small
hawkers in public-houses vary considerably. Some
of them, when they have earned a shilling or two,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 345.]

are content to spend it before they leave the tap-
room, and so they lose both their stock and profit.
I do not mean to infer that this is the case with the
whole of the public-house hawkers, for some among
them strive hard to better their condition, and
occasionally succeed; but there are too many who
are content to drawl out their existence by always
suffering to-morrow to provide for itself. The
man who gave me the routine of small hawkers'
business I found in a tap-room in Ratcliffe
Highway. He was hawking tea-spoons, and all
the stock he possessed was half-a-dozen. These
he importuned me to purchase with great earnest-
ness. He prayed of me to lay out a trifle with
him. He had not taken a penny the whole day he
said, and had nothing to eat. "What's much worse
for such as me," he added, "I'm dying for a glass
of rum." I might have his tea-spoons, he told me,
at any price. If I would but pay for a glass of rum
for him they should be mine. I assured him some
bread and cheese would do him more good, as
he had not eaten anything that day; but still he
would have the rum. With a trembling hand he
threw the liquor down his throat, smacked his
lips, and said "that there dram has saved my life."
A few minutes afterwards he sold his spoons to a
customer for sixpence; and he had another glass
of rum. "Now," said he, "I'm all right for
business; if I'd twopence more I could buy a
dozen tea-spoons, and I should earn a `bob' or
two yet before I went to bed." After this he
grew communicative, and told me he was as good
a hawker as there was in London, and he thought
he could do more than any other man with a
small stock. He had two or three times resolved
to better himself, and had `put in the pin,' mean-
ing he had made a vow to refrain from drink-
ing; but he had broken out again and gone on
in his old course until he had melted the whole of
his stock, though twice it had, during his sobriety,
amounted to 5l., and was often worth between
2l. and 3l. It was almost maddening when he
came to his senses, he said, to find he had acted so
foolishly; indeed, it was so disheartening to discover
all the result of his good resolutions dissipated in a
moment, that he declared he never intended to try
again. After having drunk out his stock, he would
if possible commence with half-a-dozen Britannia
metal tea-spoons; these cost him 6d., and would
sell for 9d. or 1s. When one half-dozen were dis-
posed of he would procure another, adding a knife,
or a comb or two. If entirely destitute, he would
stick a needle in a cork, and request to know of
"the parties" assembled in some tap-room, if they
wanted anything in the ironmongery line, though
the needle was all the stock he had. This was
done for the purpose of "raising the wind;" and
by it he would be sure to obtain a glass or two of
ale if he introduced himself with his "iron-
mongery establishment" among the sailors. Some-
times he would manage to beg a few pence,
and then he would purchase a knife, pair of
braces, or half-a-dozen tea-spoons, and begin to
practise his trade in a legitimate manner. In an-
swer to my inquiry he said he had not always
been a hawker. His father had been a soldier,
and he had worked in the armoury. His father
had been discharged upon a pension, and he (the
hawker) left the army with his parents. He had
never enlisted while his father was a soldier, but
he had since. His mother adopted the business
of a hawker upon the receipt of his father's first
quarter's pension; and then he used to accompany
her on her rounds. With the pension and the
mother's exertions they managed to subsist tolera-
bly well. "Being the only child, I was foolishly
spoilt by my parents," he said; "and when I
was a very young man — 15 or 16 — I became a
great trouble to them. At 18 I enlisted in
the 7th Fusileers, remained in the regiment three
months, and then, at my own request, was
bought off. My mother sold off most of her
stock of goods to raise the money (twenty pounds).
When I returned home I could not think of
trudging by my mother's side, as I had been used
to do when carrying the goods; nor did I feel
inclined to exert myself in any way for my own
support. I considered my mother had a right to
keep me without my working, and she, poor thing,
thought so too. I was not only supported in idle-
ness, but my mother would give me many a
shilling, though she could ill afford it, for me to
spend with my companions. I passed most of my
time in a skittle ground. I was not what you
might term a skittle sharp, for I never entered
into a plot to victimise any person, although I
confess I have often bet upon the `greenness' of
those who were silly enough to make wagers that
they could not possibly win. Sometimes, after I had
lost the trifle supplied me by my mother, I would
return, and be blackguard enough to assume the
bully unless my demands on her for a further
supply were attended to. Poor thing, she was
very meek, and with tears in her eyes she would
grant my request. I often weep when I think
how I treated her" (here the tears trickled down
the man's cheek), "and yet, badly as I used her,
in my heart I loved her very much. I got
tired of the skittle grounds in consequence
of getting into a hobble relative to a skittle
swindle: some sharpers had obtained a flat; I
was speculating in a small way, betting pennies
and twopences in such a manner as always
to win; I was practising upon the flat upon my
own account, without having any connection with
the others; they fleeced their dupe out of several
pounds, and he made a row about it. The police
interfered, and I was signled out as one of the
gang; the principals were also apprehended; they
got six months each, and I was accommodated
with a month's board and lodging at the expense
of the nation. I thought this at the time unjust,
but I was as culpable as any of them, for at
the time I only regretted I had not more money to
stake larger wagers, and envied the other parties
who were making a better thing of the business
than I was. When I came out of jail, my
poor mother treated me as a martyr. She thought
I was as innocent as a child. Shortly after my
release from prison my father died, and with him
went the pension of course. I was then obligated
to do something for myself. A few shillings' worth

[Description: 915EAF. Page 346.]

of goods only were procured — for my father's fune-
ral and my extravagances had sadly crippled my
mother's means. I behaved very well for a short
time. My mother then was often ill, and she
never recovered the death of my father. In
about a year after my father died I lost my
mother; our stock of goods had dwindled down
to a very poor lot, and I was obligated to ask relief
of the parish towards her funeral expenses. When
all was over, the value of my goods and cash
did not amount to 20s. Ten years have elapsed
since my mother's death, and I don't think I have
ever been, during the whole period, sober for a
month together."

While I sat in this tap-room, I counted in the
course of an hour and a quarter, — 4 hawkers of
sheep's trotters, who visited the place; 3 sellers
of shrimps, pickled whelks, and periwinkles;
2 baked potato-sellers; 8 song-hawkers; the same
number with lucifer matches; and 3 with braces,
&c. Not one of these effected a sale.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF JEWELLERY.

The jewellery now sold in the streets far ex-
ceeds, both in cheapness and quality, what was
known even ten years ago. Fifty years ago the
jewellery itinerant trade was almost entirely, if
not entirely, in the hands of Jews, who at any
rate professed to sell really gold articles, and who
asked large prices; but these traders have lost
their command over this, as I have shown that they
have over other street callings, as not a twelfth of
the street-jewellers are now Jews. A common
trade among such street and country itinerant
jewellers was in large watch seals, the bodies of
which were of lead, more or less thickly plated
with gold, and which were unsaleable even as old
metal until broken to pieces, — but not always sale-
able then. The street or itinerant trade was for
a long time afterwards carried on only by those
who were regularly licensed as hawkers, and who
preferred "barter" or "swopping" to actual sale,
the barter being usually for other and more solid
articles of the goldsmith's trade.

The introduction of "mosaic" and other cheap
modes of manufacturing quasi gold ornaments,
brought about considerable changes in the trade,
pertaining, however, more to the general manu-
facture, than to that prepared for the streets.

The itinerants usually carry their wares in
boxes or cases, which shut up close, and can be
slung on the shoulder for conveyance, or hung
round the neck for the purposes of sale. These
cases are nearly all glazed; within them the
jewellery is disposed in such manner as, in the
street-seller's judgment, is the most attractive. A
card of the larger brooches, or of cameos, often
forms the centre, and the other space is occupied
with the shawl-pins, with their globular tops of
scarlet or other coloured glass: rings, armlets,
necklaces, a few earrings and ear-drops, and
sometimes a few side-combs, small medals for
keepsakes, clasps, beads, and bead-purses, orna-
mental buttons for dresses, gilt buckles for waist-
belts, thimbles, &c., constitute the street jeweller's
stock-in-trade. The usual prices are from 2d. to
1s. 6d.; the price most frequently obtained for
any article being 3d. It will be seen from the
enumeration of the articles, that the stock is such
as is required "for women's wear," and women
are now almost the sole customers of the street-
jewellers. "In my time, sir," said one elderly
street-trader, "or rather, when I was a boy, and
in my uncle's time — for he was in jewellery, and
I helped him at times — quite different sorts of
jewellery was sold, and quite different prices was
had; what's a high figure now was a low figure
then. I've known children's coral and bells in
my uncle's stock — well, I don't know whether it
was real coral or not — and big watch keys with
coloured stones in the centre on 'em, such as I've
seen old gents keep spinning round when they
was talking, and big seals and watch-chains;
there weren't no guards then, as I remember.
And there was plated fruit-knives — silver, as near
as a toucher — and silver pencils (pencil-cases), and
gilt lockets, to give your sweetheart your hair in
for keepsakes. Lor' bless you! times is turned
upside down."

The disposition of the street-stalls is somewhat
after the same fashion as that in the itinerant's
box, with the advantage of a greater command of
space. Some of the stalls — one in Tottenham-
court Road, I may instance, and another in White-
chapel — make a great show.

I did not hear of any in this branch of the
jewellery trade who had been connected with it
as working jewellers. I heard of two journey-
men watchmakers and four clockmakers now
selling jewellery (but often with other things, such
as eye-glasses) in the street, but that is all. The
street mass selling jewellery in town and country
are, I believe, composed of the various classes who
constitute the street-traders generally.

Of the nature of his present trade, and of the
class of his customers, I had the following ac-
count from a man of twelve years' experience in
the vending of street jewellery: —

"It's not very easy to tell, sir," he said, "what
sells best, for people begins to suspect everything,
and seems to think they're done if they give 3d. for an agate brooch, and finds out it ain't set in
gold. I think agate is about the best part of the
trade now. It seems a stone as is easy imitated.
Cornelians, too, ain't so bad in brooches — people
likes the colour; but not what they was, and not
up to agates. But nothing is up to what it once
was; not in the least. Sell twice as much — when
you can, which often stands over till to-morrow
come-never — and get half the profit. I don't ex-
pect very much from the Great Exhibition. They
sends goods so cheap from Germany, they'll think
anything dear in London, if it's only at German
prices. I think it's a mistake to fancy that the
cheaper a jewellery article is the more you'll sell
of it. You won't. People's of opinion — at
least that's my notion of it — that it's so common
everybody 'll have it, and so they won't touch it.
It's Thames water, sir, against beer, is poor low-
priced jewellery, against tidy and fair-priced; but
then the low-priced has now ruined the other sorts,
for they're all thought to go under the same um-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 347.]

brella, — all of a sort; 1s. or 1d. Why, as to
who's the best customers, that depends on where
you pitches your pitch, or works your round, and
whether you are known, or are merely a upstart.
But I can tell you, sir, who's been my best cus-
tomers — and is yet, but not so good as they was
— and that's women of the town; and mostly (for
I've tried most places) about Ratcliff Highway,
Whitechapel, Mile-end-road, Bethnal-green, and
Oxford-street. The sailors' gals is the best of all;
but a'most all of them is very particular, and
some is uncommon tiresome. `I'm afeard,' they
says, `this colour don't suit my complexion; it's
too light, or it's too dark. How does that ring
show on my finger?' I've known some of the fat
and fair ones — what had been younger, but would
be older — say, `Let me have a necklace of bright
black beads;' them things shows best with the fat
`uns — but in gen'ral them poor creatures is bad
judges of what becomes them. The things they're
the most particular of all in is necklaces. Amber
and pearl sells most. I have them from 6d. to
1s. 6d. I never get more than 1s. 6d. Cornelian
necklaces is most liked by children, and most
bought for them. I've trusted the women of the
town, and trust them still. One young woman in
Shadwell took a fancy the t' other week for a
pearl necklace, `it became her so,' which it didn't;
and offered to pay me 6d. a week for it if I
wouldn't sell it away from her. The first week
she paid 6d.; the second nothing; and next week
the full tip, 'cause her Jack had come home. I
never lost a halfpenny by the women. Yes, they
pays you a fairish price, but nothing more. Some-
times they've beat me down 1d., and has said, `It's
all the money I has.'

"It's not very long ago that one of them offered
me a fine goold watch which I could have bought
at any price, for I saw she knew nothing of what
it was worth. I never do anything that way. I
believe a very few in my line does, for they can't
give the prices the rich fences can. It's common
enough for them gals to ask any street-jeweller
they knows how much a watch ought to pop for,
or to sell for, afore they tries it on. But it isn't
they as tries it on, sir; they gets some respeckbel
old lady, or old gent, to do that for them. I've
had cigars and Cavendish of them; such as sea-
men had left behind them; you know, sir, I've
never given money, only jewellery for it. Plenty
of shopkeepers is glad to buy it of me, and not at
a bad price. They asks no questions, and I tells
them no lies. One reason why these gals buys
free is that when the jewellery gets out of order
or out of fashion, they can fling it away and get
fresh, it's so cheap. When I've had no money
on a day until I has sold to these women, I've oft
enough said, `God bless 'em!' Earrings is
hardly any go now, sir; nothing to what they
was; they're going out. The penny jewellery's
little good; it's only children what buys, or gets
it bought for them. I sell most of brooches from
3d. to 6d., very seldom higher, and bracelets —
they calls them armlets now — at the same price.
I buys all my goods at a swag-shop: there's no
other market. Watchguards was middling sale,
both silver and goold, or washed white and washed
yellow, and the swags made money in them; but
instead of 1s., they're not to be sold at a Joey
now, watchguards ain't, if a man patters ever so."

I am informed that there are not less than 1000
individuals who all buy their jewellery at the
London swag-shops, and sell it in the streets, with
or without other articles, but principally without;
and that of this number 500 are generally in Lon-
don and its suburbs, including such places as
Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich. Of these
traders about one-tenth are women; and in town
about three-fifths are itinerant, and the others
stationary. One-half, or thereabouts, of the wo-
men, are the wives of street-sellers; the others
trade on their own account. A few "swop"
jewellery for old clothes, with either the mistress
or the maids. Four or five, when they see a fa-
vourable opportunity, offer to tell any servant-
maid her fortune. " `Buy this beautiful agate
brooch, my dear,' the woman 'll say, `and I'll
only charge you 1s. 6d.' — a German thing, sir,
costing her seven farthings one street-jeweller in-
formed me, — `and I'll tell you your fortune into
the bargain.' "

One "old hand" calculated, that when a street-
jeweller could display 50s. worth of stock, he
could clear, all the year round, 15s. a week.
"People," said this man, "as far as I've known
the streets, like to buy of what they think is a
respectable man, and seemingly well to do; they
feel safe with him." Those, however, who can-
not boast so large a stock of jewellery as 50s. worth, may only clear 10s. instead of 15s. weekly.
One trader thought that the average earnings of
his fraternity might be taken at 12s. a week;
another — and both judged from their `own ex-
perience — thought 10s. 6d. was high enough.
Calculating, then, at a weekly profit of 10s. 6d., and a receipt of 18s. per individual, we find
23,410l. expended in the street-trade, including
the sales at Gravesend, Woolwich, and Green-
wich; where — both places being resorted to by
pleasure-seekers and seamen — the trade is some-
times considerable; watches, which now are al-
most unknown in a regular street-trade, there
forming an occasional part of it.

OF THE PEDLAR-JEWELLERS.

I HAVE heard a manufacturer of Birmingham
jewellery assert, that one pound of copper was
sufficient to make 10l. worth of jewellery; con-
sequently, the material to provide the unmanufac-
tured stock in trade of a wholesale dealer in Bir-
mingham jewellery, is not over expensive. It
may be imagined then that the pedlars who hawk
jewellery do not invest a very great capital in
the wares they sell; there are some few, how-
ever, who have very valuable stocks of goods,
pedlars though they be. This trade is princi-
pally pursued by Jews, and to a great extent
(especially in a small way) by foreign Jews.
The Jews are, I think, more attentive to the
wants of their poorer brethren than other peo-
ple; and instead of supplying them with trifling
sums of money, which must necessarily soon be

[Description: 915EAF. Page 348.]

expended, they give them small quantities of
goods, so that they may immediately commence
foraging for their own support. Many of these
poor Jews, when provided with their stock of
merchandise, can scarcely speak a word of Eng-
lish, and few of them know but little respecting
the value of the goods they sell; they always
take care to ask a good price, leaving plenty of
room for abatement. I heard one observe that
they could not easily be taken in by being over-
charged, for according what they paid for the
article they fixed the price upon it. Some of
these men, notwithstanding their scanty know-
ledge of the trade at starting, have eventually be-
come excellent judges of jewellery; some of them,
moreover, have acquired riches in it; indeed from
the indomitable perseverance of the Hebrew race,
success is generally the result of their untiring
industry. If once you look at the goods of
a Jew pedlar, it is not an easy matter to get out
of his clutches; it is not for want of persever-
ance if he does not bore and tease you, until at
length you are glad to purchase some trifle to get
rid of him. One of my informants tells me he is
acquainted with several Jews, who now hold their
heads high as merchants, and are considered
very excellent judges of the wares they deal
in, who originally began trading with but a small
stock of jewellery, and that a charitable do-
nation. As well as Jews there are Irishmen
who deal in such commodities. The pedlar gene-
rally has a mahogany box bound with brass, and
which he carries with a strap hung across his
shoulder; when he calls at a house, an inquiry is
made whether there is any old silver or gold to
dispose of. "I will give you a full price for any
such articles." If the lady or gentleman accosted
seems to be likely to buy, the box is immediately
opened and a tempting display of gold rings,
chains, scent-boxes, lockets, brooches, breast-pins,
bracelets, silver thimbles, &c., &c., are exposed to
view. All the eloquence the pedlar can command
is now brought into play. The jewellery is ar-
ranged about the persons of his expected customers
to the best advantage. The pedlar says all he
can think of to enhance their sale: he will chop
and change for anything they may wish to dispose
of — any old clothes, books, or useless lumber may
be converted into ornaments for the hair or other
parts of dress. The Irish pedlar mostly confines
his visits to the vicinity of large factories where
there are many girls employed; these he supplies
with earrings, necklaces, shawl-pins, brooches,
lockets, &c., which are bought wholesale at the
following prices: — Earrings and drops at from
3s. 6d. to 12s. per dozen pairs; the 3d. earring is
a neat little article says my informant, and those
sold at 1s. each, wholesale, are gorgeous-looking
affairs; many of the latter have been disposed of
by the pedlars at 1l. the pair, and even a greater
price. Necklaces are from 5s. to 1l. per dozen.
Lockets may be purchased wholesale at from 2s. to
10s. per dozen; guard chains (German silver) are
4s. per dozen; gilt heavy-looking waistcoat chains
6s. per dozen: and all other articles are equally
low in price. The pedlar jeweller can begin busi-
ness "respectably" for two pounds. His box costs
him 7s. 6d.; half-a-dozen pairs of earrings of six
different sorts, 3s.; half-a-dozen lockets (various),
1s. 9d.; half-a-dozen guard chains, 2s.; half-a-
dozen shawl brooches, 2s. 6d.; one dozen breast-
pins (different kinds), 3s.; one dozen finger rings of
various descriptions, 3s. 6d.; half-a-dozen brooches
at 4d. each, 2s.; one dozen necklaces (a variety),
at 6s.; three silver pencil-cases at 1s. 9d. each,
5s. 3d.; half-a-dozen waistcoat chains, 3s.; one
silver toothpick, at 1s. 6d. These make altoge-
ther two pounds. If the articles are arranged
with taste and seeming care (as if they were very
valuable), with jeweller's wadding under each,
and stuck on pink cards, &c., while the finger
rings are inserted in the long narrow velvet-lined
groove of the box, and the other "valuables"
well spread about the little portable shop — they
may be made to assume a very respectable and
almost "rich" appearance. Many who now have
large establishments commenced life with much
less stock than is here mentioned. The Jews, I do
not think, continues my informant, are the best
salesmen; and the fact of their being Israelites is,
in many instances, a bar to their success; country
people, especially, are afraid of being taken in by
them. The importunities and appeals of the He-
brew, however, are far more urgent than any other
tradesman; and they always wait where they
think there's the slightest chance of effecting a
sale, until the door is slammed in their face. I
believe there are not, at the present time, many
(especially small traders) who deal exclusively in
jewellery; they mostly add other small and light
articles — such as fancy cutlery, side combs, &c.
There may, at a rough guess, be 500 of them tra-
velling the country; half the number are poor
foreign Jews; a quarter are Jews, who have, per-
haps, followed the same calling for years; and the
remaining quarter, a mixture of Irish and English,
with a small preponderance of Irishmen. All
these "swop" their goods for old gold and silver,
and frequently realize a large sum, by changing
the base metal for the sterling article. Their
goods are always sold as being gold or silver —
If asked whether a particular article be gold, they
reply "It's jewellers' gold;" "Is this ring gold?"
inquires the customer, taking one from the box —
"No, ma'am, I wouldn't deceive you!" is the
answer, "that is not gold; but here is one," adds
the pedlar (taking up one exactly of the same
description, and which cost the same price) "which
is of a similar shape and fashion, and the best
jeweller's gold that is made." The profits of the
pedlar-jewellers it is almost impossible to calcu-
late, for they will sell at any price upon which the
smallest amount of profit can be realized. The
foreign Jews, especially, will do this, and it is not
an unusual circumstance for one of these men to
ask 5s. for an article which originally cost them
3d., and which they will eventually sell for 4d.

In London there are about 200 hawkers of
jewellery, who visit the public-houses; but few of
these have boxes — they invite customers by dis-
playing some chains in their hands, or having one
or two arranged in front of their waistcoats, while

[Description: 915EAF. Page 349.]

the smaller articles are carried in their waistcoat
pockets. The class of persons who patronize the
public-house hawkers are those who visit the tap-
rooms of taverns, and countrymen in the vicinity
of Smithfield upon market days, (one of the haw-
kers tells me, that they succeed better upon the
hay-market days than at the cattle sales, for the
butchers, they say, are too "fly" for them. Sailors
are among their best customers, but the coster-
girls are very fond of drop earrings and coral
beads; the sailors, however, give the best prices
of all. I am told that the quantity of old
gold and silver which the country pedlars
obtain in exchange for their goods is "astonish-
ing;" and there have been occasions on which a
pedlar has been enriched for life by one single
transaction of barter; some old and unfashionable
piece of jewellery, that they received for their
goods, has been composed of costly stones, which
had lain by for years, and of which the pedlar's
customer was unacquainted with the value. The
more respectable jewellery pedlars put up at the
better class of public-houses, and, even after their
day's travels are over, they still have an eye to
business; they open the box upon the table of the
tap-room where they are lodging, and, under the
pretence of cleaning or arranging their goods,
temptingly display their glittering stock. The
bar-maid, kitchen-maid, the landlady's daughter,
or perhaps the landlady herself, admires some
ornaments, which the pedlar declares would become
them vastly. He hangs a necklace upon the neck
of one of them; holds a showy earring and drop
to the ear of another; facetiously inquires of the
girls whether they are not likely to want some-
thing of this sort shortly — as he holds up first a
wedding-ring, and then a baby's coral; or else he
exhibits a ring set with Turquoise, or pearls and
small diamonds in a cluster, to the landlady, and
tries it on her finger; and by such arts a sale that
will cover his expenses is generally effected.
There is one peculiarity these men have when
bartering their goods. A worn-out ornament of
jewellery is brought to them, and, although it be
brass, the pedlar never attempts to undeceive the
possessor, if he finds it is considered to be genuine.
Of course he never gives cash for such articles;
but he offers a large price in barter. "I will take
10s. for this ring, and allow you 5s. for the old
one," says the pedlar. It would never do to say
the ornament was not gold; the customer bought
it years ago for such, and no one ever disputed its
being the precious metal; should our pedlar do
so, he might as well shut up shop immediately.
The lady would be angry and suspicious; neither
would she believe him, but rather suspect that he
wanted only to cheat her; consequently the pedlar
barters, obtains the old ring, or some other article,
and 5s., for his commodity; and though the article
he has taken in exchange is worth only a few
pence, he very likely profits to the amount of 200
per cent. upon the cash received. The pedlars of
lesser consequence put up at humble private or
public-houses, and some of them at the common
lodging-houses. Those who have only small stocks
confine their visits to farm-houses and villages.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CARD-COUNTERS,
MEDALS, ETC.

The "card-counters," or, as I have heard them
sometimes called by street-sellers, the "small
coins," are now of a very limited sale. The
slang name for these articles is "Jacks" and
"Half Jacks." They are sold to the street-people
at only two places in London; one in Holborn,
and the other at Black Tom's (himself formerly a
street-seller, now "a small swag"), in Clerken-
well. They are all made in Birmingham, and are
of the size and colour of the genuine sovereigns
and half sovereigns; but it is hardly possible that
any one who had ever received a sovereign in
payment, could be deceived by the substitution of
a Jack. Those now sold in the streets are much
thinner, and very much lighter. Each presents a
profile of the Queen; but instead of the super-
scription "Victoria Dei Gratiâ" of the true sove-
reign, the Jack has "Victoria Regina." On the
reverse, in the place of the "Britanniarum Regina
Fid. Def." surrounding the royal arms and crown,
is a device (intended for an imitation of St. George
and the Dragon) representing a soldier on horse-
back — the horse having three legs elevated from
the ground, while a drawn sword fills the right
hand of the equestrian, and a crown adorns his
head. The superscription is, "to Hanover," and
the rider seems to be sociably accompanied by a
dragon. Round the Queen's head on the half
Jack is "Victoria, Queen of Great Britain," and
on the reverse the Prince of Wales's feather, with
the legend, "The Prince of Wales's Model Half
Sovereign."

Until within these five or six years the gilt
card-counters had generally the portraiture of the
monarch, and on the reverse the legend "Keep
your temper," as a seasonable admonition to whist
players. Occasionally the card-counter was a gilt
coin, closely resembling a sovereign; but the
magistracy, eight or nine years back, "put down"
the sale of these imitations.

Under another head will be found an account
of the use made of these sovereigns, in pretended
wagers. A further use of them was to add to the
heaps of apparent gold at the back of the table-
keeper in a race booth, when gambling was
allowed at Epsom, and the "great meetings."

There are now only two men regularly selling
Jacks in the streets. There have been as many as
twelve. One of these street-sellers is often found
in Holborn, announcing "30s. for 1d.! 30s. for 1d.! cheapest bargain ever offered; 30s. for 1d.!"

The Jacks cost, wholesale, 4s. 6d. the gross;
the half Jacks 2s. 9d. The two are sold for 1d.
If the sale be not brisk, the street-seller will give a
ring into the bargain. These rings cost 1s. the
gross, or the third part of a farthing each.

If there be, on the year's average, only two
street-sellers disposing of the Jacks, and earning
9s. a week — to earn which the receipts will be
about 20s. — we find 104l. expended in the streets
on these trifles.

Of medals the street sale is sometimes con-
siderable, at others a mere nothing. When a

[Description: 915EAF. Page 350.]

popular subject is before the public, many of the
general patterers "go to medals." I could not
learn that any of the present street-people vended
medals in the time of the war; I believe there are
none at present among the street folk who did so.
I am told that the street sale in war medals was
smaller than might reasonably have been expected.
The manufacture of those articles in the Salamanca,
Vittoria, and even Waterloo days, was greatly
inferior to what it is at present, and the street
price demanded was as often 6d. as a smaller sum.
These medals in a little time presented a dull,
leaden look, and the knowledge that they were
"poor things" seems to have prevented the public
buying them to any extent in the streets, and
perhaps deterred the street-sellers from offering
them. Those who were the most successful of
the medal-sellers had been, or assumed to have
been, soldiers or seamen.

Within the last eighteen years, or more, there
has hardly been any public occurrence without a
comparatively well-executed medal being sold in
the streets in commemoration of it. That sold at
the opening of London-bridge was, I am told,
considered "a superior thing," and the improve-
ment in this art or manufacture has progressed to
the present time. Within the last three years the
most saleable medals, an experienced man told me,
were of Hungerford Suspension (bridge), the New
Houses of Parliament, the Chinese Junk, and Sir
Robert Peel. The Thames Tunnel medals were
at one time "very tidy," as were those of the New
Royal Exchange. The great sale is at present of
the Crystal Palace; and one man had heard that
there were a great many persons coming to London
to sell them at the opening of the Great Exhi-
bition. "The great eggs and bacon, I call it," he
said; "for I hope it will bring us that sort of
grub. But I don't know; I'm afraid there 'll
be too many of us. Besides, they say we shan't
be let sell in the park."

The exhibition medal is as follows: —

What the street medal-sellers call the "right-
side" — I speak of the "penny" medal, which
commands by far the greatest sale — presents the
Crystal Palace, raised from the surface of the
medal, and whitened by the application of aqua
fortis. The superscription is "THE BUILDING FOR
THE INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION, LONDON, 1851."
On the "wrong side" (so called) is the following
inscription, occupying the whole face of the medal:

THE CONSTRUCTION IS OF
IRON AND OF GLASS,
1848 FEET LONG.

ABOUT HALF IS 456 WIDE.

THE REMAINDER 408 FEET WIDE,
AND 66 FEET HIGH;
SITE, UPWARDS OF 20 ACRES.

COST £150,000.
JOSH. PAXTON, ARCHT.

The size of this medal is between that of a
shilling and a half-crown.

A patterer, who used to sell medals on Sunday
mornings in the park, informed me that he told
his customers the Crystal Palace part was dead
silver, by a new discovery making silver cheap;
but for all that he would risk changing it for a
four-penny bit!

The two-penny medal is after the same style,
but the letters are more distinct. On my stating,
to a medal-seller, that it was difficult to read the
inscription on his "pennies," he said, "Not at all,
sir; but it's your eyes is dazzled." This was
said quietly, and with a touch of slyness, and I
have no doubt was the man's "cut-and-dried"
answer.

The patterer whom I have mentioned, told me,
that encouraged by a tolerably sale and "a gather-
ing of the aristocrats," on a very fine Sunday in
January or February — he could not remember
which — he ventured upon 6 "sixpenny medals,"
costing him 1s. 9d. He sold them all but one,
which he showed me. It was exactly the size of
a crown-piece. The Crystal Palace was "raised,"
and of "dead silver," as in the smaller medals.
The superscription was the same as on the penny
medal; but underneath the representation of the
palace were raised figures of Mercury and of a
naked personage, with a quill as long as himself,
a cornucopia, and a bee-hive: this I presume was
Industry. These twin figures are supporters to a
medallion, crown-surmounted, of the Queen and
Prince Albert: being also in "dead silver." On
the reverse was an inscription, giving the dimen-
sions, &c., of the building.

The medals in demand for street-sale in London
seem to be those commemorative of local events
only. None, for instance, were sold relating to
the opening of the Britannia Bridge.

The wholesale price of the medals retailed in
the street at 1d. is 7s. the gross; those retailed at
2d. are 12s. the gross, but more than three-fourths
of those sold are penny medals. They are all
bought at the swag-shops, and are all made in
Birmingham. It is difficult to compute how many
persons are engaged in this street trade, for many
resort to it only on occasions. There are, however,
from 12 to 20 generally selling medals, and at the
present time about 30 are so occupied: they, how-
ever, do not sell medals exclusively, but along with
a few articles of jewellery, or occasionally of such
street stationery as letter stamps and "fancy"
pens, with coloured glass or china handles. A
fourth of the number are women. The weather
greatly influences the street medal trade, as rain
or damp dims their brightness. One seller told me
that the day before I saw him he had sold only
four medals. "I've known the trade, off and on," he
said, "for about six years, and the greatest number
as ever I sold was half-a-gross one Saturday. I
cleared rather better than 3s. I sold them in
Whitehall and by Westminster-bridge. There
was nothing new among them, but I had a good
stock, and it was a fine day, and I was lucky in
meeting parties, and had a run for sets." By a
"run for sets," my informant meant that he had
met with customers who bought a medal of each
of the kinds he displayed; this is called "a set."

An intelligent man, familiar with the trade,
and who was in the habit of clubbing his stock-
money with two others, that they might buy a
gross at a time, calculated that 15 medal sellers
were engaged in the traffic the year through, and
earned, in medals alone, 6d. a day each, to clear

[Description: 915EAF. Page 351.]

which they would take 6s. 6d. weekly, giving a
yearly outlay of 253l. 10s. It must be remem-
bered, to account for the smallness of the earn-
ings, that the trade in medals is irregular, and the
calculation embraces all the seasons of the trade.

On occasions when medals are the sole or chief
articles of traffic, they are displayed on a tray,
which is a box with a lid, and thus look bright
as silver on the faded brown velvet, with
which the box is often lined. Among the fa-
vourite pitches are Oxford-street, the approaches
to London, Blackfriars, Westminster, and Water-
loo-bridges, the railway stations, and the City-
road.

Of small coins (proper) there is now no sale in
the streets. When there was an issue of half-
farthings, about seven years ago, the street-sellers
drove a brisk trade, in vending them at four a
penny, urging on the sale before the coins got into
circulation, which they never did. "It's not
often," said one patterer to me, "that we has
anything to thank the Government for, but we
may thank them for the half-farthings. I dare say
at least 30 of us made a tidy living on them for a
week or more; and if they wasn't coined just to
give us a spirt, I should like to know what they
was coined for! I once myself, sir, for a lark,
gave one to a man that swept a capital crossing,
and he was in a thundering passion, and wanted
to fight me, when I told him they was coined to
pay the likes of him!"

There was afterwards a tolerable sale of the
"new silver pennies, just issued from the Mint,
three ha'pence each, or 7 for 6d.;" also of "ge-
nuine models of the new English florin, only 1d.:"
both of these were fictitious.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF RINGS AND
SOVEREIGNS FOR WAGERS.

This class is hardly known in the streets of
London at present. Country fairs and races are
a more fitting ground for the ring-seller's opera-
tions. One man of this class told me that he had
been selling rings, and occasionally medals, for
wagers for this last fifteen years. "It's only
a so-so game just now," he said; "the people get
so fly to it. A many hold out their penny for
a ring, and just as I suppose I'm a going to receive
it, they put the penny into their pockets, and their
thumb upon their nose. I wish I had some other
game, for this is a very dickey one. I gives 3d. a-dozen for the rings at the swag shop; and some-
times sells a couple of dozen in a day, but seldom
more. Saturday is no better day than any other.
Country people are my best customers. I know
them by their appearance. Sometimes a person in
the crowd whispers to others that he bought one the
other day and went and pawned it for 5s., and he'd
buy another, but he's got no money. I don't ask for
such assistance; I suppose it's done for a lark, and
to laugh at others if they buy. Women buy more
frequently than any one else. Several times since
I have been on this dodge, women have come back
and abused me because the ring they bought for a
penny was not gold. Some had been to the pawn
shop, and was quite astonished that the pawn-
broker wouldn't take the ring in. I do best in
the summer at races: people think it more likely
that two sporting gents would lay an out of
the way wager (as you know I always make out)
then than at any other time. I have been inter-
fered with at races before now for being an
impostor, and yet at the same time the gamblers
was allowed to keep their tables; but of course
theirs was all fair — no imposition about them —
oh no! I am considered about one of the best
patterers among our lot. I dare say there may be
twenty on us all together, in town and country,
on rings and sovereigns. Sometimes, when tra-
velling on foot to a race or fair, I do a little in
the Fawney dropping line;" (fawneys are rings;)
"but that is a dangerous game, I never did it but
two or three times. There were some got lagged
for it, and that frightened me. In ring-dropping
we pretend to have found a ring, and ask some
simple-looking fellow if it's good gold, as it's only
just picked up. Sometimes it is immediately pro-
nounced gold: `Well it's no use to me,' we'll
say, `will you buy it?' Often they are foolish
enough to buy, and it's some satisfaction to one's
conscience to know that they think they are a
taking you in, for they give you only a shilling or
two for an article which if really gold would be
worth eight or ten. Some ring-droppers write out an
account and make a little parcel of jewellery, and
when they pick out their man, they say, `If you
please, sir, will you read this for me, and tell me
what I should do with these things, as I've just
found them?' Some people advise they should be
taken to the police office — but very few say that;
some, that they should be taken to the address;
others, that they should be sold, and the money
shared; others offer a price for them, stating that
they're not gold, they're only trumpery they
say, but they'll give half-a-crown for them. It's
pleasant to take such people in. Sometimes the
finder says he's in haste, and will sell them
for anything to attend to other business, and
he then transfers his interest at perhaps 200 per
cent profit. This game won't friz now, sir, it's
very dangerous. I've left it off long since. I
don't like the idea of quod. I've been there once."
Another plan of dropping rings is to write a letter.
This is the style: —

Letter

"I have sent you the ring, and hope it will fit. —
Excuse me not bringing it. John will leave it with you.
— You know I have so much to attend to. — I shall think
every minute a year until the happy day arrives.

This love epistle containing the wedding-ring was
most successful when it first came up, but the public
now are too wide awake. According to another in-
formant, the ring-dropping "lurk" is now carried
on this way, for the old style is "coopered."
"A woman" he says, "is made up so as to
appear in the family-way — pretty far gone — and
generally with a face as long as a boy's kite.
Up she goes to any likely ken, where she knows
there are women that are married or expect
to get married, and commences begging. Then
comes the tale of woe, if she can get them to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 352.]

listen — `I'm in the family-way', she says, `as
you can plainly see young ladies (this she says
to the servants, and that prides them you know).
My husband has left me after serving me in this
way. I don't know where he is, and am forced to
solicit the ladies' charity.' Well, the servants will
bring broken victuals and make a little collection
among themselves for the `unprotected female;'
for which in return, with many thanks for their
kindness, she offers her gold wedding-ring for
sale, as she wants to get back to her suffering
kids to give them something to eat, poor things,
and they shall have the gold ring, she says, for
half what it's worth; or if they won't buy
it, will they lend 2s. or 3s. on it till she can
redeem it, as she hasn't been in the habit of
pledging! The girls are taken off their guard
(she not being in the habit of pledging is a
choker for them) by the woman's seeming sim-
plicity, and there's a consultation. One says to
the other — `Oh, you'll want it, Mary, for John;'
and another, `No, you'll want it first, Sally, for
William.' But the woman has her eye on the one
as says the least, as the likeliest of all to want it,
and so she says to the John and William girls,
`Oh, you don't want it; but here (touching the
silent one), here's a young lady as does,' (that
sweetens the servant girl up directly.) She
says, `I don't want it, bless you (with a giggle),
but I'll lend you a trifle, as you are in this state,
and have a family, and are left like this by your
husband — aint he cruel, Sally (she adds to her fel-
low-servant)?' The money the ring-woman gets, sir,
depends upon the servant's funds; if it is just after
quarter-day, she generally gets a tidy tip — if not,
4 or 5 bob. I've known one woman get 10s. and
even 12s. this way. The ring is made out of brass
gilt buttons, and stunning well: it's faked up to
rights, and takes a good judge even at this day to
detect it without a test."

"The best sort of rings for fawney dropping is
the Belchers. They are a good thick looking
ring, and have the crown and V. R. stamped
upon them. They are 7d. a dozen. I takes my
stand now, in my ring-selling, as if I was in a
great hurry, and pulls out my watch. I used to
have a real one, but now it's a dummy. `Now,
ladies and gentlemen,' says I, `I am not permitted
to remain more than ten minutes in one spot. I
have rings to sell to decide a wager recently
made between two sporting noblemen, to the effect
that I do not sell a certain quantity of these rings
in a given time, at a penny a piece. I can recom-
mend the article as being well worth the money I
ask for it, perhaps something more. I do not say
they are gold; in fact, I must not say too much,
as there is a person in this company watching my
proceedings, and seeing that I do not remain more
than ten minutes in this spot,' — here I always
looks very hard at the most respectable and gen-
tlemanly-looking person among my hearers, and
sometimes gives him a wink, and sometimes a
nod, — `but if you should hear anything more
about these rings, and you want to purchase,
don't be vexed if I am gone when you want me.
The ten minutes has nearly expired; three minutes
more; any more buyers? It makes no difference
to me whether I sell or not — I get my pay all the
same; but, if you take my advice, but; and per-
haps if you was to call at the sign of the Three
Balls, as you go home, you may be agreeably sur-
prised, and hear something to your advantage.
Perhaps I have said too much. I have one minute
more, before I close the establishment. After
shutting the box, I dare not sell another in this
spot, if you were to offer me 5l. for it; therefore,
if you wish to purchase, now is your time.' I
make many a pitch, and do not sell a single ring;
and the insults I receive used to aggravate me very
much, but I do not mind them now, I'm used
to it. The flyest cove among all us ring-sellers is
little Ikey, the Jew. There were two used to
work the game. They had a real gold ring, just
like the ones they were selling, and they always
used to pitch near a pawnbroker's shop. Ikey's
pal would buy a ring for a penny, of the street-
seller, and would then say, loud enough to be heard
by the bystanders, `There's a pawn shop — I'll go
and ask them to take it in.' A crowd would
follow him. He would enter the pawnbroker's —
present a real gold ring — obtain a loan of 5s., and
would present the ticket to the bystanders, who
would then buy very fast. When the pitch was
over, Ikey's pal would take the ring out of pawn,
and away the two would go to work near some other
pawnbroker's. I have heard Ikey say they have
pawned the ring thirty-five times in a day. I
tried the same caper; but my pal cut with the
gold ring the first day, and I've never had another
go at that fake since.

"Before I commenced the jewellery line," con-
tinued my candid informant, "a good many years
ago, I used to hold horses about Bond-street.
Afterwards I was taken as an errand boy at
a druggist's, was out of an errand one day and
got 6d. for holding a gentleman's horse, which
kept me nearly an hour; when I went back to
my master's I was told I wasn't wanted any
more. I had been cautioned about stopping of
errands two or three times before; however I
didn't like the situation, it was too confining. I
next got a place as pot-boy, in Brick Lane. Here
I was out one day gathering in the pots. I hung
the strap of pots to a railing to have a game at
chances (pitch and toss), somebody prigged my
strap of pots, and I cut. A few weeks after I
was grabbed for this, and got a month at the mill;
but I was quite innocent of prigging — I was only
careless. When I came out of prison, I went
to Epsom races, thinking to get a job there at
something or other. A man engaged me to
assist him in `pitching the hunters.' Pitching
the hunters is the three sticks a penny, with
the snuffboxes stuck upon sticks; if you throw
your stick, and they fall out of the hole, you
are entitled to what you knock off. I came
to London with my master the pitcher-hunter,
he went to a swag shop in Kent-street, in the
Borough, to purchase a new stock. I saw a man
there purchasing rings, this was little Ikey, the
Jew; some days afterwards I saw him making
a pitch, and selling very fast. I had fourpence

[Description: 915EAF. Page 353.]

in my pocket; went to Kent-street, to the swag
shops, bought a dozen rings, and commenced sell-
ing them. I sold that day three dozen; that
wasn't bad considering that my toggery was very
queer, and I looked anything but like one who
would be trusted with ten pounds' worth of gold
rings. This wager between the two sporting
noblemen has been a long time settling. I've
been at it more than fifteen years. The origin of
it was this here: when sovereigns were first
coined, the Jew boys and others used to sell
medals and card-counters upon particular occasions,
the same as they do now, and shove them in a
saucepan lid, with silver paper under them. Cap-
tain Barclay, and another of the same sort,
bet a wager, that one of these Jew-boys could
not dispose of a certain number of real sovereigns
in a given time, supposing the Jew-boy cried
out nothing more than `here's sovereigns, only
a penny a piece.' The number he was to sell
was 50 within the hour, and to take his station
at London Bridge. The wager was made, the
Jew-boy procured, and the sovereigns put into
the pot lid. `Here are real sovereigns a penny
a piece, who'll buy?' he cried; but he sold
only a few. The number disposed of, within
the hour, I have heard, was seventeen. Those
who purchased, when they found that they had
really bought sovereigns at a penny a piece, re-
turned for more, but the salesman was gone. A
good harvest was afterwards reaped among the
Jews, who got up a medal something like a so-
vereign, and sold them in every quarter of London,
for the Captain's wager soon spread about every-
where. It's a stale game now; it was so before
my time, but I've heard the Jews talk about
it. The second day I tried the ring dodge, I
was a little more successful; indeed every day
for some time exceeded the day before, for, as I
improved in patter, my sales increased. My ap-
pearance, too, was improving. At one time I was
a regular swell, sported white kid gloves, white
choker, white waistcoat, black ribbon, and a
quizzing glass. Some people used to chaff me,
and cry out `there's a swell.' I never was saving,
always spent my money as fast as I got it. I might
have saved a goodish bit, and I wish I had now.
I never had a wife, but I have had two or three
broomstick matches, though they never turned
out happy. I never got hold of one but what
was fond of lush. I live in Westminster, at a
padding-ken. I'd rather not tell you where, not
that I've anything to fear, but people might think
I was a nose, if anybody came after me, and
they would crab me. I'd rather get something
else to do if I could, but I think this is the best
street game I could follow. I don't believe any
of the ring-sellers dispose of more than myself,
except little Ikey; he now adds other articles, a
silver thimble (he calls it), some conundrums, a
song-book and a seal, and all for a penny. I
tried the same thing, but found I could do just as
well with the rings alone. We all expects to do
great things during the Exhibition. I think all
on us ought to be allowed to sell in the parks.
Foreigners are invited to witness specimens of
British Industry, and it's my opinion they should
see all, from the highest to the lowest. We did intend petitioning the Prince on the subject, but I
don't suppose it would be any go, seeing as how
the slang coves" (the showmen), "have done so,
and been refused."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CHILDREN'S GILT
WATCHES.

These articles were first introduced into general
street sale about 10 years ago. They were
then German made. The size was not much
larger than that of a shilling, and to this tiny
watch was appended as tiny a chain and seal.
The street-price was only 1d., and the wholesale
price was 8s. the gross. They were sold at eight
of the swag-shops, all "English and foreign," or
"English and German" establishments. From
the price it would appear that the profit was 4d. a dozen, but as the street-sellers had to "take the
watches as they came," the profit was but 3d., as
a dozen watches in a gross had broken glasses, or
were otherwise damaged and unsaleable. The
supply of these watches was not equal to the
demand, for when a case of them was received,
"it could have been sold twice over." One
street-seller told me that he had sold 15 and
even 16 dozen of these watches on a day, and
that once on a Saturday night, and early on
Sunday morning, he had sold 2 gross, or 24
dozen. Such, however, was not the regular sale;
a "good week" was a profit of 15s.

About six years ago gilt watches of a very
superior kind were sold in the streets in a dif-
ferent way. They were French made, and were
at first vended at 1s. each. Some were displayed
in case-boxes, fitted up with divisions, in which
were placed the watches with the guard-chains,
about three-quarters of a yard long, coiled round
them. There were also two or three keys, one in
the form of a pistol. The others were hung from
a small pole, sometimes a dozen, and sometimes
two, being 30 suspended, and they had a good
glittering appearance in a bright light; this street
fashion still continues. The street-sellers, how-
ever, are anxious not to expose these watches too
much, as they are easily injured by the weather,
and any stain or injury is irreparable. The shilling
sale continued prosperously for about six weeks,
and then the wholesale price — owing, the street-
sellers were told at the swag-shops, to "an oppo-
sition in the trade in Paris," — was reduced to
4s. 6d. the dozen, and the retail street-price to
6d. each. When the trade was "at its best"
there were thirty men and twenty women selling
these watches, all May, June, and July, and each
clearing from 12s. to 20s. (but rarely the latter
sum) a week. Last "season" there were for the
same period about half the number of sellers men-
tioned, averaging a profit of about 15d. a day
each, or 9s. a week. The cry is — "Handsome
present for 6d. Beautiful child's watch and
chain, made of Peruvian metal, by working
jewellers out of employ. Only 6d. for a hand-
some present."

The vendors of these watches are the regular

[Description: 915EAF. Page 354.]

street-sellers, some of them being tolerably good
patterers. One of these men, in the second year
of the street-sale of watches, appeared one morn-
ing in an apron and sleeves, to which brass and
copper filings were made to adhere, and he an-
nounced himself as an English working jeweller
unemployed, offering his own manufactures for
sale, "better finished and more solider nor the
French." The man's sale was greatly increased.
On the following day, however, four other Eng-
lish working jewellers appeared in Leicester-
square and its approaches, each in besprinkled
apron and sleeves, and each offering the produc-
tions of his own handicraft! The apron and
sleeves were therefore soon abandoned.

Among the best "pitches," — for the watch-sellers
are not itinerant, though they walk to and fro —
are the Regent's-park, Leicester-square, the foot
of London-bridge, and of Blackfriars-bridge, and
at the several railway stations.

The principal purchasers, I was told by an in-
telligent patterer, who sometimes "turned his
hand to the watches," were "fathers and mo-
thers," he thought, "and them as wished to
please such parties."

Calculating that twenty-five persons now vend
watches for twelve weeks in the year, and — as
they are 10 per cent. cheaper than they were at
the swag-shops — that each clears 8s. weekly, we
find 360l. yearly expended in London streets in
these toy watches.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF TINWARE.

The sellers of tins, who carry them under their
arms, or in any way on a round, apart from the
use of a vehicle, are known as hand-sellers. The
word hand-seller is construed by the street-traders
as meaning literally hand-seller, that is to say, a
seller of things held or carried in the hand; but
the term is clearly derived from the Scotch hand-
sell, as in "handsell penny." Handsell, according
to Jamieson, the Scotch etymologist, means, (1)
"The first money that a trader receives for goods;
also a gift conferred at a particular season. (2)
A piece of bread given before breakfast." Ihre,
the Gothic lexicographer, views the term handsell
as having sprung from the Mæso-Gothic hunsla (sacrifice or offering). This is the same as the
Anglo-Sax husl (the Eucharist), whence comes the
English housel and unhouseled; and he considers
the word to have originally meant a gift or offering
of any kind. Hence, the hand-sellers of tin and
other wares in the street, would mean simply those
who offered such tin or other wares for sale. The
goods they dispose of are dripping-pans (sometimes
called "square pans"), sold at from 3d. to 18d., the 3d. pans being "6 inch," and the 18d. "15
inch;" cullenders, 6d. to 9d.; hand-bowls, for
washerwomen, 1s. (now a very small portion of the
trade); roasting-jacks, with tin bodies, 6d. to
1s. 6d. (this used to be the best article for profit
and ready sale in the trade, but "they are going
out of date"); and the smaller articles of graters,
&c.

The hand-sellers also trade in other articles
which are less portable; the principal sale, how-
ever, is at "stands," and there chiefly on a Satur-
day night, the great business-time of street-com-
merce! These less portable articles are tea-kettles,
10d. to 18d.; saucepans of all sizes, the smallest
being the "open pints" at 2d. or 2½d. each (they
cost them 20d. a dozen; it's a bargain to get them
at 18d.), and the largest the "nine quart;" but
the kinds most in demand are the "three pints"
and "two quarts," sold at 6d. and 8d. There are
also fish-kettles in this street-traffic, though to a
very limited extent — "one fish-kettle," I was told,
"to four-and-twenty saucepans;" the selling price
for the fish-kettles is 5s. and 3s. 6d. each; candle-
sticks are sold at 4d. to 1s.; and shaving pots, 4d. A few tin things used to be sold at the mews, but
the trade is now almost entirely abandoned. These
were tins for singeing horses, 2s. 6d. each when
first introduced, ten or twelve years ago, but now
1s., and stable lanterns, of punched tin, which
cannot be sold now for more than 1s. each, though
they cost 10s. per dozen at a tin-shop.

There are other tin articles vended in the
streets, but they will be more properly detailed in
my account of street-artisans, as the maker and
the street-seller are the same individual. Among
these are Dutch ovens, which are rarely offered
now by those who purchase their goods at the
tin-shops, as the charge there is 6d. "Why," said
a working tinman to me, "I've had 10d. many a
week for making ovens, and the stuff found. It
takes two plates of tin to make an oven, that's
3d. at any tin-shop, before a minute's labour is
given to it, and yet the men who hawk their own
goods sell their ovens regularly enough at 4d. It's
the ruin of the trade." The tin-shops, I may ob-
serve, supply the artisans with the materials they
require, as well as the ready-made articles, to the
street-seller.

One of the largest street-stands "in tin" is in
St. John-street, Clerkenwell, on Saturday even-
ings, but the proprietor pertains to the artisan
class, though he buys some of his goods at the
tin-shops.

The hand-sellers of tin are about 100 in num-
ber, and 60 of that number may be said to be
wives and children of the remaining 40; as the
majority of the itinerant vendors of tinware are
married men with families. "Tins" are not a heavy
carriage, and can very well be borne from house to
house by women, while children sell such things
as nutmeg-graters, pepper-boxes, extinguishers,
and save-alls. Those who sell the larger tin
articles in the streets are generally the makers of
them. "A dozen years back or more, perhaps,
there was," I was informed, "some prime block-
tin tea-pots sold in the streets; there's none now.
Metal's druv out tin."

Among the street tin-sellers I heard many com-
plaints of the smallness, and the constantly di-
minishing rate of their earnings. "Our people
has bad luck, too," said one man, "or they isn't
wide awake. You may remember, sir, that a few
weeks back, a new save-all came in, and was called
candle-wedges, and went off well. It was a tin
thing, and ought by rights to have been started by
the tin-shops for us. But it was first put out by the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 355.]

swag-men at 3s. the gross. The first and second days
the men were soon sold out. Them as could patter
tidy did the best — I tried, but you see, sir, I'm no
scholar. Well, they went at night to Mr. — 's,
in Houndsditch, I think it is, and he says, `I'm
out of them, but I'll have some in the morning.'
They goes in the morning, and the swag
says: `O, I can't afford 'em at three shillings, you
can have 'em at four.' He put 1s. exter on the
gross, cause they sold, nothing else, sir; and a re-
lation of mine heard the swag shopkeeper say,
`Why, they're cheap at four; Jim (the street-
seller) there made 3s. 3d. on 'em yesterday. I
ain't a going to slave, and pay rent, and rates, and
taxes, to make your fortens; it ain't likely.' You
see, sir, they was sold at ½d. each, and cost ¼d., which is 3d. a dozen, and so the swag got a
higher profit, while the poor fellows had to sell for
less profit."

From the most reliable information which I could
acquire, it appears that these tin-sellers, taken al-
together, do not earn above 6s. a week each, as
regards the adult men, and half that as regards
the children and women. To realize this amount,
the adults must take 13s., and the women and
children 7s., for the latter are less "priced down."
Thus, if we calculate an average receipt, per in-
dividual, of 10s. weekly, reckoning 100 sellers,
we find a yearly expenditure on tins, bought in
the street, of 2500l. The trade is greatest in the
suburbs, and some men, who have become "known
on their rounds," supply houses, by order, with
all the tins they require.

There is a branch of the tin-trade carried on in
a way which I have shown prevailed occasionally
among the costermongers, viz., the selling of goods
on commission. This system is now carried on
among all the parties who trade "from" swag-
barrows.

The word "swag" which has been so often
used in this work of late, is, like many other of
the street-terms, of Scotch origin (as handseller, and busker). The Scotch word is sweg or swack, and means, according to Jamieson, a quantity, a
considerable number, a large collection of any kind.
(The root appears to be an ancient German term,
sweig — a flock, a herd.) Hence a Swag Ware-
house is a warehouse containing a large collection
of miscellaneous goods; and a Swag Barrow, a
barrow laden with a considerable assortment of
articles. The slang term swag means booty, plun-
der — that is to say, the collection of goods — the
"lot," the "heap" stolen.

Of these swag-barrowmen, there are not less than
150, and the barrows are mostly the property of
three individuals, who are not street-sellers them-
selves. One of these men has 50 barrows of his
own, and employs 50 men to work them. The
barrow proprietor supplies not only the vehicle,
but the stock, and the men's remuneration is 3d. in the 1s. on the amount of sales. Each article
they sell is charged to the public 1d. The tin-
wares of the swag-barrows are nutmeg-graters,
bread-graters, beer-warmers, fish-slices, goblets,
mugs, save-alls, extinguishers, candle-shades, money-
boxes, children's plates, and rattles. In addition
to the tin-wares, the swag-barrows are stocked
with brooches, rings, pot-ornaments, plates, small
crockeryware, toys, &c., each article being also
vended at 1d. The trade is so far stationary, that
the men generally confine themselves to one neigh-
bourhood, if not to one street. The majority of
the swag-barrowmen have been costermongers,
and nearly the whole have been engaged in street
avocations all their lives. One man familiar with
the trade thought I might state that the whole
were of this description; for though there was
lately a swag barrowman who had been a trades-
man in an extensive way, there was, he believed,
no such exception at the present time. These
barrowmen are nearly all uneducated, and are
plodding and persevering men, though they make
few exertions to better their condition. As the
barrow and stock are supplied to them, without
any outlay on their part, their faculties are not
even sharpened, as among many of the coster-
mongers, by the necessity of providing stock-
money, and knowing how to bargain and buy to
advantage. They have merely to sell. Their
commission furnishes little or nothing more than
the means of a bare subsistence. The great sale
is on Saturday nights at the street-markets, and
to the working people, who then crowd those
places, and, as one said to me, "has a few pennies
to lay out." At such times as much as 3l. has
been taken by a swag-barrowman. During the
other days of the week their earnings are small.
It is considered a first-rate week, and there must
be all the facilities for street-trade afforded by fine
weather, to take 2s. a day (clearing 6d), and 3l. on a Saturday night. This gives the swag-bar-
rowman a commission of 18s.; but I am informed,
by competent persons, that the average of the
weekly profits of these street-traders does not
exceed 10s. a week. This shows a yearly receipt,
by the men working the barrows, of 3900l. as
their profit or payment, and a gross receipt of
11,700l. Of this large amount nearly two-thirds,
I am assured, is expended on tin-wares.

The prime cost, at the tin-shops, of these wares,
to the barrow proprietors, are 7s. and 7s. 6d. the
gross, leaving from 1½d. to 2d. profit on every
shilling, over the 3d. commission paid to the sales-
man. The tins are all made in London. The
jewellery, and other stock of the swag-barrows,
are bought at the general swag-shops, of which I
have before spoken.

OF THE LIFE OF A TIN-WARE SELLER.

The following street-biography was communicated
to me in writing. It is, I believe, a striking in-
stance of the vicissitudes and privations to which a
street-life is subject. It forms, moreover, a curious
example of those moral contradictions which make
the same individual at one time give way hope-
lessly to the force of circumstances, and at another
resolutely control them.

"My object," says my correspondent, "for
writing this, what some folks no doubt will call
a nonsensical epistle, is merely to show how much
human nature is capable of enduring in the shape
of privations. People in easy circumstances will

[Description: 915EAF. Page 356.]

scarcely credit what I am about to relate; and
many of the poor will smile at what I have termed
hardships, and at my folly in endeavouring to
paint the misery I have endured, which will ap-
pear slight when compared to what they them-
selves have suffered.

"I am the son of a mechanic who was acci-
dentally drowned some weeks previous to my
birth. My mother, through industry and perse-
verance, endeavoured to support me and my sister
till we arrived at the ages of 15 and 18,
I being the younger. I entered a gentleman's
service as pantry-boy, where I continued until I
considered myself competent to take a higher
situation. Still a servant's life was not the bent
of my inclinations; martial music and viewing
soldiers on parade made me think that a rifle was
a more graceful tool than a toasting-fork. I re-
solved to serve his Majesty, and for that purpose
enlisted in the 60th Rifles on the route for India,
but Providence ordained it otherwise. On the
afternoon on which I 'listed I fell by accident and
broke my leg, and as I was not sworn in I was
entitled to no pension. I was six months confined
to my bed, and it was three years befor I could
go without my crutch. Grief for my misfortunes
had borne my mother to an early grave, and I was
left a cripple and destitute. Whether by design
or accident I do not recollect, but I met with
the lady (Lady M — — ) in whose service I
first entered as pantry-boy; she took pity on
my forlorn condition, and kindly invited me
to her Mansion, where I remained until com-
pletely restored to health, but still crippled.
After this I was employed painting and glaz-
ing, &c., and, considering myself competent to
get my living in that line, I resolved to go to
London — the theatre of all my misery to come,
for I was disappointed. On reaching the metro-
polis my paint-brush was turned into a shovel, my
paint-pot into a dust sieve, for I could only get
employed by a man to work in a dust-yard at 10s. a week. From thence I went to a firm belonging
to a friend at Beckenham, near Croydon, as work-
ing time-keeper, or foreman; but during a fair in
that village I neglected to back the time, and being
discharged was cast upon the world again with
only 3s. in my pocket, which I eat and drank up,
having no idea of street trading. Then came my
trials; but having had sufficient food during the
day, I did not feel much the effects of my first
night in the streets. The next day I had no food,
and towards dusk began bitterly to feel my situa-
tion; that night I slept, or rather lay, in an empty
house. Towards noon of the next day I felt weak,
and drank large quantities of water, for I had no
particular desire for food. Passing by a shop
where old clothes were offered for sale, I saw a
man wretched in appearance disposing of an old
vest for a few pence. I caught the malady and
was instantly spoiled of my coat, having received
in exchange for it 2s. and an old frock — such as
are generally worn by waggoners or countrymen.
I more than once smiled at my novel appear-
ance. A penny loaf, a drink of water, and a
threepenny lodging was the first assault upon my
2s. I regretted, however, the 3d. paid for my
lodging, and determined not to risk another, for
my bedfellows were so numerous, and of such
teazing propensities, that they would not allow me
to sleep; truly indeed is it said that `poverty
makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows.' At
this time I formed an acquaintance with a man
whose condition was similar to my own; he en-
gaged to put me `fly to a dodge' or two; an
explanation from him was necessary to make me
acquainted with the sense of his words, which I
soon found simply meant artful manœuvres. One
of these dodges was to snooze (a term for sleeping)
in the Adelphi arches; I felt grateful for such a
mark of disinterested friendship, and next day my
friend and me fared sumptuously on the produce
of my coat, and at night we repaired to the Arches
in question, and there found a comfortable lodging
in a hay-loft. I lay for some time, but did
not sleep. I was several times addressed by my
companion in an under tone, `Are you asleep,'
he whispered, `ain't it a stunning dos?' (which
means a good bed). I was not in a mood for
conversation, and made no reply; to silence him
completely I affected to snore, and this had the
desired effect. For a few minutes he was quite
quiet, and then he commenced with great caution
to unlace my boots, with a view to stealing them.
I perceived his object, and immediately left my
lodging and companion. I felt grieved and dis-
appointed at the loss of one in whom I placed all
confidence; but this time wisdom was purchased
cheaply, inasmuch as I suffered no loss except that
my money might have lasted me a little longer.
The remainder of that night I strayed about the
Strand and Charing cross, after a drink of water;
I took a seat on a curb surrounding the pump;
many wretched beings came and seated themselves
beside me, and a conversation ensued respecting
their several destinations during the day. One
proposed going to Hungerford-market to do a
feed on decayed shrimps or other offal laying
about the market; another proposed going to
Covent-garden to do a `tightener' of rotten
oranges, to which I was humorously invited; I
accepted the invitation, and proceeded with my
new companion. I fared well; I filled my hat,
took a seat, and made a most delicious breakfast.
I remained strolling about the Garden all day, and
towards evening was invited by my companions to
a `dos' in an open shed in Islington; this I
declined, alleging that I had a lodging, but that
night I slept amongst a heap of stones near the
pillar at Charing-cross. I continued to attend
the Garden for several weeks, subsisting entirely
on the offal of that market. One day I took
notice of a man there selling chestnut leaves; I
enquired how he obtained them: he told me he
plucked them from the trees without hindrance,
and directed me to where I could obtain some. I
went to a grove in the vicinity of Kilburn, and lay
there all night. Next morning I found no leaves,
so I returned disappointed to town, and on going
through the market a woman employed me to
carry a bushel of pears some little distance for her
for a penny. I felt quite elevated in anticipation of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 357.]

such a treat as a penny loaf, but alas! I fell down
under the weight of the fruit and poverty; my
employer, however, kindly gave me the penny,
though some of her pears were injured, and I had
not taken them half the required distance. With
the money I purchased a loaf, and sat on a stone
near the pump in Covent Garden and began my
meal. Here I soon had a companion, who after
rincing a lettuce at the pump, began to devour it.
I shared my loaf with him. `O God!' said he,
`what are we destined to suffer. I have escaped
the bullets of the Carlists in Spain to die in the
streets of London with hunger.' I felt an interest
in the poor fellow, who I discovered in the course
of conversation had been a gentleman's servant in
his time; he assured me he had been living in the
same way for several weeks as I myself had been.
Towards night my companion asked me where I
slept. I told him my different haunts, he told me
I'd better go to the straw-yard with him, this was
a place I had not yet heard of; it was the nightly
refuge for the houseless poor. I accompanied him
without hesitation; my confidence was not mis-
placed; I slept there several nights. Bread was
distributed to us night and morning, and this was
fortunate, for the Garden began to fail. In the
course of conversation with some of the inmates of
the Refuge, we found that we could obtain employ-
ment at stone-breaking; this we tried the next
morning, and succeeded. We worked all day, and
received 6d. each on leaving work. We then
made up our minds to go to lodgings that we might
have an opportunity of washing what were once
shirts.

"Misery had not had that wasting influence on
my companion as it had on me. I was at this
time a complete skeleton; a puff of wind would
cause me to stagger. I continued stone-breaking,
but about noon of the third day I sunk exhausted
on the heap of stones before me. Poverty had done
its work, and I anticipated with pleasure approach-
ing dissolution. I was assisted to my lodging by my
companion, and went to bed. When the woman at
the lodging-house discovered that I was ill, she or-
dered some of her domestics to dress me and put
me in the street, alleging that she was under a
penalty of 20l. were it discovered that she lodged
a sick stranger. I was, therefore, cast into the
street at 12 o'clock at night. My companion then
gave me the 3d. he had earned that day to pro-
cure me a lodging if possible, and he slept in the
streets the remainder of the night. I went to
another lodging, concealing as much as possible
my illness; my money was taken, and I was con-
ducted to bed. I spent a wretched night, and
next morning I was very bad. The landlady
led me to the workhouse; I was admitted
directly; had they detained me asking questions
I should have sunk on the floor. My disorder
was pronounced English cholera. I lay three
weeks in a precarious state, but at the end of
seven weeks was recovered sufficiently to walk
about. I was then discharged; but on going
towards the Abbey in Westminster I fainted, and
on recovery found myself surrounded by a num-
ber of persons. I was advised to return to the
house; I did so, and was admitted for a short time,
after which I was again discharged, but I received
out-door relief twice a week; and for some time a
small portion of bread and cheese as well. I had
now lost not only all hope, but even desire of
bettering my condition; during these trials I
made none acquainted with my privations, save
those situated as I was. I now altered my con-
dition as regards sleeping; I walked about during
the night, and slept a portion of the day on a heap
of sand near Westminster-bridge. I then remem-
bered to have a poor relative in Kensington; I did
not plead distress, but merely asked whether she
knew where I might procure employment. I had
a cup of tea, the first I had tasted since I was in
the workhouse, a period of five weeks. Being
asked some question by my relative, I could not
help making reference to some of my sufferings.
At this place I found a young man of whom I
had had a previous acquaintance; I told him of my
inability to procure a lodging, and he allowed
me without the knowledge of his parents to sleep
in the stable-loft; the bed was hard, but the coal
sacks kept me warm. Here I had many opportu-
nities of earning a few pence, and I began to
regain my spirits. On one occasion, seeing a lad
illtreated by a young man who was much his
superior in size and strength, I interposed, and it
may be conjectured in what manner. This cir-
cumstance procured me a friend, for, with the assist-
ance of the lad I had protected, I was enabled to
live tolerably well, and after a short while I got a
situation at a coal-shed at 10s. a week. I con-
tinued in this place eighteen months, but, my
master giving up the business, I was again cast
on the world. I then began to think seriously of
some way of living, and for the first time asked
for the loan of 15s. With this I purchased a
few articles of furniture, laid out 7s. 6d. for two
hundred of oranges, with which I walked and
hawked about two days, taking but 4d. during the
time. I disposed of the remainder of my stock,
wholesale, for 6s.; with this I purchased a small
tin saucepan, a piece of marble slab, and com-
menced sugar-boiling. I retailed my manufacture
in the streets. By dint of perseverance and
economy I managed to live this way through the
winter and a portion of the spring; but summer
being now come, people needed none of my com-
pounds to warm their mouths, so it was necessary
for me to change my hand. What should I do?
Thoughts came and vanished at their births. I
recollected having seen a person selling rings at
a penny each; I made up my mind to try the
same. I laid out 5s. in a tray and stock; after
arranging the goods to the best advantage I sal-
lied into the streets. The glittering baubles took
for a while, but when discoloured were useless.
Having once a considerable stock of these soiled
rings, I was prompted to begin "lot selling."
After calculating the profits, I commenced selling
in that line. As this continued for seven weeks
I managed to get a living. The system then
became general; every street in the metropolis
contained a lot seller, so I was determined to
change my hand. One day in the street I saw a

[Description: 915EAF. Page 358.]

girl with a bundle of old umbrellas going towards
a marine store shop; I asked if the umbrellas
were for sale; she replied in the affirmative; the
price she asked was 4d.; I became a purchaser.
With these old umbrellas I commenced a new life.
I bought some trifling tools necessary for repairing
umbrellas, and, after viewing well the construction
of the articles, I commenced operations. I succeeded,
and in a little time could not only mend an old
umbrella, but make a new one. This way of living
I followed three years. In one of my walks
through the streets crying old umbrellas to sell,
I saw a street tinker repairing a saucepan; he
seemed so very comfortable with his fire-pan before
him, that I resolved from that moment to become
a tinker, and for that purpose I bought a few
tools, prepared a budget, and sallied into the
streets with as much indifference as if I had been
at the business since my birth. After a little
practice I fancied I was fit for better things than
mending old saucepans, and flattered myself that I
was able to make a new one. This I resolved to
attempt, and succeeded so well, that I at once
abandoned the rainy-day system, and commenced
manufacturing articles in tin-ware, such as are now
sold in the streets, namely funnels, nutmeg-graters,
penny mugs, extinguishers, slices, savealls, &c. I
soon became known to the street-sellers and swag-
shop proprietors. The prices I get are low, and
I am deficient in some of the tools necessary to
forward the work, with the required speed to
procure returns adequate to my expenses; but
thanks to the Lord I am better off than ever I
expected to be, with the difference only of a
somewhat shattered constitution. There are many
at the present day suffering as I have done, and
they may be found in and about the different
markets of the metropolis."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF DOG-COLLARS.

Of these street-traders there are now regularly
twelve; one man counted to me fourteen, but two
of these only sold dog-collars occasionally, when
they could not get employment in their trade as
journeymen brass-founders. Of the regular hands,
one, two, and sometimes three sell only dog-collars
(with the usual adjuncts of locks, and sometimes
chains, and key-rings), but even these, when their
stock-money avails, prefer uniting to the collars
some other trifling article.

Two of the most profitable pitches for the sale
of these articles are in the neighbourhood of the
Old Swan Pier, off Thames-street, and at a corner
of the Bank. Neither of these two traders con-
fines his stock to dog-collars, though they con-
stitute the most valuable portion of it. The one
sells, in addition to his collars, key-rings, keys
and chains, dog-whistles, stamps with letters en-
graved upon them, printer's type, in which any
name or initials may be set up, shaving-brushes,
trowser-straps, razors, and a few other light arti-
cles. The other sells little more than "dog"
articles, with the addition of brass padlocks and
small whips. But the minor commodities are
frequently varied, according to the season and
to the street-seller's opinion of what may "sell."

Some of these traders hang their wares against
the rails of any public or other building in a good
situation, where they can obtain leave. Others
have stalls, with "a back," from the corners of
which hang the strings of dog-collars, one linked
within another. The manner in which one street-
seller displays his wares is shown in the illustra-
tion before given. Of the whole number, half are
either itinerant on a round, or walk up and down
a thoroughfare and an adjacent street or two.
"Dog-collars," said one man, "is no good at
Saturday-night markets. People has said to me —
for I was flat enough to try once — `Dogs! pooh,
I've hardly grub enough for the kids.' For all
that, sir, some poor people has dogs, and is very
fond of them too; ay, and I've sold them collars,
but seldom. I think it's them as has no children
has dogs."

The collars most in demand are brass. One man
pointed out to me the merits of his stock, which
he retailed from 6d. each (for the very small
ones) to 3s. — for collars seemingly big enough for
Pyrenean sheep dogs. Some of the street-sold
collars have black and red rims and linings;
others are of leather, often scarlet, stitched orna-
mentally over a sort of jointed iron or wire-work.
A few are of strong compact steel chain-work;
"but them's more the fashion," said one seller,
"for sporting dogs, like pointers and greyhounds,
and is very seldom bought in the streets. It's
the pet dogs as is our best friends."

The dog-collar sellers have, as regards perhaps
one-half, been connected in their youth with some
mechanical occupation in metal manufacture. Four,
I am told, are or were pensioners to a small amount,
as soldiers or sailors.

Some further particulars of the business will be
found in the following statement given me by a
man in the trade. He was sickly-looking, seemed
dispirited at first, but to recover his spirits as he
conversed, and spoke with a provincial (I presume
a Warwickshire or Staffordshire) accent.

"I served my time, sir; my relations put me
— for my parents died when I was a boy — to a
harness furniture maker, in Wa'sall (Walsal), who
supplied Mr. Dixon, a saddler's ironmonger, in a
good way. I had fair makings, and was well
treated, and when I was out of my time I worked
for another master, and I then found I could make
my pad territs" (the round loops of the harness
pad, through which the reins are passed), "my
hooks, my buckles, my ornaments (some of 'em
crests), as well as any man. I worked only in
brass, never plated, but sometimes the body for
plating, and mostly territs and hooks. Thinking
I'd better myself, I came to London. I was
between five and six weeks before I got a stroke
of work, and my money had gone. I found that
London harness makers and coachmakers' names
was put on Walsal-made goods, and `London made'
and `town made' was put too. They might be as
good, but they wasn't town made no more nor I am.
I can't tell what I suffered, and felt, and thought,
as at last I walked the streets. I was afraid to
call at any brass-worker's — for I can do many sorts
of brass work — I was so shabby. I called once at

[Description: 915EAF. Page 359.]

Mr. A — 's, near Smithfield, and he, or his fore-
man perhaps it was, says to me, `Give that tug-
buckle a file.' I'd had nothing to eat but an
apple I found in the street that day, and my hand
trembled, and so he told me that drunkards,
with trembling hands, wouldn't do there. I was
never a drinking man; and at that time hadn't
tasted so much as beer for ten days. My
landlady — I paid her 1s. a week for half a
bed with a porter — trusted me my rent, 'cause
I paid her when I had it; but I walked about,
narvussed and trembling, and frightened at every
sudden sound. No, sir, I've stood looking over
a bridge, but, though I may have thought of
suicide, I never once had really a notion of it. I
don't know how to tell it, but I felt stupified
like, as much as miserable. I felt I could do no-
thing. Perhaps I shouldn't have had power of
mind to drown myself if I'd made up my resolu-
tion; besides, it's a dreadful wickedness. I
always liked reading, and, before I was fairly
beaten out, used to read at home, at shop-win-
dows, and at book-stalls, as long as I dared, but
latterly, when I was starving, I couldn't fix my
mind to read anyhow. One night I met a Wa's'll
friend, and he took me to his inn, and gave me a
good beef-steak supper and some beer, and he got
me a nice clean bed in the house. In the morn-
ing he gave me what did me most good of all, a
good new shirt, and 5s. I got work two days
after, and kept it near five years, with four mas-
ters, and married and saved 12l. We had no
family to live, and my poor wife died in the
cholera in 1849, and I buried her decently, thank
God, for she was a good soul. When I thought
the cholera was gone, I had it myself, and was ill
long, and lost my work, and had the same suffer-
ings as before, and was without soles to my shoes
or a shirt to my back, 'till a gentleman I'd worked
for lent me 1l., and then I went into this trade,
and pulled up a little. In six weeks I paid 15s. of my debt, and had my own time for the remain-
ing 5s. Now I get an odd job with my master
sometimes, and at others sell my collars, and
chains, and key-rings, and locks, and such like.
I'm ashamed of the dog-collar locks; I can buy
them at 2d. a dozen, or 1s. 6d. a gross; they're
sad rubbish. In two or three weeks sometimes,
the wire hasp is worn through, just by the rattling
of the collar, and the lock falls off. I make now,
one way and another, about 10s. a week. My
lodging's 2s. a week for a bed-room — it's a closet
tho,' for my furniture all went. God's good, and
I'll see better days yet. I have sure promise of
regular work, and then I can earn 30s. to 40s. I do best with my collars about the docks. I'm
sure I don't know why."

I am told that each of the street-sellers of dog-
collars sell on the average a dozen a week, at a
medium receipt of 12s. ("sometimes 20s., and
sometimes 6s."), though some will sell three and
even four dozen collars in the week. Any regular
dog-collar seller will undertake to get a name en-
graved upon it at 1d. a letter. The goods are bought
at a swag-shop, or an establishment carried on in
the same way. The retailer's profit is 35 per cent.

Reckoning 12s. weekly taken by twelve men,
we find 374l. expended yearly in the streets in
dog-collars.

OF THE LIFE OF A STREET-SELLER OF DOG-
COLLARS.

From the well-known vendor of these articles
whose portrait was given in No. 10 of this work,
I had the following sketch of his history: —

"I was born in Brewer-street, St. James," he
said, in answer to my questions; "I am 73 years
of age. My father and mother were poor people;
I never went to school; my father died while I
was young; my mother used to go out charing;
she couldn't afford to pay for schooling, and told
me, I must look out and yearn my own living
while I was a mere chick. At ten years of age
I went to sea in the merchant sarvice. While
I was in the merchant sarvice, I could get
good wages, for I soon knowed my duty. I was
always of an industrious turn, and never liked to
be idle; don't you see what I mean. In '97
I was pressed on board the Inconstant frigate;
I was paid off six months arterwards, but hadn't
much to take, and that, like all other young men
who hadn't larned the dodges of life, I spent very
soon; but I never got drunk — thank God!" said
the old man, "I never got drunk, or I shouldn't
ha been what I am now at 73 years of age. I was
drafted into the Woolwich 44-gun ship; from her to
the Overisal." I inquired how the name of the
ship was spelt; "Oh I am not scholard enough for
that there," he replied, "tho' I did larn to read
and write when abord a man of war. I larned my-
self. But you must look into a Dutch dictionary, for it's a Dutch name. I then entered on board
the Amphine frigate, and arter I had sarved some
months in her, I entered the merchant sarvice
again, and arter that I went to Greenland to the
whale-fishery — they calls me here in the college"
(he is now an inmate of Greenwich Hospital)
"`Whaler Ben,' but I arnt affronted — most on 'em
here have nicknames. I went three voyages
besides to the West Ingees. I never got drunk
even there, though I was obliged to drink rum;
it wouldn't ha done to ha drunk the water NEAT,
there was so many insects in it. When my sailor's
life was over I comes to Liverpool and marries a
wife — aye and as good a wife as any poor man
ever had in England. I had saved a goodish bit
o' money, nearly 300l., for I was not so foolish as
some of the poor sailors, who yearns their money
like horses and spends it like asses, I say. Well
we sets up a shop — a chandler shop — in Liverpool:
me and my old 'ooman does; and I also entered
into the pig-dealing line. I used to get some of
my pigs from Ireland, and some I used to breed
myself, but I was very misfortunate. You re-
collect the year when the disease was among the
cattle, in course you recollects that; well, sir, I lost
24 pigs and a horse in one year, and that
was a good loss for a poor man, wer'n't it? I
thought it werry hard, for I'd worked hard for
my money at sea, and I was always werry careful,
arter I knowed what life was. My poor wife too
used to trust a good deal in the shop, and by-and-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 360.]

by, behold you, me and my old 'ooman was on our
beam ends. My wife was took ill too — and, for
the purpose of getting the best adwice, I brings
her to London, but her cable had run out, and she
died, and I've been a poor forlorned creatur' ever
since. You wouldn't think it, but arter that I never
slept on a bed for seven years. I had blankets
and my clothes — but what I means is that I never
had a bed to lie on. I sold most of my bits o'
things to bury my wife. I didn't relish applying
to the parish. I kept a few sticks tho', for I don't
like them ere lodging-houses. I can't be a werry
bad kerackter, for I was seven years under one
landlord, and I warrant me if I wanted a room
agin he would let me have one. Arter my wife
died, knowing some'at about ropes I gets work at
Maberley's, the great contractors — in course you
knows him. I made rope traces for the artillery;
there's a good deal of leather-work about the traces,
and stitching them, you see, puts me up to the
making of dogs'-collars. I was always handy with
my fingers, and can make shoes or anythink. I
can work now as well as ever I could in my life,
only my eyes isn't so good. Ain't it curious now,
sir, that wot a man larns in his fingers he never
forgets? Well being out o' work, I was knocking
about for some time, and then I was adwised to
apply for a board to carry at one of them cheap
tailors, but I didn't get none; so I takes to hawk-
ing link buttons and key rings, and buys some
brass dog-collars; it was them brass collars as
made me bethought myself as I could make some
leather ones. Altho' I had been better off I
didn't think it any disgrace to get a honest living.
The leather collars is harder to make than the brass
ones, only the brass ones wants more implements.
There are about a dozen selling in the streets
as makes brass-collars — there's not much profit on
the brass ones. People says there's nothing
like leather, and I thinks they are right. Well,
sir, as I was a telling you, I commences the
leather-collar making, — in course I didn't make
'em as well at first as I do now. It was werry
hard lines at the best of times. I used to get
up at 4 o'clock in the morning in the summer
time, and make my collars; then I'd turn out
about 9, and keep out until 7 or 8 at night. I
seldom took more than 2s. per day. What profit
did I get out of 2s.? Why, lor bless you, sir!
if I hadn't made them myself, I shouldn't have
got no profit at all. But as it was, if I took 2s., the profits was from 1s. to 1s. 6d.; howsomever,
sometimes I didn't take 6d. Wet days too used
to run me aground altogether; my rheumatics
used to bore me always when the rain come down,
and then I couldn't get out to sell. If I'd any
leather at them times I used to make it up; but
if I hadn't none, why I was obligated to make
the best on it. Oh, sir! you little knows what
I've suffered; many a banyan day I've had in
my little room — upon a wet day — aye, and other
days too. Why, I think I'd a starved if it
hadn't a been for the 'bus-men about Hungerford-
market. They are good lads them there 'bus
lads to such as me; they used to buy my collars
when they didn't want them. Ask any on 'em
if they know anything about old Tom, the collar-
maker, and see if they don't flare up and respect
me. They used sometimes to raffle my collars
and give 'em back to me. Mr. Longstaff too,
the landlord of the Hungerford Arms — I believe
it's called the Hungerford Hotel — has given me
something to eat very often when I was hungry,
and had nothing myself. There's what you call
a hor'nary there every day. You knows what I
mean — gentlemen has their grub there at so much a
head, or so much a belly it should be, I says. I
used to come in for the scraps, and werry thankful
I was for them I can assure you. Yes, Mr.
Longstaff is what you may call a good man. He's
what you calls a odd man, and a odd man's
always a good man. All I got to say is, `God
bless him!' he's fed me many time when I've
been hungry. I used to light upon other friends
too, — landlords of public-houses, where I used to
hawk my collars; they seemed to take to me some-
how; it wer'n't for what I spent in their houses
I'm sure, seeing as how I'd nothing to spend. I
had no pension for my sarvice, and so I was
adwised to apply for admission to `the house here'
(Greenwich Hospital). I goes to Somerset-House;
another poor fellow was making a application at
the same time; but I didn't nothing till one
very cold day, when I was standing quite miser-
able like with my collars. I'd been out several
hours and hadn't taken a penny, when up comes
the man as wanted to get into the house, running
with all his might to me. I thought he was going
to tell me he had got into the house, and I was
glad on it, for, poor fellow, he was werry bad off;
howsomever he says to me, `Tom,' says he, `they
wants you at the Admirality.' `Does they?'
says I, and 'cordingly away I goes; and arter
telling the admiral my sarvice, and answering a
good many questions as he put to me, the admiral
says, says he, `The order will be made out; you
shall go into the house.' I think the admiral
knowed me or somethink about me, you see. I
don't know his name, and it wouldn't ha' done to
have axed. God bless him, whoever he is, I says,
and shall say to my dying day; it seemed like
Providence. I hadn't taken a ha'penny all that
day; I was cold and hungry, and suffering great
pain from my rheumatics. Thank God," ex-
claimed the old man in conclusion, "I am quite
comfortable now. I've everythink I want except
a little more tea and shuggar, but I'm quite con-
tent, and thank God for all his mercies."

The old man informed me moreover that he did
not think there were more than half-a-dozen street-
sellers besides himself who made leather collars;
it was a poor trade, he said, and though the other
makers were younger than he was, he "could lick
them all at stitching." He did not believe, he
told me, that any of the collar-sellers sold more
than he did — if as many — for he had friends that
perhaps other men had not. He makes collars
now sometimes, and wishes he could get some
shopkeeper to sell them for him, and then maybe,
he says, he could obtain a little more tea and
shuggar, and assist a sister-in-law of his whom he
tells me is in great distress, and whom he has been

[Description: 915EAF. Page 361.]

in the habit of assisting for many years, notwith-
standing his poverty. The old man, during the
recital of his troubles, was affected to tears
several times — especially when he spoke of his
wife, and the distress he had undergone — and
with much sincerity blessed God for the comforts
that he now enjoys.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF TOOLS.

These people are of the same class as the sellers
of hardware articles, though so far a distinct body
that they generally sell tools only.

The tools are of the commonest kind, and sup-
plied by the cheapest swag-shops, from which es-
tablishments the majority of the street-traders
derive their supplies. They are sometimes dis-
played on a small barrow, sometimes on a stall,
and are mostly German-made.

The articles sold and the price asked — and
generally obtained, as no extravagant profit is de-
manded — is shown by the following: —

Claw hammers, 6d. Large claw, black and
glaze-faced, 1s. Pincers, 4d.; larger ones, 6d. Screw-drivers, from 2d. to 1s.! Flat-nose pliers,
6d. a pair; squares, 6d. to 1s. Carpenters' oil-
cans, from 9d. to 1s. 3d. Nests of brad-awls (for
joiners, and in wooden cases), 6d. to 2s. Back
saws, 1s. to 2s. 6d.

While many of the street-sellers of tools tra-
vel the several thoroughfares and suburbs of
the metropolis, others vend tools of a particular
kind in particular localities. These localities and
sellers may be divided into four distinct classes: —
(1) The street-sellers of tools in the markets; (2)
The street-sellers of tools at the docks and ware-
houses; (3) The street-sellers of tools at mews,
stable-yards, and job-masters'; and (4) The street-
sellers of tools to working men at their workshops.

The markets which are usually frequented by
the vendors of tools are Newgate and Leadenhall.
There are, I am informed, only five or six street-
sellers who at present frequent these markets on
the busy days. The articles in which they deal
are butchers' saws, cleavers, steels, meat-hooks,
and knives; these saws they sell from 2s. to 4s. each; knives and steels, from 9d. to 1s. 3d. each;
cleavers, from 1s. 6d. to 2s. each; and meat-hooks
at 1d., 2d., and 3d. each, according to the size.
It is very seldom, however, that cleavers are sold
by the street-sellers, as they are too heavy to
carry about. I am told that the trade of the
tool-sellers in Newgate and Leadenhall markets is
now very indifferent, owing chiefly to the butchers
having been so frequently imposed upon by the
street-sellers, that they are either indisposed or
afraid to deal with them. When the itinerant
tool-sellers are not occupied at the markets they
vend their wares to tradesmen at private shops,
but often without success. "It is a poor living,"
said one of the hawkers to me; "sometimes little
better than starving. I have gone out a whole
day and haven't taken a farthing." I am informed
that the greater portion of these street-sellers are
broken-down butchers. The tools they vend are
purchased at the Brummagem warehouses. To
start in this branch of the street-business 5s. or
10s. usually constitutes the amount of capital in-
vested in stock, and the average takings of each
are about 2s. or 2s. 6d. a day.

"A dozen years back twenty such men offered
saws at my shop," said a butcher in a northern
suburb to me; "now there's only one, and he
seems half-starving, poor fellow, and looks very
hungrily at the meat. Perhaps it's a way he's
got to have a bit given him, as it is sometimes."

The only street-seller of tools at present fre-
quenting Billingsgate-market is an elderly man,
who is by trade a working cutler. The articles
he displays upon his tray are oyster-knives, fish-
knives, steels, scissors, packing-needles, and ham-
mers. This tradesman makes his own oyster-
knives and fish-knives; the scissors and hammers
are second-hand; and the packing-needles are
bought at the ironmongers. Sometimes brad-awls,
gimlets, nails, and screws form a part of his
stock. He informed me that he had frequented
Billingsgate-market upwards of ten years. "Wet
or dry," he said, "I am here, and I often suffer
from rheumatics in the head and limbs. Some-
times I have taken only a few pence; on other
occasions I have taken 3s. or 4s., but this is not
very often. However, what with the little I take
at Billingsgate, and at other places, I can just get
a crust, and go on from day to day."

The itinerant saw-sellers offer their goods to any
one in the street as well as at the shops, and are
at the street markets on Saturday evenings with
small saws for use in cookery. With the butchers
they generally barter rather than sell, taking any
old saw in exchange with so much money, for a
new one. "I was brought up a butcher," said
one of these saw-sellers, "and worked as a journey-
man, off and on, between twenty and thirty year.
But I grew werry delicate from rheumaticks, and
my old 'ooman was bad too, so that we once had
to go into Marylebone work'us. I had no family
living, perhaps they're better as it is. We dis-
charged ourselves after a time, and they gave
us 5s. I then thought I'd try and sell a few saws
and things. A master-butcher that's been a
friend to me, lent me another 5s., and I asked a
man as sold saws to butchers to put me in the
way of it, and he took me to a swag-shop.
I do werry badly, sir, but I'll not deny, and I
can't deny — not anyhow — when you tell me
Mr. — told you about me — that there's 'elps
to me. If I make a bargain, for so much; or for
old saws or cleavers, or any old butcher thing, and
so much; a man wot knows me says, `Well, old
boy, you don't look satisfied; here's a bit of steak
for you.' Sometimes it's a cut off a scrag of
mutton, or weal; that gives the old 'ooman
and me a good nourishing bit of grub. I can
work at times, and every Saturday a'most I'm
now a porter to a butcher. I carries his meat
from Newgate, when he's killed hisself, and
wants no more than a man's weight from the
market; and when he 'asn't killed hisself in
course he hires a cart. I makes 1s. a day the
year round, I think, on saws, and my old 'ooman
makes more than 'arf as much at charing, and
there's the 'elps, and then I gets 18d. and my

[Description: 915EAF. Page 362.]

grub every Saturday. It's no use grumbling;
lots isn't grubbed 'arf so well as me and my old
'ooman. My rent's 20d. a week."

The articles vended by the second class of the
street-sellers of tools, or those whose purchasers
are mostly connected with the docks and ware-
houses, consist of iron-handled claw-hammers,
spanners, bed-keys, and corkscrews. Of these
street-traders there are ten or twelve, and the
greater portion of them are blacksmiths out of
employ. Some make their own hammers, whereas
others purchase the articles they vend at the
swag-shops. "We sell more hammers and bed-
keys than other things," said one, "and some-
times we sells a corkscrew to the landlord of a
public-house, and then we have perhaps half-a-
pint of beer. Our principal customers for span-
ners are wheelwrights. Those for hammers are
egg-merchants, oilmen, wax and tallow-chandlers,
and other tradesmen who receive or send out
goods in wooden cases; as well as chance cus-
tomers in the streets." The amount of capital
required to start in the line is from 5s. to 15s.: "it
is not much use," said one, "to go to shop with
less than 10s."

A third class of the street-sellers of tools are
the vendors of curry-combs and brushes, mane-
combs, scrapers, and clipping instruments; and
these articles are usually sold at the several mews,
stable-yards, and jobbing-masters' in and about the
metropolis. The sellers are mostly broken-down
grooms, who, not being able to obtain a situation,
resort to street-selling as a last shift. "It is the
last coach, when a man takes to this kind of
living," said one of my informants, a groom in a
"good place;" "and it's getting worse and worse.
The poor fellows look half-starved. Why, what
do you think I gave for these scissors? I got 'em
for 6d. and a pint of beer, and I should have to
give perhaps half-a-crown for 'em at a shop." The
trade is fast declining, and to gentlemen's carriage
mews the street-sellers of such tools rarely resort,
as the instruments required for stable-use are now
bought, by the coachmen, of the tradesmen who
supply their masters. At the "mixed mews," as
I heard them called, there are two men who, along
with razors, knives, and other things, occasionally
offer "clipping" and "trimming" scissors. Four
or five years ago there were four of these street-
sellers. The trimming-scissors are, in the shops,
1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d. a pair. There is one trade still
carried on in these places, although it is diminutive
compared to what it was: I allude to the sale of
curry-combs. Those vended by street-sellers at the
mews are sold at 7d. or 6d. The best sale for these
curry-combs is about Coventry-street and the Hay-
market, and at the livery-stables generally. Along
with curry-combs, the street-vendors sell wash-
leathers, mane-combs (horn), sponges (which were
like dried moss for awhile, I was told, got up by
the Jews, but which are now good), dandy-brushes
(whalebone-brushes, to scrape dirt from a horse's
legs, before he is groomed), spoke-brushes (to clean
carriage-wheels), and coach-mops. One dweller in
a large West-end mews computed that 100 differ-
ent street-traders resorted thither daily, and that
twenty sold the articles I have specified. In this
trade, I am assured, there are no broken-down
coachmen or grooms, only the regular street-sellers.
A commoner curry-comb is sold at 2d. (prime cost
1s. 3d. a dozen), at Smithfield, on market-days,
and to the carmen, and the owners of the rougher
sort of horses; but this trade is not extensive.

There may be ten men, I am told, selling com-
mon "currys;" and they also sell other articles
(often horse oil-cloths and nose-bags) along with
them.

The last class of street-sellers is the beaten-out
mechanic or workman, who, through blindness, age,
or infirmities, is driven to obtain a livelihood by
supplying his particular craft with their various
implements. Of this class, as I have before stated,
there are six men in London who were brought up
as tailors, but are now, through some affliction or
privation, incapacitated from following their calling.
These men sell needles at four and five for 1d.; thimbles 1d. to 2d. each; scissors from 1s. to
2s. 6d.; and wax 1d. the lump. There are also
old and blind shoemakers, who sell a few articles
of grindery to their shopmates, as they term them,
as well as a few decayed members of other trades,
hawking the implements of the handicraft to
which they formerly belonged. But as I have
already given a long account of one of this class,
under the head of the blind needle-seller, there is
no occasion for me to speak further on the subject.

From one of the street-traders in saws I had the
following account of his struggles, as well as the
benefit he received from teetotalism, of which he
spoke very warmly. His room was on the fourth
floor of a house in a court near Holborn, and was
clean and comfortable-looking. There were good-
sized pictures, in frames, of the Queen, the Last Sup-
per, and a Rural Scene, besides minor pictures:
some of these had been received in exchange for
saws with street-picture-sellers. A shelf was
covered with china ornaments, such as are sold in
the streets; the table had its oil-skin cover, and
altogether I have seldom seen a more decent room.
The rent, unfurnished, was 2s. a week.

"I've been eight years in this trade, sir," the
saw-seller said, "but I was brought up to a very
different one. When a lad I worked in a coal-pit
along with my father, but his behaviour to me was
so cruel, he beat me so, that I ran away, and
walked every step from the north of England to
London. I can't say I ever repented running
away — much as I've gone through. My money
was soon gone when I got to London, and my
way of speaking was laughed at. [He had now
very little of a provincial accent.] That's fourteen
year back. Why, indeed, sir, it puzzles me to
tell you how I lived then when I did live. I
jobbed about the markets, and slept, when I could
pay for a lodging, at the cheap lodging-houses; so
I got into the way of selling a few things in the
streets, as I saw others do. I sold laces and
children's handkerchiefs. Sometimes I was miser-
able enough when I hadn't a farthing, and if I
managed to make a sixpence I got tipsy on it. For
six weeks I slept every night in the Peckham
Union. For another five or six weeks I slept every

[Description: 915EAF. Page 363.]

night in the dark arches by the Strand. I've
sometimes had twenty or thirty companions there.
I used to lie down on the bare stones, and was
asleep in a minute, and slept like a top all night,
but waking was very bad. I felt stiff, and sore,
and cold, and miserable. How I lived at all is a
wonder to me. About eleven years ago I was per-
suaded to go to a Temperance Meeting in Harp
Alley (Farringdon-street), and there I signed the
pledge; that is, I made my mark, for I can't read
or write, which has been a great hinder to me. If
I'd been a scholard a teetotal gent would have
got me into the police three years ago, about the
time I got married. I did better, of course,
when I was a teetotaller — no more dark arches.
I sold a few little shawls in the streets
then, but it was hardly bread and butter and
coffee at times. Eight year ago I thought I
would try saw-selling: a shopkeeper advised me,
and I began on six salt saws, which I sold to oil-
men. They're for cutting salt only, and are made
of zinc, as steel would rust and dirty the salt.
The trade was far better at first than it is now.
In good weeks I earned 16s. to 18s. In bad
weeks 10s. or 12s. Now I may earn 10s., not
more, a week, pretty regular: yesterday I made
only 6d. Oilmen are better customers than chance
street-buyers, for I'm known to them. There's
only one man besides myself selling nothing
but saws. I walk, I believe, 100 miles every
week, and that I couldn't do, I know, if I wasn't
teetotal. I never long for a taste of liquor if
I'm ever so cold or tired. It's all poisonous."

The saws sold are 8 inch, which cost at the
swag-shops 8s. and 8s. 6d. a dozen; 10 inch, 9s. and 9s. 6d.; and so on, the price advancing ac-
cording to the increased size, to 18 inch, 13s. 6d. the dozen. Larger sizes are seldom sold in the
streets. The second man's earnings, my informant
believed, were the same as his own.

The wife of my informant, when she got work
as an embroideress, could earn 11s. and 12s. At
present she was at work braiding dresses for a
dressmaker, at 2½d. each. By hard work, and if
she had not her baby to attend to, she could earn no
more than 7½d. a day. As it was she did not earn 6d.

OF THE BEGGAR STREET-SELLERS.

Under this head I include only such of the beg-
gar street-sellers as are neither infirm nor suffering
from any severe bodily affliction or privation. I
am well aware that the aged — the blind — the lame
and the halt often pretend to sell small articles in
the street — such as boot-laces, tracts, cabbage-nets,
lucifer-matches, kettle-holders, and the like; and
that such matters are carried by them partly to keep
clear of the law, and partly to evince a disposition
to the public that they are willing to do something
for their livelihood. But these being really ob-
jects of charity, they belong more properly to the
second main division of this book, in which the
poor, or those that can't work, and their several
means of living, will be treated of.

Such, though beggars, are not "lurkers" —
a lurker being strictly one who loiters about for
some dishonest purpose. Many modes of thieving
as well as begging are termed "lurking" — the
"dead lurk," for instance, is the expressive slang
phrase for the art of entering dwelling-houses
during divine service. The term "lurk," however,
is mostly applied to the several modes of plunder-
ing by representations of sham distress.

It is of these alone that I purpose here treating
— or rather of that portion of them which pretends
to deal in manufactured articles.

In a few instances the street-sellers of small
articles of utility are also the manufacturers.
Many, however, say they are the producers of the
things they offer for sale, thinking thus to evade
the necessity of having a hawker's licence. The
majority of these petty dealers know little of the
manufacture of the goods they vend, being mere
tradesmen. Some few profess to be the makers of
their commodities, solely with the view of enlist-
ing sympathy, and thus either selling the trifles
they carry at an enormous profit, or else of ob-
taining alms.

An inmate of one of the low lodging-houses has
supplied me with the following statement: —
"Within my recollection," says my informant,
"the great branch of trade among these worthies,
was the sale of sewing cotton, either in skeins or
on reels. In the former case, the article cost the
`lurkers' about 8d. per pound; one pound would
produce thirty skeins, which, sold at one penny
each, or two for three halfpence, produced a heavy
profit. The lurkers could mostly dispose of three
pounds per day; the article was, of course, dam-
aged, rotten, and worthless.

"The mode of sale consisted in the `lurkers' call-
ing at the several houses in a particular district,
and representing themselves as Manchester cotton
spinners out of employ. Long tales, of course,
were told of the distresses of the operatives, and of
the oppression of their employers; these tales had
for the most part been taught them at the pad-
ding-ken, by some old and experienced dodger of
`the school;' and if the spokesman could patter
well, a much larger sum was frequently obtained
in direct alms than was reaped by the sale."

Cotton on reels was — except to the purchaser —
a still better speculation; the reels were large,
handsomely mounted, and displayed in bold relief
such inscriptions as the following: —

PIKE'S
PATENT COTTON.
120 Yards.

The reader, however, must divide the "120
yards," here mentioned, by 12, and then he will
arrive at something like the true secret as to
the quantity; for the surface only was covered by
the thread.

"The `cotton Lurk' is now `cooper'd' (worn
out); a more common dodge — and, of course, only
an excuse for begging — is to envelope a packet of
`warranted' needles, or a few inches of `real
Honiton lace' in an envelope, with a few lines to
the `Lady of the House,' or a printed bill, setting
forth the misery of the manufacturers, and the
intention of the parties leaving the `fakement' to
presume to call for an answer in a few hours. I
subjoin a copy of one of these documents.

"These are left by one of `the school' at
the houses of the gentry, a mark being placed
on the door post of such as are `bone' or
`gammy,' in order to inform the rest of `the
school' where to call, and what houses to avoid.
As the needles cost but a few pence per thousand,
and the lace less than one halfpenny per yard —
a few purchasers of the former at 1s. per packet
(25 needles), or of the latter at 2s. 6d. per yard,
is what these `lurkers' term a `fair day's work for
a fair day's wages.'

"Another and very extensive branch of the
pseudo-`manufacturing' fraternity is to be found
among the sham street-sellers of cutlery.

"At some of the least respectable of the swag-
shops may be bought all the paraphernalia requi-
site in order to set up as the real manufacturer of
Sheffield and `Brummagem' goods — including,
beside the cutlery, chamois-leather aprons, paper
caps (ready crushed, to give them the appearance
of age and usage), and last, but not least, a com-
pound of black lead and tallow, to `take the
granny' off them as has white 'ands, so as the flat's
shan't `tumble' to the `unworkmanlike appear-
ance of the palms of the `lurker.'

"Thus `got up' for the part," continues my
informant, "and provided with a case of razors,
which perhaps has cost him two groats, and (if he
can raise as much) a noggin o'rum to `give him
cheek' and make him `speak up' to his victims —
`Jack Beaver,' the `king of the street-cutlers,' will
sally forth, and meet, intercept, and follow any
gentleman who seems a `likely spec,' till worried
perhaps by importunity, the `swell' buys what he
does not want, and, I need scarcely add, what he
cannot use. Next, in importance, to `Jack Beaver,'
is the notorious `Pat Connor.' Pat `does nothing
on the blob,' that is to say (he does not follow
people and speak to them on the streets). His
`dodge' — and it has been for years a successful
one — is to go round to the public offices, dressed
as before described, with the exception of being in
his shirt sleeves (he has every day a clean shirt),
and teaze the clerks till they purchase a pen-knife.
He has been known to sell from fifteen to twenty
knives in one day, at two shillings each, the first
cost being about threepence-halfpenny. Of course
he is often interrupted by porters and other
officials, but he always carries in one hand a roll
of wire, and a small hammer in the other, and
having got the name of some gentleman up stairs,
he pretends that he is going to mend Mr. So-and-
so's bell. This worthy, a short time ago, made
free — in the Custom House — with a timepiece,
belonging to one of the clerks, for which the
`Sheffield manufacturer' got twelve months in
Newgate. I have not seen him since," adds my
informant, "and therefore imagine that he is now
taking a provincial tour."

OF THE "HOUSE OF LORDS," A STREET-SELLER'S
DEFUNOT CLUB.

I have given an account of a defunct club, of
which the "paper workers" were the chief mem-
bers; and I have now to do the same of a society
not very dissimilar in its objects, of which the
street-sellers of manufactured articles constituted
the great majority. It was called the "house of
lords," and was established about eight years ago,
at the Roebuck-tavern, Holborn, and existed three
years. Its object was to relieve its members in
sickness. The subscription was 2d. a week, and
the relief to a sick member was as many pennies
a week as the club contained members, with, in
any pressing case, an additional halfpenny, which
the members paid into the fund, over and above
their weekly subscription. For the greater part
of its existence the club contained ninety mem-
bers (a few of them honorary), and there were
very few cases of "declaring on the fund" by
sick members. At one period for many weeks
there were no such declarations, and the "house
of lords" had 30l. in hand. One of the leading
members, a very intelligent man, who had "a
good connection in hardware," had taken great
pains to prepare a code of rules, which, having
been approved by the other members, it was con-
sidered time that the "house of lords" should be
enrolled. Delays, however, intervened. "To tell
you the truth, sir," one of them said, "we were
afraid to employ an attorney, and thought of wait-
ing upon Mr. Tidd Pratt ourselves, but it wasn't
to be."

The club was, moreover, looked upon as some-
what select. "No costers were admitted, sir," I
was told by a hardware seller in the streets;

[Description: 915EAF. Page 365.]

"not but what there's many very industrious and
honest men among them, but they're in a different
line, and are a different sort of people to us." The
members met once a week, and, though they were
merry and talkative enough, drunkenness was
strongly discouraged. It was common for the
subscribers who were regarded as the "geniuses"
of the trade, to take counsel together, and "invent
any new move." They were reputed to be know-
ing among the most knowing, in all street arts
and dodges, and the way in which the club came
to an end, considering the strong claims to know-
ingness of its members, was curious enough.

One Saturday evening a member who was con-
sidered a respectable man, and was sufficiently
regular in his payments, appeared at the weekly
meeting, introducing his landlord, who, as a non-
member, had to pay 1d. for admission. The man
told how his family had suffered from illness, and
how he had been ill, and got into arrears of rent,
for he did not like to distress the fund; and how
his landlord was then in possession of his "sticks,"
which must be sold in the morning if he could
not pay 15s.; and, moreover, how his landlord —
a very kind-hearted, indulgent man — was forced
to do this, for he himself was in difficulties. The
members voted that the 15s. should be advanced;
but before the next meeting night it was dis-
covered that the statement of the poor member in
arrears was an imposition. The landlord was
merely a confederate; the worthy couple had
been drinking together, and, to prolong their
tippling, had hit upon the roguish scheme I have
mentioned.

This, among other things, lowered the confidence
of the members. The numbers fell off until it
was thought best to "wind up the concern." The
small funds in hand were fairly apportioned among
the remaining members, and the club ceased to
exist.

Another Street-sellers' Club has recently been
formed by the men themselves, of which the follow-
ing is the prospectus, and it is to be hoped that this
attempt on the part of the street-folk to better
their condition will meet with a better fate than
its predecessor: —

Our motto is "To live honestly by daily per-
severance and industry."

The above-named classes are kindly invited to
attend a Meeting convened for

Sunday Evening next,

And every succeeding Sunday Evening, at the
above house, to carry out the object unanimously
agreed to by the Enrolled Members and the
General Committee. Furthermore, to take into
consideration the most appropriate means whereby
we may be enabled to assist each other in the
time of adversity.

COMMITTEE:

Mr. Taylor, Chairman, Mr. Thoresby,

• — Travers,

• — Cowan,

• — Moody,

• — Moore,

• — Hand,

• — Martin.

• — Dowse,

• — Manly,

• — Morris,

• — Lawson,

• — Lamb,

Mr. J. White, Treasurer. Mr. F. A. Thoresby,
Secretary.

The chair will be taken at Seven o'clock, and
the Committee are requested to be in attendance
one hour previous.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CROCKERY AND
GLASS-WARES.

We now come to a new class of the street-
sellers of manufactured articles — viz., the "crocks,"
as they are termed. I have before alluded to
one characteristic of these traders — that they
all strive to be barterers in preference to sales-
men. They also present other varying qualities
when compared with other classes of street-sellers.
Of these "crocks," there are, from the best data I
could obtain from men in the trade, and from the
swag-shop people who supply them, 250 men and
150 women; of these, 120 couples (man and
woman) "work" together; of the remainder, some-
times two men work in unison, and some women
work singly. On my inquiring of one of these
street folk if ever three worked together, I was
told that such was never the case, as the "crocks"
would quote a saying: "Two's good company,
three's none at all." Of the men and women
carrying on this traffic conjointly more than half
are married; showing a difference of habits to the
costermongers. The reason assigned to me by
one of the class (himself once a costermonger) was
that the interest of the man and woman in the
business was closer than in costermongering, while
the serviceableness of a woman helpmate in "swop-
ping," or bartering, was much greater. This prompts
the women, I am told, even if they are unmarried
at the outset, to insist upon wedlock; and the man
— sometimes, perhaps, to secure a valuable "help,"
at others, it may be, from better motives — consents
to what in this rank of life, and under the circum-
stances of such street-traders, is more frequently
the woman's offer than the man's. The trade, in
its present form, has not been known more than
twelve years.

The goods, which are all bought at the crock
swag-shops, of which an account is given below, are
carried in baskets on the head, the men having
pads on the cloth caps which they wear — or some-
times a padding of hay or wool inside the cap —
while the women's pads are worn outside their
bonnets or caps, the bonnet being occasionally
placed on the basket. The goods, though carried
in baskets on the head to the locality of the traffic,
are, whilst the traffic is going on, usually borne
from house to house, or street to street, on the
arm, or when in large baskets carried before them
by the two hands. These baskets are strongly made;
the principal mart is close to Spitalfields-market.

The men engaged in this trade are usually
strong, robust, and red-faced. Most of them are
above the middle stature; very few are beyond
middle age, and the majority of them are under or
little more than 30. The women, more than the
men, have contracted a stoop or bend to one side,
not so much by carrying weights on the head, as
by carrying them on the arm. The weights they
carry are from three to five stone. The dress of
the men is the same as the costermongers, with the
exception of shooting-cut jackets being more
frequent among the "crocks" than the costers, and
red plush waistcoats are very popular with them.
When not at work, or on Sundays — for they never
work on the Sabbath, though they do not go to
church or chapel — these men are hardly ever seen
to wear a hat. Both men and women wear strong
boots and, unless when "hard-up," silk handker-
chiefs. Their places of residence are, as regards the
majority, in Spitalfields, Bethnal-green, and Shore-
ditch. Of the others the greater portion reside in
the neighbourhood of Kent-street, in the Borough.
Their abode usually consists of one room, which
is in most cases more comfortable, and better fur-
nished than those of the costers. "We pick up
a tidy ornament now and then," one crock said,
"such as a picture, in the way of swop, and our
good women likes to keep them at home for a bit
of show." They live well, in general, dining out
almost every day; and I am told that, as a body,
they have fewer children than any other class of
street-folk.

The trade is almost entirely itinerant. Crock-
sellers are to be seen at street-markets on Saturday
nights, but they are not the regular crocks, who,
as I have said, do not care to sell. The crocks go
on "rounds," the great trade being in the
suburbs. Sometimes a round lasts a week, the
couple resting at a fresh place every night. Others
have a round for each day of the week.

The long rounds are to Greenwich, Woolwich,
Northfleet, Gravesend, Stroud, Rochester, Chat-
ham, and then to Maidstone. Some will then
make Maidstone the head-quarters, and work the
neighbouring villages — such as East Farleigh,
Town Malling, Yalding, Aylesford, and others.
The return to town may be direct by railway, or
by some other route, if any stock remains unsold.
On these long rounds the higher priced goods are
generally carried, and stock is forwarded from
London to the "crock" whilst on the round, if
the demand require it. Another long round is
Vauxhall, Wandsworth, Kingston-on-Thames, and
Guildford, with divergings to the villages. The
return from Guildford is often by Richmond, Kew,
&c. A third long round is Hampstead, Kilburn,
Barnet, Watford, and so on to St. Alban's. The
other long rounds are less frequented; but some
go to Uxbridge; others to Windsor and Eton, and
as far as Reading; others to Cambridge, by Tot-
tenham, Edmonton, Ware, &c. When no trade is
to be done close to London, the "crocks" often
have themselves and their wares conveyed to any
town by rail. The short, or town rounds, are the
Dover-road, New Kent-road, Walworth, Camber-
well, and back by Newington; Kennington, Brix-
ton, Clapham, and back by Vauxhall; Bayswater,
Notting-hill, and back by Paddington; Camden
Town, St. John's Wood, and Hampstead; Stoke
Newington, Dalston, Clapton, Shacklewell, and
Stamford-hill; Mile-end, Stratford, and Bow;
Limehouse, Poplar, and back by the Commercial-
road. It would be easy to cite other routes, but
these show the character of the trade. Some
occupy two days. A few crocks "work" the
poor neighbourhoods, such as Hoxton, Kingsland-
road, parts of Hackney, &c., and cry, "Here we
are — now, ladies, bring out your old hats, old
clothes, old umbrellers, old anythink; old shoes,
metal, old anythink; here we are!"

The trade, from the best information I could
acquire, is almost equally divided into what may
be called "fancy" and "useful" articles. A
lodging-letter, for instance, will "swop" her old
gowns and boots, and drive keen bargains for
plates, dishes, or wash-hand basins and jugs. A
housekeeper, who may be in easier circumstances,
will exchange for vases and glass wares. Servant-
maids swop clothes and money for a set of china,
"'gainst they get married." Perhaps there are no
more frequent collisions between buyer and seller
than in the crock swag-shops. A man who had
once been an assistant in one of these places, told
me that some of the "crocks" were tiresome beyond
measure, and every now and then a minute or two
was wasted by the "crock" and the swag-shop-
man in swearing one at another. Some of these
street traffickers insist upon testing the soundness
of every article, by striking the middle finger nail
against it. This they do to satisfy their customers
also, in the course of trade, especially in poor
neighbourhoods.

From the best data at my command, one quarter
of the goods sold at the swag-shops are sold to
the crock dealers I have described, and in about
equal proportions as to amount in fancy or useful
articles. There are, in addition to the crock bar-
terers, perhaps 100 traders who work the poor
streets, chiefly carrying their goods in barrows,
but they sell, and though they will barter, do not
clamour for it. They cry: "Free trade for ever!
Here's cup and saucer for a halfpenny! Pick'em
out at your own price! Tea-pot for three half-
pence! Pick'em out! Oho! oho! Giving
away here!" They rattle dishes and basins
as they make this noise. These men are all sup-
plied at the swag-shops, buying what is called
"common lots," and selling at 30 per cent. profit.
Such traders have only been known in the
streets for five years, and for three or four months
of the year half of these "go to costering." The
barrows are about seventy in number, and there
are thirty stalls. Seven-eighths of the "barrow-
crocks" are men. The swag-barrowmen also
sell small articles of crockery wares, and alto-
gether one half of the trade of the crock swag-
shops (which I have described) is a trade for
the streets.

Of the way in which the "crock barterers" dis-
pose of their wares, &c., I have given an account
below. They are rapidly supplanting the "old
clo' " trade of the Jews.

The hucksters of crockery-ware are a consider-
able class. One who has great experience in the
business thinks there must be some hundreds
employed in it throughout London. He says he
meets many at the swag warehouses on the even-
ings that he goes there. He is often half an hour
before he can be served. There are seven or
eight swag warehouses frequented by the huck-
sters, and at the busy time my informant has
often seen as many has twenty-five at each house,
and he is satisfied that there must be three or four
hundred hucksters of china and glass throughout
the metropolis. The china and glass in which
they deal are usually purchased at the east end of
the town, upon the understanding that if the
huckster is unable to dispose of them in the course
of the day the articles will be taken back in the
morning, if uninjured, and the money returned.
The hucksters usually take out their goods early
in the day. Their baskets are commonly deposited
at the warehouse, and each warehouse has from
thirty to forty baskets left there over-night, when
the unsold articles are returned. The baskets are
usually filled with china and glass and ornaments,
to the amount of from 5s. to 15s., according to the
stock-money of the huckster. A basket filled
with 15s. worth of china is considered, I am told,
"a very tidy stock." In the same neighbourhood
as they get the crockery, are made the baskets in
which it is carried. For these baskets they pay
from 2s. to 6s., and they are made expressly for
the hucksters; indeed, on one side of a well-
known street at the east end, the baskets made in
the cellars may be seen piled outside the houses
up to the second-floor windows. The class of
persons engaged in hawking china through the
metropolis are either broken-down tradesmen or
clerks out of place, or Jews, or they may be Staf-
fordshire men, who have been regularly bred to the
business. They carry different kinds of articles.
The Staffordshire man may generally be known by
the heavy load of china that he carries with him.
He has few light or fancy articles in his basket;
it is filled chiefly with plates and dishes and
earthenware pans. The broken-down tradesmen
carries a lighter load. He prefers tea services and
vases, and rummers and cruet-stands, as they are
generally of a more delicate make than the articles
carried by the Staffordshire men. The Jew, how-
ever, will carry nothing of any considerable weight.
He takes with him mostly light, showy, Bohemian
goods — which are difficult "to be priced" by his
customers, and do not require much labour to
hawk about. The hucksters usually start on their
rounds about nine. There are very few who take
money; indeed they profess to take none at all.
"But that is all flam," said my informant. "If
any one was to ask me the price of an article in
an artful way like, I shouldn't give him a straight-
forward answer. To such parties we always say,
`Have you got any old clothes?' " The hucksters
do take money when they can get it, and they
adopt the principle of exchanging their goods for
old clothes merely as a means of evading the
licence. Still they are compelled to do a great deal
in the old clothes' line. When they take money
they usually reckon to get 4d. in the shilling, but
at least three-fourths of their transactions consist
of exchanges for old clothes. "A good tea-ser-
vice we generally give," said my informant, "for
a left-off suit of clothes, hat, and boots — they must
all be in a decent condition to be worth that. We
give a sugar-basin for an old coat, and a rummer
for a pair of old Wellington boots. For a glass
milk-jug I should expect a waistcoat and trowsers,
and they must be tidy ones too. But there's
nothing so saleable as a pair of old boots to us.
There is always a market for old boots, when
there is not for old clothes. You can any day get
a dinner out of old Wellingtons; but as for coats
and waistcoats — there's a fashion about them, and
what pleases one don't another. I can sell
a pair of old boots going along the streets
if I carry them in my hand. The snobs
will run after us to get them — the backs are so
valuable. Old beaver hats and waistcoats are
worth little or nothing. Old silk hats, however,
there's a tidy market for. They are bought for
the shops, and are made up into new hats for the
country. The shape is what is principally wanted.
We won't give a farden for the polka hats with
the low crowns. If we can double an old hat up
and put it in our pockets, it's more valuable to us
than a stiff one. We know that the shape must be
good to stand that. As soon as a hatter touches
a hat he knows by the touch or the stiffness of it
whether it's been `through' the fire or not; and
if so, they'll give it you back in a minute. There is
one man who stands in Devonshire-street, Bishops-
gate-street, waiting to buy the hats of us as we
go into the market, and who purchases at least
thirty dozen of us a week. There will be three
or four there besides him looking out for us as
we return from our rounds, and they'll either
outbid one another, according as the demand is,
or they'll all hold together to give one price.
The same will be done by other parties wanting
the old umbrellas that we bring back with us.
These are valuable principally for the whalebone.
Cane ribbed ones are worth only from 1d. to 2d., and that's merely the value of the stick and the
supporters. Iron skewers are made principally out of
the old supporters of umbrellas." The china and
crockery bought by the hucksters at the warehouses
are always second-rate articles. They are most of
them a little damaged, and the glass won't stand
hot water. Every huckster, when he starts, has
a bag, and most of them two — the one for the
inferior, and the other for the better kind of old
clothes he buys. "We purchase gentlemen's left-
off wearing apparel. This is mostly sold to us by
women. They are either the wives of tradesmen
or mechanics who sell them to us, or else it is the
servant of a lodging-house, who has had the things
given to her, and with her we can deal much
easier than the others. She's come to 'em light,
and of course she parts with 'em light," said the
man, "and she 'll take a pair of sugar basins worth
about 6d., you know, for a thing that 'll fetch two
or three shillings sometimes. But the mistresses
of the houses are she-dragons. They wants a
whole dinner chany service for their husband's

[Description: 915EAF. Page 368.]

rags. As for plates and dishes, they think they
can be had for picking up. Many a time they
sells their husband's things unbeknown to 'em,
and often the gentleman of the house coming up
to the door, and seeing us make a deal — for his
trowsers maybe — puts a stop to the whole trans-
action. Often and often I've known a woman
sell the best part of her husband's stock of clothes
for chany ornaments for her mantelpiece. And
I'm sure the other day a lady stripped the whole
of her passage, and gave me almost a new great
coat, that was hanging up in the hall, for a few
trumpery tea-things. But the greatest `screws'
we has to deal with are some of the ladies in the
squares. They stops you on the sly in the streets,
and tells you to call at their house at sitch a hour
of the day, and when you goes there they smuggles
you quietly into some room by yourselves, and
then sets to work Jewing away as hard as they
can, pricing up their own things, and downcrying
yourn. Why, the other day I was told to call at
a fashionable part of Pimlico, so I gave a person
3d. to mind the child, and me and my good
woman started off at eight in the morning with a
double load. But, bless you, when we got there,
the lady took us both into a private room unbe-
known to the servants, and wanted me to go and
buy expressly for her a green and white chamber
service all complete, with soap trays and brush
trays, together with four breakfast cups — and all
this here grand set-out she wanted for a couple of
old washed-out light waistcoats, and a pair of light
trowsers. She tried hard to make me believe that
the buttons alone on the waistcoats was worth
6d. a piece, but I knowed the value of buttons
afore she was borned; at first start off I'm sure
they wouldn't have cost 1d. each, so I couldn't
make a deal of it no how, and I had to take
all my things back for my trouble. I asked her
even for a pint of beer, but she wouldn't listen to
no such thing. We generally cry as we go, `any
old clothes to sell or exchange,' and I look down
the area, and sometimes knock at the door. If
I go out with a 15s. basket of crockery, may be
after a tidy day's work I shall come home with
1s. in my pocket (perhaps I shall have sold a
couple of tumblers, or half a dozen plates), and
a bundle of old clothes, consisting of two or
three old shirts, a coat or two, a suit of left-
off livery, a woman's gown may be, or a pair
of old stays, a couple of pair of Wellingtons, and
a waistcoat or so. These I should have at my
back, and the remainder of my chany and glass on
my head, and werry probably a humberella or
two under my arm, and five or six old hats in my
hand. This load altogether will weigh about
three quarters of a cwt., and I shall have travelled
fifteen miles with that, at least; for as fast as I
gets rid on the weight of the crockery, I takes up
the weight of the old clothes. The clothes I
hardly know the value on till I gets to the Clothes
Exchange, in Houndsditch. The usual time for
the hucksters arriving there is between three and
four in the winter, or between five and six in the
summer. In fact, we must be at the Exchange at
them hours, because there all our buyers is, and
we can't go out the next day until we've sold our
lot. We can't have our baskets stocked again
until we've got the money for our old clothes."
The Exchange is a large square plot of damp
ground, about an acre in extent, enclosed by a
hoarding about eight feet high, on the top of
which is a narrow sloping roof, projecting suffi-
ciently forward to shelter one person from the
rain. Across this ground are placed four rows of
double seats, ranged back to back. Here meet all
the Jew clothesmen, hucksters, dealers in second-
hand shoes, left-off wardrobe keepers, hareskin
dealers, umbrella dealers and menders, and indeed
buyers and sellers of left-off clothes and worn-out
commodities of every description. The purchasers
are of all nations, and in all costumes. Some are
Greeks, others Swiss, and others Germans; some
have come there to buy up old rough charity
clothing and army coats for the Irish market,
others have come to purchase the hareskins and
old furs, or else to pick up cheap old teapots and
tea-urns. The man with the long flowing beard
and greasy tattered gaberdine is worth thousands,
and he has come to make another sixpence out of
the rags and tatters that are strewn about the
ground in heaps for sale. At a little before three
o'clock the stream of rag-sellers sets in in a flood
towards this spot. At the gate stands "Barney
Aaron," to take the half-penny admission of every
one entering the ground. By his side stands his
son with a leather pouch of half-pence, to give
change for any silver that may be tendered. The
stench of the old clothes is positively overpower-
ing. Every one there is dressed in his worst. If
he has any good clothes he would not put them on.
Almost each one that enters has a bag at his back,
and scarcely has he passed the gate before he is
surrounded by some half dozen eager Jews — one
feels the contents of the bundle on the huckster's
back — another clamours for the first sight. A
third cries, "I'm sure you have something that'll
suit me." "You know me," says a fourth, "I'm
a buyer, and give a good price." "Have you got
any breaking?" asks this Jew, who wants an old
coat or two to cut up into cloth caps — "Have you
got any fustian, any old cords, or old boats?"
And such is the anxiety and greediness of the
buyers, that it is as much as the seller can do to
keep his bundle on his back. At length he forces
his way to a seat, and as he empties the contents
of his sack on the ground, each different article is
snapped up and eagerly overhauled by the different
Jews that have followed him to his seat. Then
they all ask what sum is wanted for the several
things, and they, one and all, bid one quarter of
the price demanded. I am assured that it requires
the greatest vigilance to prevent the things being
carried off unpaid in the confusion. While this
scene is going on, a Jew, perched upon a high
stage in the centre of the ground, shouts aloud to
the multitude, "Hot wine, a half-penny a glass,
here." Beside him stands another, with smoking
cans of hot eels; and next to this one is a sweet-
meat stall, with a crowd of Jew boys gathered
round the keeper of it, gambling with marbles
for Albert rock and hardbake. Up and down

[Description: 915EAF. Page 369.]

between the seats push women with baskets
of sheep's trotters on their arms, and scream-
ing, "Legs of mutton, two for a penny; who'll
give me a handsel — who'll give me a hand-
sel?" After them comes a man with a large tin
can under his arm, and roaring, "Hot pea, oh!
hot pea, oh!" In one corner is a coffee and beer
shop. Inside this are Jews playing at draughts,
or settling and wrangling about the goods they
have bought of one another. In fact, in no other
place is such a scene of riot, rags, and filth to be
witnessed. The cause of this excitement is the
great demand on the part of the poor, and the cheap
clothiers as well, for those articles which are con-
sidered as worthless by the rich. The old shoes
are to be cobbled up, and the cracks heel-balled
over, and sold out to the working-classes as strong
durable articles. The Wellingtons are to be new
fronted, and disposed of to clerks who are expected
to appear respectable upon the smallest salaries.
The old coats and trowsers are wanted for the
slop-shops; they are to be "turned," and made up
into new garments. The best black suits are to
be "clobbered" up — and those which are more
worn in parts are to be cut up and made into new
cloth caps for young gentlemen, or gaiters for poor
curates; whilst others are to be transformed into
the "best boys' tunics." Such as are too far gone
are bought to be torn to pieces by the "devil,"
and made up into new cloth — or "shoddy" as it
is termed — while such as have already done this
duty are sold for manure for the ground. The old
shirts, if they are past mending, are bought as
"rubbish" by the marine store dealers, and sold
as rags to the paper-mills, to be changed either
into the bank-note, the newspaper, or the best
satin note-paper.

The average earnings of the hucksters who ex-
change crockery, china and glass for the above
articles, are from 8s. to 10s. per week. Some
days, I am told, they will make 3s., and on others
they will get only 6d. However, taking the good
with the bad, it is thought that 10s. a week is
about a fair average of the earnings of the whole
class. The best times for this trade are at the
turn of the winter, and at the summer season, be-
cause then people usually purchase new clothes,
and are throwing off the old ones. The average
price of an old hat is from 1d. to 8d.; for an old
pair of shoes, from 1d. to 4d.; an old pair of Wel-
lingtons fetch from 3d. to 1s. 6d. (those of French
leather are of scarcely any value). An old coat
is worth from 4d. to 1s.; waistcoats are valued
from 1d. to 3d.; trowsers are worth from 4d. to
8d.; cotton gowns are of the same value; bonnets
are of no value whatever; shirts fetch from 2d. to
6d.; stockings are 1d. per pair; a silk handker-
chief varies in value from 3d. to 1s. The party
supplying me with the above information was
originally in the coal and greengrocery business,
but, owing to a succession of calamities, he has
been unable to carry it on. Since then he has
taken to the vending of crockery in the streets.
He is a man far above the average of the class to
which he at present belongs.

OF THE "SWAG," CROCKERY, AND GLASS SHOPS.

In addition to the 150 general and particular
"swag-shops," or shops having a large collection of goods, of which I have spoken, there are
twenty establishments for the sale of crockery and
china, which I heard styled by persons in the
trade "swag-crocks," or "crock-shops." The prin-
ciple on which the trade is conducted in these
places is the same as that of the swag-shops,
inasmuch as the sales are wholesale, to street-
sellers, shop-keepers, and shippers, but rarely to
private individuals.

The crock swag-shops are to be found in the
streets neighbouring Spitalfields market, and in
and near to Liquorpond-street. As at the more
general or miscellaneous swag-shops, the crock-
swags make no display. In one of the most
extensive, indeed, two large windows are filled
with goods. Here are spirit-stands, with the
invariable three bottles (invariable in the cheap
trade), blue, green, or uncoloured; some lettered
"gin," "rum," "brandy," but most of them un-
labelled. Here, too, are cruet-stands, and "pot" or
spar figures under glass shades; and a number of
many-coloured flower-glasses, some of them pro-
fusely gilded; and small china vases; but the
glass wares greatly predominate. Although there
are glass and colour and gilding enough to make
"an imposing display," the display is nevertheless
anything but showy; the goods look dingy, and,
if I may so speak of such things, faded. Some of
the coloured glass seems to be losing its colour,
and few of the wares have the bright look of
newness.

The windows of these shops are, for the most
part, literally packed to a certain height, so as
almost to exclude the light, with pitchers, and
basins, and cups, and jugs, and the sundry smaller
articles of this multifarious trade, all undusted,
and seemingly uncared for. In one "large con-
cern" I saw a number of glass salt-cellars wrapped
severally in paper, which had changed from white
to a dusty brown, and which from age, and per-
haps damp, seemed about to fall to tatters.

The "interiors" of some of these warehouses
are very spacious. I saw one large and lofty
shop, into which two apartments and a yard had
been flung, the partitions having been taken down,
and the ceilings supported by pillars, in order to
"extend the premises." It was really a hall of
pots. On the floor were large crates, the tops
removed so that the goods might be examined,
packed, one with cups, another with saucers, a
third with basins, and packed as only a potter
could pack them. Intermixed with them were
piles of blue-and-white dishes and plates, and,
beside them, washing-pans, fitted one into another
like the old hats on a Jew's head. The pillars
had their festoons of crockery, being hung with
children's white and gold mugs "for a good boy,"
and with white metal-lidded and brown-bodied
mustard pots, as well as other minor articles.
The shelves were loaded with tea-services of many
shapes and hues, while the unoccupied space was
what sufficed to allow the warehousemen and the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 370.]

customers to thread the mazes of this labyrinth of
crockerywares. Of the glass goods there was little
display, as they are generally kept in cases and
other packages, to preserve their freshness of
appearance.

The crockery of the swag-shops is made in
Staffordshire; the glass principally in Lancashire.
At none of these establishments do they issue cir-
culars of prices, such as I have cited of the general
swag-shops. The articles are so very many, I was
told, that to specify all the sizes and prices "would
take a volume and a half." I give a statement,
however, of the prices of the goods most in de-
mand, on the occasions when the street vendors
sell them without barter, and the prices at which
they are purchased wholesale: Blue-edged plates
sold at 1d. each cost 1s. 8d. the dozen; this would
appear to entail a loss of 8d. on every dozen sold,
but in this article "30 is a dozen." Dishes are
bought at the "swag-crocks" in "nests," which
comprise 10 dishes, or 5 pairs, of different sizes.
These the street crockman sells, if possible, in
pairs, but he will sell them singly, for he can al-
ways make up the complement of his "nest" at
the warehouse. The prices run, chiefly according
to size, from 8d. to 1s. 6d. (sometimes 1s. 8d.) the
pair. "The 8d. a pair," said one street crock-
seller, "costs me 6d., not a farthing under, and
the 18d. a pair — it's very seldom we can `draw'
1s. 8d. — costs 1s. 2d. That's all, sir; and the
profit's so small, it makes us keen to swop. I'll
swop for old clothes, or dripping, or grease, or any-
thing. You see the profit, when you sells down-
right down, must be small, 'cause there's so many
pot-shops with prices marked on the plates and
other things. They can buy better than us some-
times, and they're hard to stand up against. If a
woman says to me — for I very seldom deal with
men — `Why, they're cheaper at D — 's, in Ox-
ford-street,' — I answers, `And worser. I'll tell
you what it is, ma'am. The cheapest place was in
two houses, painted all red, in the London-road.
But one fine morning them two houses fell, and
the pots was smashed as a matter of course. It
was a judgment on their bad pots.' But it's a fact,
sir, that these houses fell, about 7 or 8 years ago,
I think, and I've seen goods, with one or two of
'em broken, offered for sale when the place was
re-built, having been `rescued from the ruins; and
at less than half price.' Of course that was
gammon. I've cracked and broke a few plates,
myself, and sold them in the New Kent-road, and
in Walworth and Newington, at half price, from
the ruins, and at a very tidy profit." A stone
china tea-service, of 32 pieces — 12 cups, 12 saucers,
4 bread-and-butter plates, a tea-pot, a sugar-basin,
a slop-basin, and a cream-jug — is bought for 6s. 9d. while 9s. is asked for it, and sometimes obtained.
A "china set" costs, as the general price, 10s. 6d., and for it 14s. is asked.

The glass wares are so very rarely sold — being
the most attractive articles of barter — that I could
hardly get any street-seller to state his prices.
"Swop, sir," I was told repeatedly, "they all goes
in swop." The glass goods, however, which are
the most sold in the streets, I ascertained to be
cream-jugs, those vended at 6d. each, costing 4s. the dozen; and flower-glasses, the most frequent
price being 1s. a pair, the prime cost 7d.

I have estimated the sum turned over by the
general swag-shops at 3000l. each. From what
I can learn, the crock swag-shops, averaging the
whole, turn over a larger sum, for their profits are
smaller, ranging from 10 to 30 per cent., but
rarely 30. Calculating, then, that each of these
swag-shops turns over 4000l. yearly, we find
80,000l. expended, but this includes the sales to
shopkeepers and to shippers, as well as to street-
folk.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF SPAR AND CHINA
ORNAMENTS, AND OF STORE FRUIT.

"Spars," as spar ornaments are called by the
street-sellers, are sold to the retailers at only four
places in London, and two in Gravesend (where
the hawkers are for the most part supplied). The
London spar-houses are — two in Westminster, one
in Shoreditch, and one on Battle-bridge. None of
them present any display of their goods which are
kept in large drawers, closets, and packages. At
Gravesend the spar-shops are handsome.

These wares are principally of Derbyshire spar,
and made in Matlock; a few are German. The
"spars" are hawked on a round, and are on fine
Saturday nights offered for sale in the street and
markets. The trade was unknown as a street, or
a hawking trade in London, I am informed, until
about twenty-five years ago, and then was not ex-
tensive, the goods, owing to the cost of carriage,
&c., being high-priced. As public conveyance
became more rapid, certain and cheap, the trade in
spars increased, and cheaper articles were pre-
pared for the London market. From ten to
fifteen years ago the vendors of spars "did well
in swop" (as street-sellers always call barters).
The articles with which they tempted housewives
were just the sort of article to which it was
difficult for inexperienced persons to attach a
value. They were massive and handsome orna-
ments, and the spar-sellers did not fail to expatiate
on their many beauties. "God rest Jack Moody's
soul," said an Irishman, now a crock-seller, to me;
"Jack Moody was only his nick-name, but that
don't matter; God rist his sowl and the hivens
be his bid. He was the boy to sell the spar-r's.
They was from the cavrents at the bottom of the
say, he towld them, or from a new island in the
frozen ocean. He did well; God rist him; but
he died young." The articles "swopped" were
such as I have described in my account of the
tradings of the crock-sellers; and if the "swop"
were in favour of the spar-seller, still the customer
became possessed of something solid, enduring,
and generally handsome.

At the outset of the street or hawking trade,
the spar-sellers carried their goods done up in
paper, in strong baskets on their heads; the man's
wife sometimes carrying a smaller basket, with
less burdensome articles, on her arm. Men have
been known to start on a round, with a basket of
spars, which would weigh from 1 cwt. to 1½ cwt.
(or 12 stone). This, it must be remembered, might

[Description: 915EAF. Page 371.]

have to be borne for three or four miles into the
suburbs, before its weight was diminished by a
sale. One of these traders told me that twelve
years ago he had sold spar watch-stands, weighing
above 15 lbs. These stands were generally of a
square form; the inner portion being open, except
a sort of recess for the watch. "The tick sounds
well on spar, I've often heard," said one spar-
seller.

Some of the spar ornaments are plain, white,
and smooth. Of these many have flowers, or
rims, or insects, painted upon them, and in brilliant
colours. Those which are now in demand for the
street sales, or for itinerant barterings, are —
Small microscopes, candlesticks, inkstands, pin-
cushions, mugs, paper-holders, match perfumery,
and shaving-boxes, etc. The general price of these
articles is 6d. to the street-seller or hawker, some
of the dealers being licensed hawkers. The whole-
sale price varies from 2s. 6d. to 5s. per dozen; or
an average of 3s. 9d. or 4s. Of the larger articles
the most saleable are candlesticks, at from 1s. to
2s. 6d. each; from 1s. to 1s. 6d. being the most
frequent price. Watch-stands and vases are now,
I am told, in small demand. "People's got
stocked, I think," one man said, "and there's so
much cheap glass and chaney work, that they looks
on spars as heavy and old-fashioned."

Some street-sellers have their spars in covered
barrows, the goods being displayed when the top
of the barrow is removed, so that the conveyance
is serviceable whether the owner be stationary or
itinerant. The spar-sellers, however, are reluctant
to expose their goods to the weather, as the colours
are easily affected.

In this trade I am informed that there are
now twelve men, nine of whom are assisted by
their wives, and that in the summer months there
are eighteen. Their profits are about 15s. per
week on an average of the whole year, including the
metropolis and a wide range of the suburbs. What
amount of money may be expended by the public
in the street purchase of "spars" I am unable to
state, so much being done in the way of barter;
but assuming that there are fourteen sellers
throughout the year, and that their profits are
cent. per cent., there would appear to be about
1000l. per annum thus laid out.

Of stone fruit there are now usually six street
sellers, and in fine weather eight. Eight or ten
years ago there were twenty. The fruit is prin-
cipally made at Chesterfield in Derbyshire, and is
disposed of to the London street-sellers in the
swag-shops in Houndsditch. Some of the articles,
both as regards form and colour, are well executed;
others are far too red or too green; but that, I
was told, pleased children best. The most saleable
fruits are apples, pears, peaches, apricots, oranges,
lemons and cucumbers. The cucumbers, which
are sometimes of pot as well as of stone, are often
hollow, and are sometimes made to serve for gin-
bottles, holding about a quartern.

The price at the swag-shops is 4s. 3d. for a gross
of fruit of all kinds in equal quantities; for a better
quality the price is 7s. 6d. The street-seller en-
deavours to get 1d. each for the lower priced, and
2d. for the higher, but has most frequently to be
content with ½d. and 1d. The stone fruitmen are
itinerant during the week and stationary in the
street markets on Saturday, and sometimes other
evenings. They carry their stock both in baskets
and barrows. One man told me that he always
cried, "Pick 'em out! pick 'em out! Half-penny
each! Cheapest fruit ever seen! As good to-
morrow as last week! Never lose flavour! Ever-
lasting fruit."

Supposing that there are six persons selling
stone-fruit in the streets through the year, and
that each earns — and I am assured that is the full
amount — 9s. weekly (one man said 7s. 6d. was
the limit of his weekly profits in fruit), we find
140l. received as profit on these articles, and cal-
culating the gains at 33 per cent., an outlay of
420l.

The trade in China ornaments somewhat differs
from the others I have described under the present
head. It is both a street and a public-house
trade, and is carried on both in the regular way
and by means of raffles. At some public-houses,
indeed, the China ornament dealers are called
"rafflers."

The "ornaments" now most generally sold or
raffled are Joy and Grief (two figures, one laughing
and the other crying); dancing Highlanders;
mustard pots in the form of cottages, &c.; gro-
tesque heads, one especially of an old man, which
serves as a pepper-box, the grains being thrown
through the eyes, nose, and mouth; Queen and
Alberts (but not half so well as the others); and,
until of late, Smith O'Briens. There are others,
also, such as I have mentioned in my account of
the general swag-shops, to the windows of many
of which they form the principal furniture. Some
of these "ornaments" sold "on the sly" can
hardly be called obscene, but they are dirty, and
cannot be further described.

The most lucrative part of the trade is in the
raffling. A street-seller after doing what business
he can, on a round or at a stand, during the day,
will in the evening resort to public-houses, where
he is known, and is allowed to offer his wares to
the guests. The ornaments, in public-house sale,
are hardly ever offered for less than 6d. each, or
6d. a pair. The raffling is carried on rapidly and
simply. Dice are very rarely used now, and when
used, provoke many murmurs from the landlords.
The raffler of the China ornaments produces a
portable roulette box or table — these tables be-
coming an established part of street traffic — eight
or ten inches in diameter. What may be called
"the board" of some of these "roulettes" is
numbered to thirty-two. It is set rapidly spin-
ning on a pivot, a pea is then slipped through a
hole in the lid of the box, and, when the motion
has ceased, the pea is found in one of the num-
bered partitions. "Now, gentlemen," a raffler told
me he would say, "try your luck for this beautiful
pair of ornaments; six of you at 1d. a piece. If
you go home rather how came you so, show what
you've bought for the old lady, and it'll be all
right and peaceful." If six persons contribute 1d. each, the one "spinning" the highest number

[Description: 915EAF. Page 372.]

gains the prize, and is congratulated by the orna-
ment seller on having gained for 1d. what was
only too cheap at 6d. "Why, sir," said a man
who had recently left the trade for another calling,
and who was anxious that I should not give any
particular description of him, "in case he went
back to the raffling," — "Why, sir, I remember
one Monday evening four or five months back,
going into a parlour, not a tap-room, mind, where
was respectable mechanics. They got to play
with me, and got keen, and played until my stock
was all gone. If one man stopped raffling,
another took his place. I can't recollect how
many ornaments I raffled, but I cleared rather
better than 3s. 6d. When there was no ornaments
left they gave me 1d. a piece — there was eleven of
them then — and a pint of beer to let them have the
roulette till 12 o'clock; and away they went
at it for beer and screws, and bets of 1d. and
2d. One young man that had been lucky in win-
ning the ornaments got cleaned out, and staked
his ornaments for 2d., or for a 1d. rather than not
play. That sort of thing only happened to me
once, to the same extent. If the landlord came
into the room, of course they was only playing for
drink, or he might have begun about his licence."

The ornaments are bought at the swag shops I
have described, and are nearly all of German
make. They are retailed from 1d. and sometimes
½d. to 1s. each, and the profit is from 25 to 75 per
cent. There are, I am informed, about thirty
persons in this trade, two-thirds of them being
rafflers, and their receipts being from 25s. to 30s. weekly. Most of them mix "fancy glass" goods
and spars, and other articles, with their "orna-
ment" trade, so that it is not easy to ascertain
what is expended upon the china ornaments in-
dependently of other wares. If we calculate it at
10s. weekly (a low average considering the suc-
cess of some of the raffles), we find 780l. ex-
pended in the streets in these ornamental produc-
tions.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF TEXTILE FABRICS.

These street-folk present perhaps as great a di-
versity of character as any of which I have been
called upon to treat.

Among them are the strong persevering men,
who carry rolls of linen or cotton manufacture in
packs on their backs, and trudge along holding a
yard-wand by the middle, which — it is a not un-
common joke against them — is always worn down
an inch or two, by being used as a walking-stick
in their long pedestrian journeys. Such, however,
is not the case, for the packman — when measuring
is resorted to — generally shows the justice of his
measure, or invites the purchaser to use her own
yard-wand (for women are now their most fre-
quent customers). Some of these men love to tell
of the many hundreds of miles they have walked in
their time, and in the three kingdoms. The most
of those who make London, or any large town their
head-quarters, and take regular journeys into the
country, are licensed hawkers; those who confine
their sales exclusively to London and its immediate
vicinity, frequently conduct their business without
incurring the annual cost of a licence. The pe-
nalty for hawking without a licence is 10l., or an
imprisonment (in default of payment) not excecd-
ing three months, with a discretionary power of
mitigation to the magistrates. Some of these men
may be styled hereditary hawkers, having first
accompanied and then succeeded their parents on
a round; some were in their youth assistants to
hawkers; some had been unsuccessful as tallymen
when shopkeepers, or travellers for tally-shops,
and have resorted to hawking or street-trading,
occasionally, in their transactions with different
parties, blending the tally system with the simple
rules of sale for ready money.

In striking contrast to these sturdy and often
astute traders are the street-sellers of lace and
millinery, the majority of whom are women. A
walk through a street-market, especially on a
Saturday evening, will show any one the frequent
difference of the established street-milliner to the
other female traders surrounding her stall. The
milliner, as she is commonly called by the street-
folk, wears a clean, and often tasty cap, beneath
her closely-fitting bonnet, a cap in which artificial
flowers are not wanting, should she sell those
adornments. Her shawl is pinned beneath her
collar; her gown, if it be old or of poor material,
is clean; and she is rarely to be seen in boots
or shoes made for men's wear. Near her stall are
stout, coarse-looking Irish girls, with unstringed
bonnets, half-ragged shawls, thrown loose round
their shoulders, necks red from exposure to the
weather, coarse and never brushed, but sometimes
scraped, shoes, when shoes are worn, and a general
dirtiness of apparel. The street-milliners have
been ladies'-maids, working milliners and dress-
makers, the wives of mechanics who have been
driven to the streets, and who add to the means
of the family by conducting a street-trade them-
selves, with a sprinkling from other classes.

The street-sellers of lace are of the same class
as the milliners, but with perhaps less smartness,
and carrying on an inferior trade both as regards
profit and display.

The street-sellers of boot and stay-laces and of
such things as sewing cotton, threads and tapes,
when sold separately from more valuable articles, are
children and old people, some of whom are infirm,
and some blind. The children have, in some in-
stances, been bred to the streets; the old people
probably are worn out in street-trades requiring
health and strength, and so adopt a less laborious
calling, or else they have been driven to it, either
from comparatively better circumstances, or by
some privation or affliction, in order to avoid the
workhouse.

The sale of belts, stockings, braces, straps and
garters, is mostly in the hands of men, who, from
all that I can learn, are regular street-sellers, who
"turn their hands first to this and then to that,"
but this portion of street-traffic is often combined
with the sale of dog-collars, chains, &c. The trade
is more a public-house than a distinct traffic in
the street. The landlord of a well-frequented inn
in Lambeth told me that every day at least 100 of
such street-sellers — not including match-girls and

[Description: 915EAF. Page 373.]

women — entered his house to offer their wares;
the greatest number of such sellers was in the
evening.

I have so far described what may be called the
fair traders, but to them the street-sellers of textile
fabrics are not confined. There are besides these,
two other classes known as "Duffers" and as "Lum-
pers," and sometimes the same man is both "Duffer"
and "Lumper." The two names are often con-
founded, but an intelligent street-seller, versed in
all the arts and mysteries of this trade, told me that
he understood by a "Duffer," a man who sold goods
under false pretences, making out that they were
smuggled, or even stolen, so as to enhance the idea
of their cheapness; whereas a "Lumper" would
sell linens, cottons, or silks, which might be really
the commodities represented; but which, by some
management or other, were made to appear new
when they were old, or solid when they were
flimsy.

OF THE HABERDASHERY SWAG-SHOPS.

By this name the street-sellers have long distin-
guished the warehouses, or rather shops, where
they purchase their goods. The term Swag, or
Swack, or Sweg, is, as was before stated, a Scotch
word, meaning a large collection, a "lot." The
haberdashery, however, supplied by these esta-
blishments is of a very miscellaneous character;
which, perhaps, can best be shown by describing
a "haberdashery swag," to which a street-seller,
who made his purchases there, conducted me, and
which, he informed me, was one of the most fre-
quented by his fraternity, if not the most frequented,
in the metropolis.

The window was neither dingy, nor, as my
companion expressed it, "gay." It was in size,
as well as in "dressing," or "show" — for I heard
the arrangement of the window goods called by
both those names by street people — half-way
between the quiet plainness of a really wholesale
warehouse, and the gorgeousness of a retail drapery
concern, when a "tremendous sacrifice" befools the
public. Not a quarter of an inch of space was
lost, and the announcements and prices were
written many of them in a bungling school-boy-
like hand, while others were the work of a pro-
fessional "ticket writer," and show the eagerness
of so many of this class of trade to obtain custom.
In one corner was this announcement: "To boot-
makers. Boot fronts cut to any size or quality."
There was neither boot nor shoe visible, but how
a boot front can be cut "to any quality," is beyond
my trade knowledge. Half hidden, and read
through laces, was another announcement, suffi-
ciently odd, in a window decorated with a variety
of combustible commodities: "Hawkers supplied
with fuzees cheaper than any house in London." On
the "ledge," or the part shelving from the bottom
of the window, within the shop, were paper boxes
of steel purses with the price marked so loosely
as to leave it an open question whether 1s. 0¾d. or 10¾d. was the cost. There was also a good store
of silk purses, marked 2½d.; bright-coloured
ribbons, in a paper box, and done up in small rolls,
1½d.; cotton reels, four a penny; worsted balls,
three a penny; girls' night-caps, 1¾d.; women's
caps, from 2¾d. to 7¾d.; (the ¾d. was always in
small indistinct characters, but it was a very favour-
ite adjunct); diamond patent mixed pins — London
and Birmingham — 1d. an oz. My companion
directed my attention to the little packets of pins:
"They're well done up, sir, as you can see, and
in very good and thick and strong pink papers,
with ornamental printers' borders, and plenty of
paper for three cunces. The paper's weighed with
the pins, and the price is 1d. an oz.; so the paper
fetches 1s. 4d. a pound." There were also many
papers of combs, and one tied outside the packet
as a specimen, without a price marked upon them.
"The price varies, sir;" said my guide and in-
formant, and I heard the same account from others;
"it varies from 1d. a pair to such as me; up to
6d. or perhaps 1s. to a servant-maid what looks
innocent."

From what appeared to be slender rods fitted
higher up to the breadth of the window depended
"black lace handkerchiefs, 4¾d.;" and cap fronts,
some being a round wreath of gauze ornamented
with light rose-coloured artificial flowers, and
marked "only 5½d.;" together with lace (or
edgings) which hung in festoons, and filled every
vacancy. Higher up were braces marked 5d.; and more lace; and to the back of all was a sort
of screen — for it shuts out all view of the inside of
the shop — of big-figured shawls (the figures in
purple, orange, and crimson) and of silk handker-
chiefs: "They're regular duffers," I was told,
"and very tidy duffers too — very, for it's a re-
spectable house."

In the centre of the window ledge was a hand-
some wreath of artificial flowers, marked 2½d.
"If a young woman was to go in to buy it at
2½d., I've seen it myself, sir," said the street-
seller, "she's told that the ticket has got out of
its place, for it belonged to the lace beneath, but
as she'd made a mistake without thinking of the
value, the flowers was 1s. 6d. to her, though they
was cheap at 2s. 6d."

From this account it will be seen that the swag
or wholesale haberdashers are now very general
traders; and that they trade "retail" as well as
"wholesale." Twenty or twenty-five years ago,
I am informed, the greater part of these establish-
ments were really haberdashery swags; but so
fierce became the competition in the trade, so keen
the desire "to do business," that gradually, and
more especially within these four or five years,
they became "all kinds of swags."

A highly respectable draper told me that he
never could thoroughly understand where hosiery,
haberdashery, or drapery, began or ended; for
hosiers now were always glovers, and often shirt-
makers; haberdashers were always hosiers (at
the least), and drapers were everything; so that
the change in the character of the shops from
which the street-sellers of textile fabrics procure
their supplies, is but in accordance with the change
in the general drapery trade. The literal mean-
ing of the word haberdashery is unknown to
etymologists.

There are now about fifty haberdashery swags

[Description: 915EAF. Page 374.]

resorted to by street-sellers, but only a fifth part
of them make the trade to street-sellers a princi-
pal, while none make it a sole feature of their
business. In the enumeration of the fifty haber-
dashery "swags," five are large and handsome
shops carried on by "cutting" drapers. Some of
these — one in the borough, especially — do not
"serve" the street-sellers, except at certain hours,
generally from four to six.

There is another description of shops from
which a class of street traders derive their sup-
plies of stock. These are the "print-brokers,"
who sell "gown-pieces" to the hawkers or street-
traders. Only about a dozen of such shops, and
those principally in the borough and in Worm-
wood-street, Bishopsgate, are frequented by the
London street-sellers. One man showed me a
draper's shop, at which hawkers were "supplied,"
but without an announcement of such a thing, as
it might affect the character of the concern for
gentility. The gown-pieces were rolled loosely
together, and to each was attached a ticket,
2s. 11d. or 3s. 11d., with intermediate prices, but
those here mentioned were the most frequent. The
11d. was in pencil, so that it could be altered at
any time, without the expense of a new ticket
being incurred. "That one marked 2s. 11d.,"
said the street-seller, "would be charged to me
2s. 2d., and the 3s. 11d. in the same way 3s. 2d., or I might get it at 3s. If those gown-pieces don't
take — and they are almost as thin as silver-paper,
— they'll be marked down to 2s. 2d. and 3s. 2d., just by degrees, as you see them shown in the
window." The regular "print-brokers" make no
display in their windows or premises.

The "duffers" and "lumpers" are supplied almost
entirely at one shop in the east end. The pro-
prietor has the sham, or inferior, silk handkerchiefs
manufactured for the purpose; and for the supply
of his other silk-goods, he purchases any silk
"miscoloured" in the dyeing, or faded from time.
"A faded lavender," one of his customers told
me, "he'll get dyed black, and made to look
quite new and fresh. Sometimes it's good silk,
but it's mostly very dicky." This tradesman is
also a retailer.

Such things as braces and garters are sold to
the street people at the general as well as the
haberdashery swag-shops; and are more frequently
sold wholesale than other goods; indeed the
general swag-shop keepers sell them by no other
way; but the "wholesale haberdashers" will sell a
single pair, though not, of course, at wholesale
price. Some houses again supply the more petty
street-sellers, solely with such articles as are
known in Manchester by the name of small-ware,
including thread, cotton, tapes, laces, &c.

OF HAWKERS, PEDLARS, AND PETTY CHAPMEN.

The machinery for the distribution of commodities
has, in this and in all other "progressive" coun-
tries, necessarily undergone many changes; but
whether these changes have been beneficial to the
community, or not, this is not the place for me to
inquire; all I have to do here is to set forth the order
of such changes, and to show the position that the
hawker and pedlar formerly occupied in the state.

The "distributor" of the produce of the country
is necessarily a kind of go-between, or middleman,
introduced for the convenience of bringing together
the producer and consumer — the seller and the
buyer of commodities. The producer of a par-
ticular commodity being generally distinct from
the consumer, it follows, that either the commodity
must be carried to the consumer, or the consumer
go to the commodity. To save time and trouble
to both parties, it seems to have been originally
arranged that producer and consumer should meet,
periodically, at appointed places. Such periodical
meetings of buyers and sellers still exist in this
and many other countries, and are termed either
fairs or markets, according as they are held at long
or short intervals — the fair being generally an
annual meeting, and the market a weekly one.
In the olden time the peculiar characteristic of
these commercial congregations was, that the pro-
ducer and consumer came into immediate contact,
without the intervention of any middleman. The
fair or market seemed to be a compromise between
the two, as to the inconvenience of either finding
the other when wanted. The producer brought
his goods, so to speak, half way to the consumer,
while the consumer travelled half way to the
goods. "There would be a great waste of time
and trouble," says Stewart Mill, "and an incon-
venience often amounting to impracticability, if
consumers could only obtain the article they want
by treating directly with the producers. Both
producers and consumers are too much scattered,
and the latter often at too great a distance from
the former."

"To diminish this loss of time and labour,"
continues Mr. Mill, "the contrivance of fairs and
markets was early had recourse to, where con-
sumers and producers might periodically meet,
without any intermediate agency; and this plan
still answers tolerably well for many articles, espe-
cially agricultural produce — agriculturists having
at some seasons a certain quantity of spare time on
their hands. But even in this case, attendance is
often very troublesome and inconvenient to buyers
who have other occupations, and do not live in the
immediate vicinity; while, for all articles the pro-
duction of which requires continuous attention
from the producers, these periodical markets must
be held at such considerable intervals, and the
wants of the consumers must either be provided
for so long beforehand, or must remain so long
unsupplied, that even before the resources of
society permitted the establishment of shops, the
supply of those wants fell universally into the
hands of itinerant dealers, the pedlars who
might appear once a month, being preferred to the
fair, which only returned once a year. In country
districts, remote from towns or large villages, the
vocation of the pedlar is not yet wholly superseded.
But a dealer who has a fixed abode, and fixed
customers," continues Mr. Mill, "is so much more
to be depended on, that customers prefer resort-
ing to him, if he is conveniently accessible; and
dealers, therefore, find their advantage in esta-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 375.]

blishing themselves in every locality where there
are sufficient consumers near at hand to afford
them remuneration."

Thus we see that the pedlar was the original
distributor of the produce of the country — the
primitive middleman, as well as the prime mover
in extending the markets of particular localities, or
for particular commodities. He was, as it were,
the first "free-trader;" increasing the facilities for
the interchange of commodities, without regard to
market dues or tolls, and carrying the natural
advantages of particular districts to remote and
less favoured places; thus enabling each locality
to produce that special commodity for which it
had the greatest natural convenience, and ex-
changing it for the peculiar produce of other parts.

Now, this extension of the markets necessarily
involved some machinery for the conveyance of the
goods from one district to another. Hence, the ped-
lar was not only the original merchant, but the pri-
mitive carrier — to whom, perhaps, we owe both our
turnpike-roads and railways. For, since the peculiar
characteristic of the pedlar was the carrying the
produce to the consumer, rather than troubling the
consumer to go after the produce, of course it soon
became necessary, as the practice increased, and in-
creased quantities of goods had to be conveyed
from one part of the country to another, that
increased facilities of transit should be effected.
The first change was from the pack-man to the
pack-horse: for the former a foot-way alone was re-
quired; while the latter necessitated the formation
of some kind of a road. Some of these ancient
pack-horse roads existed till within these few
years. Hagbush-lane, which was described by
William Hone only twenty years ago, but which
has now vanished, was the ancient bridle or pack-
horse road from London to the North, and ex-
tended by the Holloway back road as far as the
City-road, near Old-street. "Some parts of Hag-
bush-lane," says Hone, "are much lower than the
meadows on either side." At one time a terraced
ridge, at another a deep rut, the pack-horse road
must have been to the unaccustomed traveller a
somewhat perilous pass. The historian of Craven,
speaking of 1609, says, "At this time the com-
munication between the north of England and the
Universities was kept up by the carriers, who pur-
sued their long but uniform route with trains of
pack-horses. To their care were consigned pack-
ages, and not unfrequently the persons of young
scholars. It was through their medium, also, that
epistolary correspondence was managed; and as
they always visited London, a letter could scarcely
be exchanged between Yorkshire and Oxford in
less time than a month." The General Post Office
was established by Act of Parliament in the year
1660, and all letters were to be sent through this
office, "except such letters as shall be sent by
coaches, common-known carriers of goods by carts,
waggons, and pack-horses, and shall be carried
along with their carts, waggons, and pack-horses
respectively."

"There is no such conveyance as a waggon in
this country" (Scotland), says Roderick Random,
referring to the beginning of the last century,
"and my finances were too weak to support the
expense of hiring a horse. I determined therefore
to set out with the carriers, who transport goods
from one place to another on horseback; and this
scheme I accordingly put in execution on the 1st
day of November, 1739, sitting on a pack-saddle
between two baskets, one of which contained my
goods in a knapsack. But by the time we arrived
at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, I was so fatigued with
the tediousness of the carriage, and benumbed
with the coldness of the weather, that I resolved
to travel the rest of my journey on foot, rather
than proceed in such a disagreeable manner."

The present mode of travelling, compared with
that of the pack-horse means of conveyance as
pursued of old, forms one of the most striking
contrasts, perhaps, in all history.

Hence we see that the pedlar was originally
both carrier and seller; first conveying his pack
on his back, and then, as it increased in bulk,
transferring it to the back of "the pack-horse."
But as soon as the practice of conveying the com-
modities to the buyers, instead of compelling the
buyers to go to the commodities, was found to be
advantageous to both consumer and producer, it
was deemed expedient that the two distinct pro-
cesses of carriage and sale, which are included in
the distribution of commodities, should be conducted
by distinct persons, and hence the carrying and
selling of goods became separate vocations in the
State; and such is now the machinery by which the
commodities of different parts of this country, as
well as of others, are at present diffused over the
greater portion of this kingdom. In remote districts
however, and the poorer neighbourhoods of large
towns, where there are either too few consumers, or
too few commodities required now to support a fixed
distributor with a distinct apparatus of transit, the
pedlar still continues to be the sole means of dif-
fusing the produce of one locality among the in-
habitants of another; and it is in this light — as
the poor man's merchant — that we must here con-
sider him.

Among the more ancient of the trades, then,
carried on in England is that of the hawker or
pedlar. It is generally considered, as I said be-
fore, that hawking "is as ancient a mode of trade
as that carried on in fairs and markets, towns and
villages, as well as at the castles of the nobles or
the cottages of their retainers." To fix the origin
of fairs is impossible, for, in ancient and mediæval
times, every great gathering was necessarily a fair.
Men — whom it is no violence to language to call
"hawkers" — resorted alike to the Olympic games
and to the festivals of the early Christian saints,
to sell or barter their wares. Of our English fairs
Mr. Jacob says, in his "Law Dictionary" —
"Various privileges have been annexed to them,
and numerous facilities afforded to the disposal of
property in them. To give them a greater degree
of solemnity, they were originally, both in the
ancient and modern world, associated with reli-
gious festivals. In most places, indeed, they are
still held on the same day with the wake or feast
of the saint to whom the church is dedicated; and
till the practice was prohibited, it was customary

[Description: 915EAF. Page 376.]

in England to hold them in churchyards. This
practice, I may add, was not fully prohibited until
the reign of Charles II., although it had long
before fallen into disuse. Thus the connection
between church and market is shown to be of ve-
nerable antiquity."

The hawker dealt, in the old times, more in
textile fabrics than in anything else. Indeed,
Shakspere has dashed off a catalogue of his
wares, in the song of Autolycus:

In the reigns succeeding the termination of the
Wars of the Roses, and down to the Common-
wealth, the hawker's pack was often stocked with
costly goods; for great magnificence in dress was
then the custom of the wealthy, and even the
burgesses on public occasions wore velvet, fine
cambric ruffs, and furs. The hawker was thus
often a man of substance and frequently travelled
on horseback, with his wares slung in bags on his
horse's side, or fitted to the crupper or pommell of
his saddle. He was often, moreover, attended by
a man, both for help in his sales, and protection
in travelling. In process of time an established
hawker became the medium of news and of gossip,
and frequently the bearer of communications from
town to town. His profits were often great, but
no little trust seems to have been reposed in him
as to the quality and price of his goods; and, until
the present century or so, slop goods were little
manufactured, so that he could not so well prac-
tise deceptions. Neither, during the prosperity of
the trade, does it appear that any great degree of
dishonesty characterized the hawker, though to
this there were of course plenty of minor ex-
ceptions as well as one glaring contradiction.
The wreckers of our southern coasts, who some-
times became possessed of rich silks, velvets,
laces, &c. — (not unfrequently murdering all the
mariners cast on shore, and there was a con-
venient superstition among the wreckers, that it
was unlucky to offer help to a drowning man)
— disposed of much of their plunder to the
hawkers; and as communication was slow, even
down to Mr. Palmer's improvements in the Post
Office in 1784, the goods thus rescued from the
deep, or obtained by the murder of the mariners,
were disposed of even before the loss of the vessel
was known at her destination; for we are told
that there was generally a hawker awaiting a
wreck on the most dangerous shores of Cornwall,
Devon, Dorset, and Sussex.

During the last century, and for the first ten
years of the present, the hawker's was a profitable
calling. He usually in later times travelled with
horse and covered cart, visiting fairs, markets, and
private houses, more especially in the country. In
some parts the calling was somewhat hereditary,
son succeeding to father after having officiated as his
assistant, and so becoming known to the customers.
The most successful of the class, alike on both
sides of the border, were Scotchmen.

In 1810 the prosperity of this trade experienced
a check. In that year "every hawker, pedlar, or
petty chapman going from town to town, or to
other men's houses, and travelling on foot, carrying
to sell or exposing for sale any goods" was re-
quired to pay a yearly licence of 4l., with an
additional 4l. for every horse, ass, or mule, used
in the business. Nothing, however, in the Act in
question, 50 Geo. III. c. 41, as I have before in-
timated, "extended to prohibit" the hawking
for sale of "any fish, fruit, or victuals" without
licence. Neither is there any extension of the
prohibition to the unlicensed workers or makers
of any goods or wares, or their children or ser-
vants resident with them, hawking such goods,
and selling them "in every city, borough, town
corporate, or market town," but not in villages
or country places. "Tinkers, coopers, glaziers,
plumbers, and harness-menders," are likewise per-
mitted to carry about with them the proper mate-
rials necessary for their business, no licence being
necessary.

The passing of this Act did not materially
check the fraudulent practices of which the haw-
kers were accused, and of which a portion of them
were doubtlessly guilty; indeed some of the
manufacturers, whose names were pirated by the
hawkers, were of opinion that the licensing for ten
or twenty years facilitated fraud, as many people,
both in London and the country, thought they
were safe in dealing with a "licensed" hawker, since
he could not procure a licence without a certifi-
cate of his good character from the clergyman of
his place of residence, and from two "reputable
inhabitants." Linen of good quality used to be
extensively hawked, but from 1820 to 1825, or
later in some parts, the hawkers got to deal in an
inferior quality, "unions" (a mixture of linen
and cotton), glazed and stiffened, and set off
with gaudy labels bearing sometimes the name of
a well-known firm, but altered in spelling or other-
wise, and expressed so as to lead to the belief that
such a firm were the manufacturers of the article.
Jews, moreover, as we have seen, travelled in all
parts with inferior watches and jewellery, and
sometimes "did well" by persuading the possessors
of old solid watches, or old seals or jewellery, that
they were ridiculously out of fashion, and so in-
ducing them to give money along with the old
watch for a watch or other article of the newest
fashion, which yet was intrinsically valueless com-
pared with the other. These and other practices,
such as selling inferior lace under pretence of its
having been smuggled from France, and of the
choicest quality, tended to bring the hawker's
trade into disrepute, and the disrepute affected the
honest men in the business. Some sank from
the possession of a good horse and cart to travelling
on foot, as of yore, forwarding goods from place to
place by the common carriers, and some relin-
quished the itinerant trade altogether. The
"cutting" and puffing shopkeepers appeared next,
and at once undersold the "slop" hawker, and
foiled him on his own ground of pushing off inferior
wares for the best. The numbers of the hawkers
fell off considerably, but notwithstanding I find,
in the last census tables (1841), the following
returns as to the numbers of "hawkers, hucksters,
and pedlars," distributed throughout Great Bri-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 377.]

tain. The Government returns, however, admit
of no comparison being formed between these
numbers and those of any previous time.

England and Wales.

                                                                                       

Bedford	79
Berks	160
Bucks	129
Cambridge	139
Chester	362
Cornwall	175
Cumberland	217
Derby	427
Devon	230
Dorset	97
Durham	301
Essex	339
Gloucester	437
Hereford	44
Hertford	137
Huntingdon	45
Kent	284
Lancester	1862
Leicester	292
Lincoln	435
Middlesex	1597
Monmouth	163
Norfolk	431
Northampton	214
Northumberland	426
Nottingham	267
Oxford	94
Rutland	23
Salop	240
Somerset	201
Southampton	226
Stafford	472
Suffolk	288
Surrey	609
Sussex	238
Warwick	476
Westmorland	44
Wilts	109
Worcester	247
City of York	63
East Riding of York	200
North Riding	187
West Riding	1039
	14,038

Wales.

                           

Anglesey	14
Brecon	63
Cardigan	38
Carmarthen	49
Carnarvon	32
Denbigh	69
Flint	35
Glamorgan	202
Merioneth	25
Montgomery	31
Pembroke	46
Radnor	20
Islands in the British	#Seas #47
	624

Scotland.

                                                                 

Aberdeen	105
Argylll	44
Ayr	144
Blanff	33
Berwick	41
Bute	17
Caithness	4
Clackmannan	18
Dumbarton	29
Dumfries	72
Edinburgh	401
Elgin, or Moray	37
Fife	77
Forfar	108
Haddington	54
Inverness	33
Kincardine	27
Kinross	9
Kirkcudbright	46
Lanark	677
Linlithgow	33
Nairn	2
Orkney and Shetland	10
Peebles	13
Perth	119
Renfrew	107
Ross and Cromarty	11
Roxburgh	96
Selkirk	18
Stirling	95
Sutherland	5
Wigtown	36
	2561

Thus we find that, in 1841, there were of these
trades in

         

England	14,038
Wales	624
British Isles	47
Scotland	2,561
Total in Great Britain	17,270

The counties in which the hawkers, hucksters,
and pedlars most abound appear to be — 1st, Lan-
caster; 2nd, Middlesex, 3rd, Yorkshire (West
Riding); 4th, Lanark; and 5th, Surrey.

What rule, if any rule, was observed in classing
these "hawkers, hucksters, and pedlars," or what
distinction was drawn between a hawker and a
huckster, I am unable to say, but it is certain
that the number of "licensed hawkers" was within
one-half of the 17,270; for, in 1841, the hawkers'
duty realized only 32,762l. gross revenue, and
waiving the amount paid for the employment of
horses, &c., the official return, reckoning so many
persons paying 4l. each, shows only 8190 licensed
hawkers in 1841.

The hawker's business has been prosecuted far
more extensively in country than in town, but he
still continues to deal in London.

OF THE PACKMEN, OR HAWKERS OF SOFT
WARES.

The packman, as he is termed, derives his name
from carrying his merchandise or pack upon his
back. These itinerant distributors are far less
numerous than they were twenty or twenty-five
years since. A few years since, they were mostly
Irishmen, and their principal merchandise, Irish
linens — a fabric not so generally worn now as it
was formerly.

The packmen are sometimes called Manchester-
men. These are the men whom I have described
as the sellers of shirtings, sheetings, &c. One
man, who was lately an assistant in the trade,
could reckon twenty men who were possessed of
good stocks, good connections, and who had saved
money. They traded in an honourable manner,
were well known, and much respected. The ma-
jority of them were natives of the north of Ire-
land, and two had been linen manufacturers. It
is common, indeed, for all the Irishmen in this
trade to represent themselves as having been con-
nected with the linen manufacture in Belfast.

This trade is now becoming almost entirely a
country trade. There are at present, I am told,
only five pursuing it in London, none of them
having a very extensive connection, so that only a
brief notice is necessary. Their sale is of both
cottons and linens for shirts. They carry them in
rolls of 36 yards, or in smaller rolls, each of a
dozen yards, and purchase them at the haber-
dashery swag-shops, at from 9d. to 18d. a yard.
I now speak of good articles. Their profits are
not very large — as for the dozen yards, which
cost them 9s., they often have a difficulty in get-
ting 12s. — while in street-sale, or in hawking
from house to house, there is great delay. A well-
furnished pack weighs about one cwt., and so
necessitates frequent stoppages. Cotton, for sheet-
ings, is sold in the same manner, costing the ven-
dors from 6d. to 1s. 3d. a yard.

Of the tricks of the trade, and of the tally
system of one of these chapmen, I had the fol-
lowing account from a man who had been, both as
principal and assistant, a travelling packman, but
was best acquainted with the trade in and about
London.

"My master," he said, "was an Irishman, and
told everybody he had been a manager of a linen
factory in Belfast. I believe he was brought up
to be a shoemaker, and was never in the north of
Ireland. Anyhow, he was very shy of talking
about Irish factories to Irish gentlemen. I heard
one say to him, `Don't tell me, you have the Cork
brogue.' I know he'd got some knowledge of
linen weaving at Dundee, and could talk about it
very clever; indeed he was a clever fellow.
Sometimes, to hear him talk, you'd think he was
quite a religious man, and at others that he was a
big blackguard. It wasn't drink that made the
difference, for he was no drinker. It's a great
thing on a round to get a man or woman into a
cheerful talk, and put in a joke or two; and that
he could do, to rights. I had 12s. a week, stand-
ing wages, from him, and bits of commissions on

[Description: 915EAF. Page 378.]

sales that brought me from 3s. to 5s. more. He
was a buyer of damaged goods, and we used to
`doctor' them. In some there was perhaps da-
mages by two or three threads being out all the
way, so the manufacturers wouldn't send them
to their regular customers. My master pretended
it was a secret where he got them, but, lord, I
knew; it was at a swag-shop. We used to cut up
these in twelves (twelve yards), sometimes less if
they was very bad, and take a Congreve, and just
scorch them here and there, where the flaws was
worst, and plaster over other flaws with a little
flour and dust, to look like a stain from street
water from the fire-engine. Then they were from
the stock of Mr. Anybody, the great draper, that
had his premises burnt down — in Manchester or
Glasgow, or London — if there'd been a good fire at
a draper's — or anywhere; we wasn't particular.
They was fine or strong shirtings, he'd say — and
so they was, the sound parts of them — and he'd sell
as cheap as common calico. I've heard him say,
`Why, marm, sure marm, with your eyes and
scissors and needle, them burns — ah! fire's a dread-
ful judgment on a man — isn't the least morsel of
matter in life. The stains is cured in a wash-tub
in no time. It's only touched by the fire, and
you can humour it, I know, in cutting out as a
shirt ought to be cut; it should be as carefully
done as a coat.' Then we had an Irish linen, an
imitation, you know, a kind of `Union,' which we
call double twist. It is made, I believe, in
Manchester, and is a mixture of linen and cotton.
Some of it's so good that it takes a judge to tell
the difference between it and real Irish. He got
some beautiful stuff at one time, and once sold to
a fine-dressed young woman in Brompton, a dozen
yards, at 2s. 6d. a yard, and the dozen only cost
him 14s. Then we did something on tally, but
he was dropping that trade. The shopkeepers
undersold him. `If you get 60l. out of 100l., in
tally scores,' he often said, `it's good money, and
a fair living profit; but he got far more than that.
What was worth 8s. was 18s. on tally, pay 1s. a
week. He did most that way with the masters of
coffee-shops and the landlords of little public-
houses. Sometimes, if they couldn't pay, we'd
have dinner, and that went to account, and he'd
quarrel with me after it for what was my share.
There's not much of this sort of trade now, sir.
I believe my old master got his money together
and emigrated."

"Do you want any ginuine Irish linin, ma'am?"
uttered in unmistakable brogue, seemed to au-
thenticate the fact, that the inquirer (being an
Irishman) in all likelihood possessed the legitimate
article; but as to their obtaining their goods from
Coleraine and other places in the Emerald Isle,
famed for the manufacture of linen, it was and
is as pure fiction as the Travels of Baron Mun-
chausen.

The majority of these packmen have discon-
tinued dealing in linens exclusively, and have
added silks, ladies' dresses, shawls and various
articles connected with the drapery business. The
country, and small towns and villages, remote
from the neighbourhood of large and showy shops,
are the likeliest markets for the sale of their
goods. In London the Irish packmen have been
completely driven out by the Scotch tallymen,
who indeed are the only class of packmen likely to
succeed in London. If the persevering Scotch
tallyman can but set foot in a decent-looking
residence, and be permitted to display his tempt-
ing finery to the "lady of the house," he
generally manages to talk her into purchasing
articles that perhaps she has no great occasion
for, and which serve often to involve her in diffi-
culties for a considerable period — causing her no
little perplexity, and requiring much artifice to
keep the tallyman's weekly visits a secret from
her husband — to say nothing of paying an enor-
mous price for the goods; for the many risks
which the tallyman incurs, necessitates of course
an exorbitant rate of profit.

"The number of packmen or hawkers of shawls,
silks, &c., I think" (says one of their own body)
"must have decreased full one-half within the last
few years. The itinerant haberdashery trade is
far from the profitable business that it used to be,
and not unfrequently do I travel a whole day
without taking a shilling: still, perhaps, one day's
good work will make up for half a dozen bad ones.
All the packmen have hawkers' licences, as they
have mostly too valuable a stock to incur the risk
of losing it for want of such a privilege. Some of
the fraternity" (says my informant) "do not always
deal `upon the square;' they profess to have just
come from India or China, and to have invested
all their capital in silks of a superior description
manufactured in those countries, and to have got
them on shore `unbeknown to the Custom-
house authorities.' This is told in confidence to
the servant-man or woman who opens the door —
`be so good as tell the lady as much,' says the
hawker, `for really I'm afraid to carry the goods
much longer, and I have already sold enough to
pay me well enough for my spec — go, there's a
good girl, tell your missus I have splendid goods,
and am willing almost to give them away, and if we
makes a deal of it, why I don't mind giving you a
handsome present for yourself.' " This is a bait not
to be resisted. Should the salesman succed with
the mistress, he carries out his promise to the
maid by presenting her with a cap ribbon, or a
cheap neckerchief.

The most primitive kind of packmen, or hawkers
of soft-wares, who still form part of the distributing
machinery of the country, traverse the highlands
of Scotland. They have their regular rounds, and
regular days of visiting their customers; their
arrival is looked for with interest by the country
people; and the inmates of the farm-house where
they locate for the night consider themselves for-
tunate in having to entertain the packman; for he
is their newsmonger, their story-teller, their friend,
and their acquaintance, and is always made wel-
come. His wares consist of hose — linsey wolsey,
for making petticoats — muslins for caps — ribbons
— an assortment of needles, pins, and netting-pins
— and all sorts of small wares. He always travels
on foot. It is suspected that he likewise does
a little in the "jigger line," for many of these

[Description: 915EAF. Page 379.]

Highlanders have, or are supposed to have, their
illicit distilleries; and the packmen are suspected
of trafficking without excise interference. Glasgow,
Dundee, Galashiels, and Harwick are the principal
manufacturing towns where the packman replen-
ishes his stock. "My own opinion," says an
informant of considerable experience, "is that
these men seldom grow rich; but the prevailing
idea in the country part of Scotland is, that the
pedlar has an unco lang stockin wi' an awfu'
amount o goden guineas in it, and that his pocket
buik is plumped out wi' a thick roll of bank
notes. Indeed there are many instances upon
record of poor packmen having been murdered —
the assassins, doubtlessly, expecting a rich booty."
It scarcely ever costs the packman of Scotland
anything for his bed and board. The Highlanders
are a most hospitable people with acquaintances —
although with strangers at first they are invariably
shy and distant. In Ireland there is also the
travelling pedlar, whose habits and style of doing
business are nearly similar to that of the Scotch-
man. Some of the packmen of Scotland have
risen to eminence and distinction. A quondam
lord provost of Glasgow, a gentleman still living,
and upon whom the honour of knighthood has
been conferred, was, according to common report,
in his earlier days a packman; and rumour also
does the gentleman the credit to acknowledge that
he is not ashamed to own it.

I am told by a London hawker of soft goods, or
packman, that the number of his craft, hawking
London and its vicinity, as far as he can judge, is
about 120 (the census of 1841 makes the London
hawkers, hucksters and pedlars amount to 2041).
In the 120 are included the Irish linen hawkers. I
am also informed that the fair trader's profits amount
to about 20 per cent., while those of the not over-
particular trader range from 80 to 200 per cent.
In a fair way of business it is said the hawker's
taking will amount, upon an average, to 7l. or 8l. per week; whereas the receipts of the "duffer," or
unfair hawker, will sometimes reach to 50l. per
week. Many, however, travel days, and do not
turn a penny.

STATEMENT OF A PACKMAN.

Of the way of trading of a travelling-pedlar I had
the following account from one of the body. He
was well dressed, and a good but keen-looking
man of about thirty-five, slim, and of rather short
stature, with quick dark eyes and bushy whiskers,
on which it was evident no small culture was
bestowed. His manners were far from obtrusive
or importunate — to those whom he sought to
make customers — for I happened to witness a
portion of his proceedings in that respect; but he
had a quiet perseverance with him, which, along
with perfect civility, and something like deference,
might be the most efficient means of recommending
himself to the maid-servants, among whom lay
his chief customers. He showed a little of the
pride of art in describing the management of his
business, but he would not hear that he "pattered:"
he talked to his customers, he declared, as any
draper, who knew his business well, might talk
to his.

When I saw him, his pack, which he carried
slung over one shoulder, contained a few gown-
pieces of printed cotton, nearly all with pink
grounds; a few shawls of different sizes; and
three rolls firmly packed, each with a card-label
on which was neatly written, "French Merino.
Full duty paid. A.B. — L.F. — 18 — 33 — 1851.
French Chocolate." There were also six neat
paper packages, two marked "worked collars,"
three, "gauze handkerchiefs," and the other
"beautiful child's gros de naples." The latter
consisted of 4½ yards of black silk, sufficient for
a child's dress. He carried with him, moreover,
5 umbrellas, one inclosed in a bright glazed cover,
while from its mother-of-pearl handle hung a card
addressed — "The Lady's Maid, Victoria Lodge,
13s. 6d."

"This is a very small stock," he said, "to what
I generally carry, but I'm going on a country
round to-morrow, and I want to get through it
before I lay in a new one. I tell people that I
want to sell off my goods cheap, as they're too
good for country sale; and that's true, the better
half of it."

On my expressing some surprise that he should
be leaving London at this particular time, he
answered: —

"I go into the country because I think all the
hawkers will be making for town, and there'll be
plenty of customers left in the country, and fewer
to sell to them at their own places. That's my
opinion."

"I sell to women of all sorts. Smart-dressing
servant-maids, perhaps, are my best customers,
especially if they live a good way from any grand
ticketing shop. I sold one of my umbrellas to one
of them just before you spoke to me. She was
standing at the door, and I saw her give half a
glance at the umbrellas, and so I offered them.
She first agreed to buy a very nice one at 3s. 3d. (which should have been 4s.), but I persuaded her
to take one at 3s. 9d. (which should have been
4s. 6d.). `Look here, ma'am,' said I, `this
umbrella is much bigger you see, and will carry
double, so when you're coming from church of a
wet Sunday evening, a friend can have share of
it, and very grateful he'll be, as he's sure to have
his best hat on. There's been many a question
put under an umbrella that way that's made a
young lady blush, and take good care of her um-
brella when she was married, and had a house
of her own. I look sharp after the young and
pretty ladies, Miss, and shall as long as I'm a
bachelor.' `O,' says she, `such ridiculous non-
sense. But I'll have the bigger umbrella, be-
cause it's often so windy about here, and then
one must have a good cover if it rains as well.'

"That's my way, sir. I don't mind telling
that, because they do the same in the shops. I've
heard them, but they can't put love and sweet-
hearting so cleverly in a crowded shop as we can
in a quiet house. It's that I go for, love and
sweet-hearting; and I always speak to any smart
servant as if I thought she was the mistress, or as

[Description: 915EAF. Page 380.]

if I wasn't sure whether she was the mistress or
the lady's-maid; three times out of four she's
house-maid or maid of all work. I call her `ma'am,'
and `young lady,' and sometimes `miss.' It's no
use offering to sell until a maid has tidied herself
in the afternoon — not a bit. I should make a capi-
tal draper's shopman, I know, only I could never
bear the confinement. I never will hear such
words as `I don't want it,' or, `nothing more
to-day,' no more than if I was behind a counter.

"The great difficulty I have is to get a chance
of offering my goods. If I ring at a gate — for I
always go a little way out of town — they can see
who it is, and I may ring half an hour for nothing.
If the door's opened it's often shut again directly,
and I just hear `bother.' I used to leave a few
bills, and I do so still in some parts of the country,
with a list of goods, and `this bill to be called for'
printed at the bottom. But I haven't done that
in town for a long time; it's no good. People
seem to think it's giving double trouble. One
of the prettiest girls I ever saw where I called one
evening, pointed — just as I began to say, `I left a
bill and' — to some paper round a candle in a
stick, and shut the door laughing.

"In selling my gown-pieces I say they are such
as will suit the complexion, and such like; and I
always use my judgment in saying so. Why
shouldn't I? It's the same to me what colour I
sell. `It's a genteel thing, ma'am,' I'll say to a
servant-maid, `and such as common people won't
admire. It's not staring enough for them. I'm
sure it would become you, ma'am, and is very
cheap; cheaper than you could buy at a shop; for
all these things are made by the same manufacturers,
and sold to the wholesale dealers at the same price,
and a shopkeeper, you know, has his young men,
and taxes, and rates, and gas, and fine windows to
pay for, and I haven't, so it don't want much judg-
ment to see that I must be able to sell cheaper
than shopkeepers, and I think your own taste,
ma'am, will satisfy you that these here are elegant
patterns.'

"That's the way I go on. No doubt there's
others do the same, but I know and care little
about them. I have my own way of doing busi-
ness, and never trouble myself about other people's
patter or nonsense.

"Now, that piece of silk I shall, most likely,
sell to the landlady of a public-house, where I see
there's children. I shall offer it after I've got a
bit of dinner there, or when I've said I want a
bit. It's no use offering it there, though, if it isn't
cheap; they're too good judges. Innkeepers
aren't bad customers, I think, taking it alto-
gether, to such as me, if you can get to talk to
them, as you sometimes can at their bars. They're
generally wanting something, that's one step. I
always tell them that they ought to buy of men,
in my way, who live among them, and not of fine
shop-keepers, who never came a-near their houses.
I've sold them both cottons and linens, after such
talk as that. I live at public-houses in the
country. I sleep nowhere else.

"My trade in town is nothing to what it was
ten or a dozen years back. I don't know the
reason exactly. I think so many threepenny
busses is one; for they'll take any servant, when
she's got an afternoon, to a thoroughfare full of
ticket-shops, and bring her back, and her bundle
of purchases too, for another 3d. I shall cut it alto-
gether, I think, and stick to the country. Why,
I've known the time when I should have met from
half-a-dozen to a dozen people trading in my way
in town, and for these three days, and dry days too.
I haven't met one. My way of trading in the
country is just the same as in town. I go from
farm-house to farm-house, or call at gentlemen's
grand seats — if a man's known to the servants
there, it may be the best card he can play — and I
call at every likely house in the towns or vil-
lages. I only go to a house and sell a mistress or
maid the same sort of goods (a little cheaper,
perhaps), and recommend them in the same way,
as is done every day at many a fine city, and
borough, and West-End shop. I never say they're
part of a bankrupt's stock; a packfull would seem
nothing for that. I never pretend that they're
smuggled. Mine's a respectable trade, sir. There's
been so much dodging that way, it's been a great
stop to fair trading; and I like to go on the same
round more than once. A person once taken-in by
smuggled handkerchiefs, or anything, won't deal
with a hawker again, even though there's no
deception. But `duffing,' and all that is going
down fast, and I wish it was gone altogether. I
do nothing in tally. I buy my goods; and I've
bought all sorts, in wholesale houses, of course,
and I'd rather lay out 10l. in Manchester than
in London. O, as to what I make, I can't say it's
enough to keep me (I've only myself), and escape
the income-tax. Sometimes I make 10s. a week;
sometimes 20s.; sometimes 30s.; and I have made
50s.; and one week, the best I ever did, I made
as much as 74s. 6d. That's all I can say."

Perhaps it may be sufficiently accurate to com-
pute the average weekly earnings of a smart
trader like my informant, at from 21s. to 25s. in London, and from 25s. to 30s. in the country.

OF THE TALLY PACKMAN.

The pedlar tallyman is a hawker who supplies
his customers with goods, receiving payment by
weekly instalments, and derives his name from
the tally or score he keeps with his customers.
Linen drapery — or at least the general routine
of linen-draper's stock, as silk-mercery, hosiery,
woollen cloths, &c. — is the most prevalent trade
of the tallyman. There are a few shoemakers and
some household furniture dealers who do business
in the tally or "score" system; but the great
majority are linen-drapers, though some of them
sell household furniture as well. The system is
generally condemned as a bad one; as leading
to improvidence in the buyer and rapacity in the
seller. There are many who have incurred a tally
debt, and have never been able to "get a-head of
it," but have been kept poor by it all their lives.
Some few, however, may have been benefited by
the system, and as an outfit for a young man or
woman entering service is necessary — when the
parties are too poor to pay ready money — it is an

[Description: 915EAF. Page 381.]

accommodation. I have never heard any of the
tallyman's customers express an opinion upon the
subject, other than that they wish they had done
with the tallyman, or could do without him.

The system does not prevail to so great an
extent as it did some years back. The pedlar or
hawking tallyman travels for orders, and conse-
quently is said not to require a hawker's licence.
The great majority of the tally-packmen are
Scotchmen. The children who are set to watch
the arrival of the tallyman, and apprise the mother
of his approach, when not convenient to pay,
whisper instead of "Mother, here's the Tallyman,"
"Mother, here's the Scotchman." These men live
in private houses, which they term their ware-
house; they are many of them proprietors them-
selves in a small way, and conduct the whole of
their business unassisted. Their mode of doing
business is as follows: — they seldom knock at a
door except they have a customer upon whom
they call for the weekly instalment, but if a re-
spectable-looking female happens to be standing at
her door, she, in all probability, is accosted by the
Scotchman, "Do you require anything in my
way to-day, ma'am?" This is often spoken in
broad Scotch, the speaker trying to make it sound
as much like English as possible. Without waiting
for a reply, he then runs over a programme of the
treasures he has to dispose of, emphasising all those
articles which he considers likely to suit the taste of
the person he addresses. She doesn't want perhaps
any — she has no money to spare then. "She may
want something in his way another day, may-be,"
says the tallyman. "Will she grant him permis-
sion to exhibit some beautiful shawls — the last new
fashion? or some new style of dress, just out, and
an extraordinary bargain?" The man's impor-
tunities, and the curiosity of the lady, introduces
him into the apartment, — an acquaintance is called
in to pass her opinion upon the tallyman's stock.
Should she still demur, he says, "O, I'm sure
your husband cannot object — he will not be so
unreasonable; besides, consider the easy mode of
payment, you'll only have to pay 1s. 6d. a week
for every pound's worth of goods you take; why
it's like nothing; you possess yourself of respecta-
ble clothing and pay for them in such an easy
manner that you never miss it; well, I'll call next
week. I shall leave you this paper." The paper
left is a blank form to be filled up by the husband,
and runs thus: — "I agree on behalf of my wife
to pay, by weekly instalments of 1s. 6d. upon
every pound's worth of good she may purchase."
This proceeding is considered necessary by the
tallymen, as the judges in the Court of Requests
now so frequently decide against him, where the
husband is not cognisant of the transaction.

These preliminaries being settled, and the
question having been asked what business the
husband is — where he works — and (if it can be
done without offence) what are his wages? The
Scotchman takes stock of the furniture, &c.; the
value of what the room contains gives him a suffi-
ciently correct estimate of the circumstances of his
customers. His next visit is to the nearest chandler's
shop, and there as blandly as possible he inquires
into the credit, &c., of Mr. — . If he deal, how-
ever, with the chandler, the tallyman accounts it
a bad omen, as people in easy circumstances sel-
dom resort to such places. "It is unpleasant to
me," he says to the chandler, "making these in-
quiries; "but Mrs. — wishes to open an ac-
count with me, and I should like to oblige them
if I thought my money was safe." "Do you trust them, and what sort of payers are they?"
According to the reply — the tallyman determines
upon his course. But he rarely stops here; he
makes inquiries also at the greengrocer's, the beer
shop, &c.

The persons who connect themselves with the
tallyman, little know the inquisition they subject
themselves to.

When the tallyman obtains a customer who
pays regularly, he is as importunate for her
to recommend him another customer, as he
originally was to obtain her custom. Some tal-
lymen who keep shops have "travellers" in
their employ, some of whom have salaries, while
others receive a percentage upon all payments,
and do not suffer any loss upon bad debts. Not-
withstanding the caution of the tallyman, he is
frequently "victimised." Many pawn the goods
directly they have obtained them, and in some
instances spend the money in drink. Their many
losses, as a matter of course, somebody must
make good. It therefore becomes necessary for
them to charge a higher price for their commo-
dities than the regular trader.

However charitably inclined the tallyman may
be at first, he soon becomes, I am told, inured to
scenes of misery, while the sole feeling in his mind
at length is, "I will have my money;" for he is
often tricked, and in some cases most impudently
victimised. I am told by a tallyman that he once
supplied goods to the amount of 2l., and when
he called for the first instalment, the woman said
she didn't intend to pay, the goods didn't suit her,
and she would return them. The tallyman ex-
pressed his willingness to receive them back,
whereupon she presented him a pawnbroker's
duplicate. She had pledged them an hour after
obtaining them. This was done in a court in the
presence of a dozen women, who all chuckled
with delight at the joke.

The principal portion of the tallyman's cus-
tomers are poor mechanics. When the appearance
of the house, and the inquiries out of doors are
approved of, no security is required; but the tal-
lyman would at all times rather add a security,
when attainable. Servant-girls who deal with
tallymen must find the security of a housekeeper;
and when such housekeeper agrees to be respon-
sible for the payments, the same inquisitorial pro-
ceedings are adopted, in order to ascertain the
circumstances of the surety. There are about
fifty drapery shops in London where the tally-
trade is carried on; and about 200 Scotchmen,
besides fifty others (part English, part Irish), are
engaged in the trade. A clerk of a tally-shop, at
the West-end, informs me that there are ten col-
lectors and canvassers for customers, out each day,
from that one establishment; and that, until

[Description: 915EAF. Page 382.]

lately, they were accustomed to collect moneys on
Sundays. Some collect as much as 12l. or 14l. a
day; and some not more than 2l. or 3l. The
average sum collected may be about 5l. each, or
50l. per day by the whole. The profits are 30
per cent., the bad debts 10 per cent., thus leaving
20 per cent. net.

The Scotchman who does not choose to extend
his business beyond his own cautious superin-
tendence, is content with smaller profits, perhaps
20 per cent., and his bad debts may be estimated
at 2½ per cent. One of the body informed me
that he had been in the tally-trade about five
years; that he commenced with a capital of only
10l., and that now his collections average 30l. per
week. He never bought, he said, on credit; and
his stock on hand is worth nearly 200l. cost price,
while his outstanding debts are nearly 200l. also.
"This is a flourishing state of affairs," he re-
marked; "I do not owe a penny in the world,
and I have accomplished all this in little less than
five years." This man had served his apprentice-
ship to a draper in Glasgow, and had originally
arrived in London with 20l. in his pocket. After
some weeks' fruitless endeavour to obtain a situ-
ation, his money dwindling away the while, he
was advised, by a fellow-countryman, who was a
tallyman, to try the tally-trade. For a few days
previous to adopting the business, he went the
"rounds" with his friend, for the purpose of get-
ting initiated, and the week after started on
his own account. Notwithstanding his having no
hawker's licence, he tried to effect sales for ready
money, and, to a trifling extent, succeeded. The
first week he obtained three tally customers. He
could have got, he said, a dozen; but he selected
three whom he considered good, and he was not
deceived, for they continued to be customers of his
to this day. The amount of goods that each of
these took of him was 20s.; and the three instal-
ments of 1s. 6d. each (4s. 6d. per week) the tally-
man determined to subsist upon, though his lodg-
ing and washing cost him 2s. per week. He
lived principally upon "parritch" and skim milk,
indulging now and then in the luxury of a herring
and a few potatoes. In twelve weeks he had
added only one more credit customer to his books.
He had hawked for ready money, and had suc-
ceeded so far as to increase his stock to 15l. in
value. His first three customers had, by this
time, paid their accounts, and again patronized him.
In the course of a little time his fourth customer
had also paid up, and had another supply of
goods; he then added two more tally customers,
and commenced indulging (though very seldom) in a
mutton chop. He progressed slowly, and is now
in flourishing circumstances. He states that he
has met with only one loss during his connection
with the tally-trade, and that but a trifling one.
It is those who wish to drive a very extensive
business, he says, who are principally victimised.
The most industrious of the packmen tallymen
seldom travel less than twenty miles a day, car-
rying a burthen upon their backs of from 100
to 120 lbs. They used to carry merely patterns
to their customers, but they find that the full-
length article is more likely to secure purchasers
and customers. Those who keep shops do not
carry goods with them; the would-be customer is
invited to the shop.

The best day for business in the tally-trade is
Monday, and most of these shops upon that day
are crowded. Sometimes an unsolicited customer
(mostly a female) presents herself, and wishes to
be supplied with goods on tally. "Who recom-
mended you?" inquires the tallyman. "Oh,
Mrs. — , sir, a customer of yours." "Ah!
indeed, very much obliged to Mrs. — ," is the
answer. The articles required are shown, selected,
and cut. The new customer is treated most civilly
by the tallyman, who further inquires her name
and abode. The purchaser, of course, expects the
next process will be to deliver up the parcel to
her, when she is informed that they "will send it
home for her." "Oh," she replies, "I won't
trouble you, I can carry it myself." "Our rule,
ma'am," returns the tallyman, "is always to send
parcels home. We certainly cannot doubt your
respectability, but we never deviate from our prac-
tice." The disappointed female departs, and if
the inquiries do not prove satisfactory, she never
hears further from the tallyman. The goods which
she selected, and which were cut expressly for her,
find their way to the shelves of the establishment.
If, however, a good customer accompanies a friend
whom she wishes to recommend, the parcels are
delivered when purchased, if required. The tally-
man (to good customers) often extends his civili-
ties to a glass of wine; or, if the "Ladies" prefer
it (which it must be confessed they mostly do), a
glass of gin.

There is another class of tallymen who sell
clocks, receiving payment by weekly instalments.
These are content with an instalment of 1s. in
the pound per week. They are principally
Germans who can speak English. Their pro-
ceedings altogether are similar to the tally linen-
draper.

I have given the rise and progress of a Scotch
tallyman, and will now relate the downfall of
another — an Englishman. He commenced a tally-
shop in the neighbourhood of — , and was
carrying on a prosperous and daily increasing
trade. At one time, a bill in the shop window
announced that an errand boy was wanted — an
applicant soon presented himself — was engaged,
and proved a steady lad. In the course of a few
weeks, this youth was promoted to the office of
serving in the shop, and afterwards became col-
lecting clerk. "George," said his master one day,
"we have three days in the week unemployed;
suppose you try and form a connection around
Finchley, Highgate, Hampstead, and that neigh-
bourhood." George was quite willing to make
the experiment, and succeeded beyond expecta-
tion. The country connection soon surpassed the
town trade; and George, the errand boy, became
a man of some consequence in the establishment.
The principal of the firm was what is termed
"gay." He was particularly fond of attending
public entertainments. He sported a little as
well, and delighted in horse-racing. His business,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 383.]

though an excellent one, was neglected; the
books got out of order; and he became in-
volved in difficulties. An examination of his
affairs took place; and a Mr. R — was engaged
from a wholesale house in the city to assist in
making up the accounts, &c. During this per-
son's sojourn in the shop, he saw that George (the
quondam errand boy) was the chief support of the
concern. The country customers had never seen
any other person, and a partnership was proposed.
The proposal was accepted, and the firm R —
and W — became one of the most prosperous
tally-shops in the neighbourhood of Tottenham-
court-road. George's master was made bankrupt,
and is now a street-seller in Fitzroy-market —
vending sandwiches, &c.

The cases are not a few where ruin has followed
a connection with the tallymen. I will par-
ticularize one instance related to me on good
authority. A lawyer's clerk married, when young,
a milliner; his salary was a guinea per week, and
he and his wife had agreed to "get on in the
world." They occupied furnished lodgings at
first, but soon accumulated furniture of their own,
and every week added some little useful article
towards their household stock. "At the end of
a year," said the individual in question, "I had
as comfortable a little home as any man would
wish to possess; I was fond of it too, and would
rather have been there than anywhere else. My
wife frequently wished to obtain credit; `it would
be so easy,' said she, `to pay a trifling instal-
ment, and then we could obtain immediately what-
ever we might want.' I objected, and preferred
supplying our wants gradually, knowing that for
ready money I could purchase to much better ad-
vantage. Consequently we still kept progressing,
and I was really happy. Judge my astonishment
one day, when I came home, and found an execu-
tion was in the house. My wife had run in debt
with the tallyman unknown to me. Summonses
had been served, which by some means she had
concealed from me. The goods which I had taken
so much pains to procure were seized and sold.
But this was not all. My wife grew so much
alarmed at the misery she had caused that she
fled from me, and I have never seen her but once
since. This occurred seven years ago, and she
has been for some time the companion of those
who hold their virtue of little worth. For some
time after this I cared not what became of me; I
lost my situation, and sunk to be a supernumerary
for 1s. a night at one of the theatres. Here,
after being entrusted with a line to speak, I
eventually rose to a `general utility man,' at 12s. per week. With this and some copying, that I
occasionally obtain from the law-stationers, I
manage to live, but far from comfortably, for I
never think of saving now, and only look out for
copying when I stand in need of more money.
I am always poor, and scarcely ever have a shil-
ling to call my own."

Some of the principal establishments, "doing
laŕgely" in the tally-trade, are in or about Red
Lion-square and street, the higher part of High
Holborn, the vicinity of Tottenham-court-road,
the Blackfriars, Waterloo, Westminster, St.
George's, Walworth, New Kent, and Dover
roads.

At some of these tally-shops horses and carts
are kept to carry out the goods ordered of the
"travellers," especially when furniture is supplied
as well as drapery; while in others the "travel-
lers" are resident on the premises, and are occa-
sionally shopmen, for a "large" tally-master not
unfrequently carries on a retail trade in addition
to his tally-business.

The tallymen not concerned with these large
establishments, but carrying on trade on their own
account, reside generally in the quieter streets in
the neighbourhood of the thoroughfares I have
mentioned, and occupy perhaps the ground-floor,
letting (for the house is generally their own) the
other apartments. Sometimes a piece of cotton-
print is placed in their parlour-window, and some-
times there is no indication whatever of any
business being carried on within, for the hawking
tallymen do not depend in any measure upon
situation or display, but solely on travelling and
personal solicitations at people's own residences.

OF THE "DUFFERS" OR HAWKERS OF PRETENDED
SMUGGLED GOODS.

Of "duffers" and "lumpers," as regards the sale
of textile fabrics, there are generally, I am in-
formed, about twenty in London. At such times as
Epsom, Ascot-heath, or Goodwood races, however,
there is, perhaps, not one. All have departed to
prey, if possible, upon the countrymen. Eight of
them are Jews, and the majority of the others are
Irishmen. They are generally dressed as sailors,
and some wear either fur caps, or cloth ones, with
gilt bands round them, as if they were the mates
or stewards of ships. They look out for any
likely victim at public-houses, and sometimes accost
persons in the streets — first looking carefully about
them, and hint that they are smugglers, and have
the finest and cheapest "Injy" handkerchiefs ever
seen. These goods are now sold in "pieces" of
three handkerchiefs. When times were better, I
was told, they were in pieces of four, five, and six.
One street-seller said to me, "Yes, I know the
`duffers;' all of them. They do more business
than you might think. Everybody likes a smug-
gled thing; and I should say these men, each of
the `duffers,' tops his 1l. a week, clear profit." I
am assured that one of the classes most numerously
victimised is a body who generally account them-
selves pretty sharp, viz. gentlemen's grooms, and
coachmen at the several mews. Sailors are the
best customers, and the vicinity of the docks the
best locality for this trade; for the hawker of
pretended smuggled goods always does most
business among the "tars." The mock handker-
chiefs are damped carefully with a fine sponge,
before they are offered for sale; and they are
often strongly perfumed, some of the Jews supply-
ing cheap perfumes, or common "scents." When
the "duffer" thinks he may venture upon the asser-
tion, he assures a customer that this is "the smell
the handkerchiefs brought with 'em from foreign
parts, as they was smuggled in a bale of spices!"

[Description: 915EAF. Page 384.]

The trade however is not without its hazards; for
I am informed that the "duffers" sometimes, on
attempting their impositions imprudently, and
sometimes on being discovered before they can
leave the house, get soundly thrashed. They
have, of course, no remedy.

The "pieces" of three handkerchiefs sold
by the "duffers" are purchased by them in
Houndsditch, at from 3s. to 7s.; but 7s. is only
given when there is a design to palm off the 3s. goods along with them. Cent. per cent. is a low
profit in this trade.

One intelligent street-trader, to whom I am
indebted for carefully-considered information, said
to me very quietly: "I've read your work, sir,
at a coffee-shop; for I can't afford to take it in.
I know you're going to open the eyes of the
public as to the `duffer's' tricks, now. All
right, sir, they're in honest men's ways. But,
sir, when are you going to say something about
the rich shopkeepers as sells, and the rich manu-
facturers as makes, the `duffer's' things? Every
man of them knows it's for roguery."

There is a peculiar style among the "duffers;"
they never fold their goods neatly — the same as
drapers do, but thrust them into the pack, in a
confused heap, as if they did not understand their
value — or their business. There are other classes
of "duffers" whose calling is rather more hazardous
than the licensed-hawker "duffer." "I have often
thought it strange," says a correspondent, "that
these men could induce any one to credit the
fact of their being sailors, for, notwithstanding
the showy manner in which they chew their quid,
and the jack-tar like fashion in which they suffer
their whiskers to grow, there is such a fresh-
waterfied appearance about them, that they look
no more like a regular mariner than the supernu-
merary seamen in a nautical drama, at the Victoria
Theatre. Yet they obtain victims readily. Their
mode of proceeding in the streets is to accost their
intended dupes, while walking by their side; they
usually speak in a half whisper, as they keep
pace with them, and look mysteriously around to
see if there be any of `them ere Custom-house
sharks afloat.' They address the simple-looking
passers by thus: `Shipmate' (here they take off
their fur-cap and spit their quid into it) — `ship-
mate, I've just come ashore arter a long voyage —
and splice me but I've something in the locker
that'll be of service to you; and, shiver my tim-
bers' (they are very profuse in nautical terms), `you
shall have it at your own price, for I'm determined
to have a spree, and I haven't a shot in the
locker; helm's a-lee; just let's turn into this
creek, and I'll show you what it is' (perhaps he per-
suades his dupe down a court, or to a neighbouring
public-house). `Now here is a beautiful piece of
Ingy handkerchiefs.' (They are the coarsest descrip-
tion of spun not thrown silk, well stiffened into
stoutness, and cost the "duffer" perhaps 15d. each;
but as business is always done on the sly, in a hurry,
and to escape observation, an examination seldom
or never takes place). `I got 'em on shore in
spite of those pirates, the Custom-house officers.
You shall have 'em cheap, there's half a dozen on
'em, they cost me 30s. at Madras, you shall have
'em for the same money.' (The victim, may be,
is not inclined to purchase. The pretended tar,
however, must have money.) `Will you give me 25s. for them?' he says; `d — n it, a pound? Shiver
my topsails, you don't want them any cheaper than
that, do you!' The `duffer' says this to make
his dupe believe that he really does want the
goods, or has offered a price for them. Perhaps
if the `duffer' cannot extort more he takes 10s. for the half dozen `Ingy' handkerchiefs, the profit
being thus about 2s. 6d.; but more frequently he
gets 100 and even 200 per cent. on his transactions
according to the gullibility of his customers. The
`duffer' deals also in cigars; he accosts his vic-
tim in the same style as when selling handker-
chiefs, and gives himself the same sailor-like airs.

"Sometimes the `duffers' visit the obscure streets
in London, where there are small chandlers'
shops; one of them enters, leaving his mate out-
side to give him the signal in case the enemy
heaves in sight. He requests to be served with
some trifling article — when if he approve of the
physiognomy of the shopkeeper, and consider him or
her likely to be victimised — he ventures an obser-
vation as to how enormously everything is taxed'
(though to one less innocent it might appear un-
usual for a sailor to talk politics); `even this 'ere
baccy' he says, taking out his quid, `I can't
chew, without paying a tax; but, he adds.
chuckling — `us sailor chaps sometimes shirks
the Custom-house lubbers, sharp as they are.
(Here his companion outside puts his head in at
the door, and, to make the scene as natural as pos-
sible, says, `Come, Jack, don't stop there all night
spinning your yarns; come, bear a hand, or I shall
part convoy.') `Oh, heave to a bit longer, my
hearty,' replies the `duffer,' `I will be with you in
the twinkling of a marling spike. I'll tell you what
we've got, marm, and if you likes to buy it you shall
have it cheap, for me and my mate are both short of
rhino. We've half-a-dozen pounds of tea — you can
weigh it if you like — and you shall have the lot
for 12s.' Perhaps there is an immediate purchase,
but if 12s. is refused, then 10s. 8s. or 6s. is asked,
until a sale be effected, after which the sailors
make their exit as quickly as possible. Then
the chandler's-shop keeper begins to exult over
the bargain he or she has made, and to ex-
amine more minutely the contents of the neatly
packed, and tea-like looking packet thus bought.
It proves to be lined with a profuse quantity of
tea lead, and though some Chinese characters
are marked on the outside, it is discovered on
opening to contain only half-a-pound of tea, the
remainder consisting principally of chopped hay.
The `duffers' enact the same part, and if a pur-
chaser buy 10lbs. of the smuggled article, then
9lbs. at least consist of the same chopped hay.

"Sometimes the `duffers' sell all their stock to
one individual. No sooner do they dispose of
the handkerchiefs to a dupe, than they intro-
duce the smuggled tobacco to the notice of the
unsuspecting customer; then they palm off their
cigars, next their tea, and lastly, as the `duffer' is
determined to raise as much money as he can `to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 385.]

have his spree;' `why d — e,' he exclaims to his
victim — `I'll sell you my watch. It cost me 6l. at
Portsmouth — give me 3l. for it and it's yours,
shipmate. Well, then, 2l. — 1l.' The watch, I
need not state, is made solely for sale.

"It is really astonishing," adds my informant,
"how these men ever succeed, for their look de-
notes cunning and imposition, and their proceed-
ings have been so often exposed in the newspapers
that numbers are alive to their tricks, and warn
others when they perceive the "duffers" endea-
vouring to victimise them; but, as the thimble-men
say, "There's a fool born every minute."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF "SMALL-WARE,"
OR TAPE, COTTON, ETC.

The street-sellers of tape and cotton are usually
elderly females; and during my former inquiry I
was directed to one who had been getting her
living in the street by such means for nine years.
I was given to understand that the poor woman
was in deep distress, and that she had long been
supporting a sick husband by her little trade, but
I was wholly unprepared for a scene of such start-
ling misery, sublimed by untiring affection and
pious resignation, as I there discovered.

I wish the reader to understand that I do not
cite this case as a type of the sufferings of this
particular class, but rather as an illustration of the
afflictions which frequently befall those who are
solely dependent on their labour, or their little
trade, for their subsistence, and who, from the
smallness of their earnings, are unable to lay by
even the least trifle as a fund against any physical
calamity.

The poor creatures lived in one of the close
alleys at the east end of London. On inquiring
at the house to which I had been directed, I was
told I should find them in "the two-pair back."
I mounted the stairs, and on opening the door of
the apartment I was terrified with the misery
before me. There, on a wretched bed, lay an aged
man in almost the last extremity of life. At
first I thought the poor old creature was really
dead, but a tremble of the eyelids as I closed the
door, as noiselessly as I could, told me that he
breathed. His face was as yellow as clay, and it
had more the cold damp look of a corpse than that
of a living man. His cheeks were hollowed in
with evident want, his temples sunk, and his nos-
trils pinched close. On the edge of the bed sat his
heroic wife, giving him drink with a spoon from a
tea-cup. In one corner of the room stood the
basket of tapes, cottons, combs, braces, nutmeg-
graters, and shaving-glasses, with which she strove
to keep her old dying husband from the work-
house. I asked her how long her good man
had been ill, and she told me he had been confined
to his bed five weeks last Wednesday, and that it
was ten weeks since he had eaten the size of a
nut in solid food. Nothing but a little beef-tea
had passed his lips for months. "We have lived
like children together," said the old woman, as her
eyes flooded with tears, "and never had no dis-
pute. He hated drink, and there was no cause for
us to quarrel. One of my legs, you see, is shorter
than the other," said she, rising from the bed-side,
and showing me that her right foot was several
inches from the ground as she stood. "My hip
is out. I used to go out washing, and walk-
ing in my pattens I fell down. My hip is out
of the socket three-quarters of an inch, and the
sinews is drawn up. I am obliged to walk with
a stick." Here the man groaned and coughed so
that I feared the exertion must end his life. "Ah,
the heart of a stone would pity that poor fellow,"
said the good wife.

"After I put my hip out, I couldn't get my
living as I'd been used to do. I couldn't
stand a day if I had five hundred pounds for
it. I must sit down. So I got a little stall,
and sat at the end of the alley here with a few
laces and tapes and things. I've done so for this
nine year past, and seen many a landlord come in
and go out of the house that I sat at. My husband
used to sell small articles in the streets — black lead
and furniture paste, and blacking. We got a sort
of a living by this, the two of us together. It's
very seldom though we had a bit of meat. We
had 1s. 9d. rent to pay — Come, my poor fellow,
will you have another little drop to wet your
mouth?" said the woman, breaking off. "Come,
my dearest, let me give you this," she added,
as the man let his jaw fall, and she poured some
warm sugar and water flavoured with cinnamon —
all she had to give him — into his mouth. "He's
been an ailing man this many a year. He used
to go of errands and buy my little things for
me, on account of my being lame. We assisted
one another, you see. He wasn't able to work for
his living, and I wasn't able to go about, so he
used to go about and buy for me what I sold. I
am sure he never earned above 1s. 6d. in the week.
He used to attend me, and many a time I've sat
for ten and fourteen hours in the cold and wet
and didn't take a sixpence. Some days I'd make
a shilling, and some days less; but whatever I got
I used to have to put a good part into the basket
to keep my little stock." [A knock here came to
the door; it was for a halfpenny-worth of darning
cotton.] "You know a shilling goes further with
a poor couple that's sober than two shillings does
with a drunkard. We lived poor, you see, never
had nothing but tea, or we couldn't have done
anyhow. If I'd take 18d. in the day I'd think
I was grandly off, and then if there was 6d. profit
got out of that it would be almost as much as it
would. You see these cotton braces here" (said
the old woman, going to her tray). "Well, I gives
2s. 9d. a dozen for them here, and I sells 'em for
4½d., and oftentimes 4d. a pair. Now, this piece
of tape would cost me seven farthings in the shop,
and I sells it at six yards a penny. It has the
name of being eighteen yards. The profit out of
it is five farthings. It's beyond the power of man
to wonder how there's a bit of bread got out of
such a small way. And the times is so bad, too!
I think I could say I get 8d. a day profit if
I have any sort of custom, but I don't exceed
that at the best of times. I've often sat at the
end of the alley and taken only 6d., and that's
not much more than 2d. clear — it an't 3d. I'm

[Description: 915EAF. Page 386.]

sure. I think I could safely state that for the
last nine year me and my husband has earned to-
gether 5s. a week, and out of that the two of us
had to live and pay rent — 1s. 9d. a week. Clothes
I could buy none, for the best garment is on me;
but I thank the Lord still. I've paid my rent all
but three weeks, and that isn't due till to-morrow.
We have often reckoned it up here at the fire.
Some weeks we have got 5s. 3d., and some weeks
less, so that I judge we have had about 3s. to
3s. 6d. a week to live upon the two of us, for this
nine year past. Half-a-hundred of coals would
fit me the week in the depths of winter. My hus-
band had the kettle always boiling for me against
I came in. He used to sit here reading his
book — he never was fit for work at the best —
while I used to be out minding the basket. He
was so sober and quiet too. His neighbours will
tell that of him. Within the last ten weeks he's
been very ill indeed, but still I could be out with
the basket. Since then he's never earnt me a
penny — poor old soul, he wasn't able! All that
time I still attended to my basket. He wasn't so
ill then but what he could do a little here in the
room for hisself; but he wanted little, God knows,
for he couldn't eat. After he fell ill, I had to go
all my errands myself. I had no one to help me,
for I'd nothing to pay them, and I'd have to walk
from here down to Sun-street with my stick, till
my bad leg pained me so that I could hardly
stand. You see the hip being put out has drawn
all the sinews up into my groin, and it leaves me
oncapable of walking or standing constantly;
but I thank God that I've got the use of it any-
how. Our lot's hard enough, goodness knows,
but we are content. We never complain, but bless
the Lord for the little he pleases to give us. When
I was away on my errands, in course I couldn't be
minding my basket; so I lost a good bit of money
that way. Well, five weeks on Wednesday he has
been totally confined to his bed, excepting when I
lifted him up to make it some nights; but he can't
bear that now. Still the first fortnight he was
bad, I did manage to leave him, and earn a few
pence; but, latterly, for this last three weeks, I
haven't been able to go out at all, to do any-
thing."

"She's been stopping by me, minding me
here night and day all that time," mumbled the
old man, who now for the first time opened his
gray glassy eyes and turned towards me, to bear,
as it were, a last tribute to his wife's incessant
affection. "She has been most kind to me. Her
tenderness and care has been such that man never
knew from woman before, ever since I lay upon
this sick bed. We've been married five-and-
twenty years. We have always lived happily —
very happily, indeed — together. Until sickness
and weakness overcome me I always strove to
help myself a bit, as well as I could; but since
then she has done all in her power for me —
worked for me — ay, she has worked for me,
surely — and watched over me. My creed through
life has been repentance towards God, faith in
Jesus Christ, and love to all my brethren. I've
made up my mind that I must soon change this
tabernacle, and my last wish is that the good
people of this world will increase her little stock
for her. She cannot get her living out of the little
stock she has, and since I lay here it's so lessened,
that neither she nor no one else can live upon it.
If the kind hearts would give her but a little stock
more, it would keep her old age from want, as she
has kept mine. Indeed, indeed, she does deserve
it. But the Lord, I know, will reward her for
all she has done to me." Here the old man's
eyelids dropped exhausted.

"I've had a shilling and a loaf twice from
the parish," continued the woman. "The over-
seer came to see if my old man was fit to be
removed to the workhouse. The doctor gave me
a certificate that he was not, and then the re-
lieving officer gave me a shilling and a loaf of
bread, and out of that shilling I bought the poor
old fellow a sup of port wine. I bought a quartern
of wine, which was 4d., and I gave 5d. for a bit
of tea and sugar, and I gave 2d. for coals; a half-
penny rushlight I bought, and a short candle, that
made a penny — and that's the way I laid out the
shilling. If God takes him, I know he'll sleep
in heaven. I know the life he's spent, and am
not afraid; but no one else shall take him from
me — nothing shall part us but death in this world.
Poor old soul, he can't be long with me. He's a
perfect skeleton. His bones are starting through
his skin."

I asked what could be done for her, and the
old man thrust forth his skinny arm, and
laying hold of the bed-post, he raised himself
slightly in his bed, as he murmured "If she could
be got into a little parlour, and away from sitting
in the streets, it would be the saving of her."
And, so saying, he fell back overcome with the
exertion, and breathed heavily.

The woman sat down beside me, and went on.
"What shocked him most was that I was obli-
gated in his old age to go and ask for relief at
the parish. You see, he was always a spiritful
man, and it hurted him sorely that he should
come to this at last, and for the first time in his
lifetime. The only parish money that ever we
had was this, and it does hurt him every day
to think that he must be buried by the parish
after all. He was always proud, you see."

I told the kind-hearted old dame that some be-
nevolent people had placed certain funds at my
disposal for the relief of such distress as hers;
and I assured her that neither she nor her hus-
band should want for anything that might ease
their sufferings.

The day after the above was written, the poor
old man died. He was buried out of the funds
sent to the "Morning Chronicle," and his wife re-
ceived some few pounds to increase her stock;
but in a few months the poor old woman went
mad, and is now, I believe, the inmate of one of
the pauper lunatic asylums.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF LACE.

This trade is carried on both by itinerants and at
stands, or "pitches." The itinerants, of whom I
will first treat, are about forty in number (thirty

[Description: 915EAF. Page 387.]

women and ten men). They usually carry their
lace in boxes, or cases. It is not uncommon for
the women to represent themselves as lacemakers
from Marlow, or some other place in Buckingham-
shire, or from Honiton, in Devonshire, while the
men assert they are from Nottingham. I am in-
formed that there are among these itinerant lace-
sellers two women and one man who really have
been lacemakers. They all buy their wares at
the haberdashery swag-shops.

The lace, which is the principal staple of this
trade, is "edgings," or the several kinds of cheap
lace used for the bordering of caps and other
female requirements. Among street-people the
lace is called "driz," and the sellers of it "driz-
fencers." It gained this slang name, I was in-
formed, many years ago, when it was sold, and
often to wealthy ladies, as rare and valuable lace,
smuggled from Mechlin, Brussels, Valenciennes,
or any foreign place famous, or once famous, for
its manufacture. The pretended smuggled lace
trade is now unknown in London, and is very
little practised in the country. There is, how-
ever, still some smuggling connected with lace-
selling. Two, and sometimes-three, female lace-
sellers are also "jigger-workers." They carry
about their persons pint bladders of "stuff," or
"jigger stuff" (spirit made at an illicit still). "I
used to supply them with it until lately," one
street-trader told me, "from a friend that kept a
`jigger,' and a tidy sale some of them had. Indeed,
I've made the stuff myself. I knew one woman,
six or seven years back, that did uncommon well
at first, but she got too fond of the stuff, and
drank herself into the work'us. They never
carried gin, for brandy was most asked for. They
sold the brandy at 2s. 6d. the pint; rum at 1s. 6d.; and whiskey at 2s.; sometimes higher, and always
trying for 6d. a pint profit, at least. O yes, sir;
I know they got the prices I've mentioned, though
they seem high; for you must remember that the
jigger spirit is above proof, and a pint will make
two pints of gin-palace stuff. They sold it, I've
heard them say, to ladies that liked a drop on the
sly; and to some as pretended they bought that
way for economy; yes, and to shopkeepers and
publicans too. One old lady used to give 3s. for
three yards of driz, and it was well enough under-
stood, without no words, that a pint of brandy
was part of them three yards. But the trade that
way is nothing to what it was, and gets less and
less every year."

From a middle-aged woman selling laces I had
the following account: —

"I've been in the trade about six years, sir.
Ten years back or more I was in place, and saved
a little money, as a servant of all work. I mar-
ried a house-painter, but trade got bad, and we
both had illnesses; and my husband, though he's
as good a man as need be, can't stick to anything
very long at a time." (A very common failing, by
the bye, with the street-folk.) "It seems not in
his nature. When we was reduced very low he got
on a cab — for he can turn his hand to almost any-
thing — and after that we came to street-selling.
He's now on jewellery, and I think it suits him as
well or better than anything he's tried; I do my
part, and we get on middling. If we're ever pushed
it's no use fretting. We had one child, and he
died when he wanted just a month of three years
old, and after I'd lost him I said I would never
fret for trifles no more. My heart was broke for
a long time — it was indeed. He was the loveliest
boy ever seen, and everybody said so. I went
into lace, because my husband got to know all
about it, and I had no tie at home then. I was
very shy and ashamed at first to go into houses,
but that wears off, and I met with some nice
people that bought of me and was very civil, so
that encourages one. I sell nothing but lace. I
never cleared more than 2s. 6d. in a day, and that
only once. I suppose I clear from 3s. 6d. to
4s. 6d. a week now; perhaps, take it altogether,
rather more than 4s. I have a connection, and go
to the houses in and about the Regent's Park, and
all the small streets near it, and sometimes Maida
Hill way. I once tried a little millinery made-up
things, but it didn't suit somehow, and I didn't
stick to it. You see, sir, I sell my lace to very
few but servant maids and small shopkeepers'
wives and daughters; but then they're a better sort
of people than those as has to buy everything
ready made like servants has. They can use their
own needles to make themselves nice and smart,
and they buy of such as me to do it cheap, and
they're not often such beaters down as them that
buys the ready-made. I can do nothing, or next
to nothing, in very wet weather. If I'm in the
habit of going into a nice kitchen, perhaps the
housemaid flies at me for `bringing in all that
dirt.' My husband says all women is crossest in
bad weather, and perhaps servants is.

"I buy my lace near Shoreditch. It's a long
walk, but I think I'm best used there. I buy
generally a dozen yards, from 3½d. to 1s., and
sometimes up to 2s. I sell the commoner at 1d. a yard, and three yards 2d.; and the better at 2d. and 3d. a yard. It's a poor trade, but it's doing
something. My husband seldom earns less than
12s. a week, for he's a good salesman, and so we
pay 2s. rent regular every Monday for an unfur-
nished room, and has the rest to live on. I have
sold in the Brill on a Saturday night, but not often,
nor lately I don't like it; I haven't tongue enough."

In addition to the itinerants there are about se-
venty stationary lace sellers, and not less than eighty
on the Saturday evenings. The best pitches are,
I am told, near the Borough-market; in Clare-mar-
ket; the New Cut (on Saturday nights); Wal-
worth-road; Tooley-street; and Dockhead, Ber-
mondsey. From the best information at my com-
mand, it appears that at least half of these traders
sell only lace, or rarely anything else. The others
sell also net for making caps and "cauls," which
are the plain portion at the back, to be trimmed or
edged according to the purchaser's taste. Some
sell also, with their lace, cap ribbons — plain or
worked collars — and muslin, net, or worked under-
sleeves. Braid and gimp were formerly sold by them,
but are now in no demand. The prices run from
2d. to 6d. for lace articles, and about the same for
net, &c. per yard; the lowest priced are most sold.

In this stationary trade are as many men and
youths as women and girls. One woman, who
had known street-selling for upwards of twenty
years, said she could not do half so well now as
she could twenty years ago, for the cheaper things
got the cheaper people would have them. "Why,
twenty year ago," she exclaimed, "I bought a
lot of `leno' cheap — it was just about going out
of fashion for caps then, I think — and one Satur-
day night in the Cut, I cleared 15s. on it. I don't
clear that in a fortnight now. I have sold to wo-
men of the town, as far as I've known them to be
of that sort, but very seldom. It's not often
you'll catch them using a needle for theirselves.
They do use their needles, I know. You can see
some of them sewing at their doors and windows
in Granby-street, Waterloo-road, or could lately —
for I haven't passed that way for some time — but
I believe it's all for money down, for the slop-
shops. It suits the slop-shops to get work cheap
anyway; and it suits the women to have some sort
of occupation, which they needn't depend upon for
their living."

The stationary lace sellers, for the most part,
display their goods on stalls, but some spread them
on a board, or on matting on the ground. Some
of the men gather an audience by shouting out,
"Three yards a penny, edging!" As at this rate
the lace-seller would only clear ½d. in a dozen yards,
the cry is merely uttered to attract attention. A
few who patter at the trade — but far fewer than
was once the case — give short measure. One man,
who occasionally sold lace, told me, that when he
was compelled to sell for "next to no profit, and a
hungry Sunday coming," he gave good shop mea-
sure, thirty full inches to a yard. His yard wand
was the correct length, "but I can do it, sir," he
said with some exultation, "by palming," and he
gave a jerk to his fingers, to show how he caught in
the lace, and "clipped it short."

Calculating that 100 persons in this trade each
take 10s. 6d. weekly, the profit being about cent.
per cent., we find 2600l. expended in the streets
in lace and similar commodities.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF JAPANNED TABLE-
COVERS.

This trade, like several others, as soon as the
new commodities became in established demand,
and sufficiently cheap, was adopted by street-
sellers. It has been a regular street-trade between
four and five years. Previously, when the covers
were dearer, the street-sellers were afraid to specu-
late much in them; but one man told me that he
once sold a table-cover for 8s., and at another time
for 10s.

The goods are supplied to the street-folk princi-
pally by three manufacturers — in Long-lane, Smith-
field, Whitechapel-road, and Petticoat-lane. The
venders of the glazed table-covers are generally
considered among the smartest of the street-folk,
as they do not sell to the poor, or in poor neigh-
bourhoods, but "at the better sort of houses, and
to the wealthier sort of people." Table-covers are
now frequently disposed of by raffle. "I very
seldom sell in the streets," said one man, "though
I one evening cleared 4s. by standing near the
Vinegar-works, in the City-road, and selling to
gents on their way home from the city. The
public-house trade is the best, and indeed in winter
evenings, and after dark generally, there's no
other. I get rid of more by raffling than by sale.
On Saturday evening I had raffles for two covers,
which cost me 1s. 4d. each. I had some trouble
to get 1s. 9d. for one; but I got up a raffle for
the other, and it brought me 2s.; six members at
4d. each. It's just the sort of thing to get off in
a raffle on Saturday night, or any time when me-
chanics have money. A man thinks — leastways
I've thought so myself, when I've been in a
public-house raffle — now I've spent more money
than I ought to, and there's the old woman to
face; but if I win the raffle, and take the thing
home, why my money has gone to buy a nice
thing, and not for drink." I may remark that in
nearly all raffles got up in this manner, the article
raffled for is generally something coveted by a
working man, but not so indispensably necessary
to him, that he feels justified in expending his
money upon it. This fact seems well enough
known to the street-sellers who frequent public-
houses with their wares. I inquired of the in-
formant in question if he had ever tried to get up
a raffle of his table-covers in a coffee-shop as well
as a public-house. "Never, with table-covers,"
he said, "but I have with other things, and find
it's no go. In a coffee-shop people are quiet, and
reading, unless it's one of them low places for
young thieves, and such like; and they've no
money very likely, and I wouldn't like to trust
them in a raffle if they had. In public-houses
there's talk and fun, and people's more inclined
for a raffle, or anything spicy that offers."

There are now fifteen regular street-sellers, or
street-hawkers of these table-covers, in London,
four of whom are the men's wives, and they not
unfrequently go a round together. Sometimes, on
fine days, there are twenty. I heard of one
woman who had been very successful in bartering
table-covers for old clothes. "I've done a little
that way myself," said a man in the trade, "but
nothing to her, and people sees into things so now,
that there's hardly a chance for a crust. The
covers is so soft and shiny, and there's such fine
parrots and birds of paradise on them, that before
the price was known there was a chance of a good
bargain. I once got for a cover that cost me 2s. 9d. a great coat that a Jew, after a hard bargaining,
gave me 6s. 3d. for."

The prices of the table-covers (wholesale) run
from 8s. a dozen to 30s.; but the street-sellers
rarely go to a higher price than 18s. They can
buy a dozen, or half a dozen — or even a smaller
quantity — of different sizes. Some of these street-
traders sell, with the table-covers, a few wash-
leathers, of the better kind. Calculating that
fifteen street-sellers each take 25s. weekly the
year round — one-half being the profit, including
their advantages in bartering and raffling — we
find 975l. expended yearly upon japanned table-
covers, bought in the streets.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF BRACES, BELTS,
HOSE, TROWSER-STRAPS, AND WAISTCOATS.

The street-sellers of braces are a numerous and a
mixed class. They are nearly all men, and the
majority are Irishmen; but this relates only to
the itinerant or public-house brace-sellers. These
wares are sold also by street-traders, who make
other articles the staple of their trade — such as
the dog-collar-sellers.

The braces sold thirty years ago were of a very
different manufacture from those vended in the
streets at present. India-rubber web was then
unknown as a component part of the street braces.
The braces, which in some parts of the country
are called "gallowses," were, at the time specified,
made of a woollen web, both washable and durable.
"One pair of such braces, good ones," said an old
tailor with whom I had some talk on the subject,
"would last a poor man his lifetime. Now
they're in a rope or in rags in no time." These
woollen braces were sold at from 1s. to 2s. the
pair in the streets; the straps being of good firm
leather. Not long after this period a much
cheaper brace-web was introduced — a mixture of
cotton with the woollen — and the cheap manufac-
ture gradually supplanted the better article, as re-
spects the street trade. The cheaper braces were
made with sheepskin straps, which soon yielded
to friction, and were little serviceable. The intro-
duction of the India-rubber web was another change
in the trade, and the manufacture has become lower
and lower-priced until the present time.

The braces sold in the streets, or hawked in
the public-houses, are, however, not all of the very
inferior manufacture. Some are called "silk,"
others "buck-leather," and others "knitted
cotton." The "silk" are of a silken surface, with
an admixture of cotton and India-rubber; the
"buck-leather" (a kind now very little known in
street sale) are of strong sheepskin, dressed buck-
leather fashion; and the "knitted" cotton are
woven, some kinds of them being very good and
strong.

The street brace-sellers, when trying to do
business in the streets, carry their goods generally
with a few belts, and sometimes with hose in
their hands and across their arms. They stretch
them from end to end, as they invite the custom
of passers by, to evince the elasticity and firmness
of the web. Sometimes the braces are slung from
a pole carried on the shoulder. The sellers call
at the public-house bars and tap-rooms; some are
admitted into the parlours; and at a well-fre-
quented gin-palace, I was informed by a manager
of one, a brace-seller will call from twelve to
twenty times a day, especially on a Monday;
while on a Saturday evening they will remain two,
three, or four hours, accosting fresh customers.
At the gin-palaces, the young and strong Irishmen
offering these wares — and there are many such —
are frequently scoffed at for selling "braces and
things a baby can carry."

The following account, which I received from a
street brace-seller, shows the class who purchase
such articles: —

"I was put to a carriage-lamp maker," the
man said, "at Birmingham, but soon ran away.
Nobody saw after me, for I had only an uncle,
and he left me to to the parish. It was all my
own fault. I was always after some idle end,
though I can read very well. It seems as if I
couldn't help it, being wild, I mean. I ran away
to Worcester, without knowing where I was going,
or caring either. I was half starved in Wor-
cester, for I lived as I could. I found my way
to London afterwards. I've been in the streets
ever since, at one thing or the other; how many
years I can't say. Time goes so quick sometimes,
and sometimes so slow, and I'm never long in one
place. I've sold braces off and on ever since
Amato won the Derby, if you know when that
was. I remember it because I went to Epsom
races that year to sell race cards. When I came
to London after the races I laid out 12s. in braces.
I hardly remember how many pairs I bought for
it, but they wasn't such common things as I'm
carrying now. I could sell a few then at from 9d. to 1s. 3d. a pair, to the `cads' and people at such
places as the `Elephant,' and the `Flower Pot' in
Bishopsgate-street, which was a great `'bus' place
then. I used to sell, too, to the helpers in inn-yards,
and a few in the mews. The helpers in the mews
mostly buys knitted cotton. I've got 1s. and some-
times 1s. 6d. for an extra article from them, but
now I don't carry them; there's no demand there.
You see, many of them work in their shirts, and
the head coachmen and grooms, which is often great
Turks, would blow up if the men had dirty braces
hanging to their buttons, so they uses what'll
wash. Nearly all my business now is done at
public-houses. I go from one tavern to another on
my round all day long, and sell in the street
when I can. I think I sell as many at 5d. and
at 10d. as at all other prices together, and most at
5d.; but when I have what I call a full stock I
carry 'em from 4d. to 20d. The poorer sort of
people, such as wears braces — for there's a many
as does without 'em — likes the 1d. out of 6d., and
the others the 2d. out of the 1s.; it tempts them.
It's a tiresome life, and not so good as coster-
mongering, for I once did tidy well in apples. But
in the brace trade you ar'n't troubled with hiring
barrows, and it's easy carried on in public-houses
in wet weather, and there's no stock to spoil. I
sell all to working-people, I think. Sometimes an
odd pair or two at 1s. 6d., or so, to a tradesman,
that may happen to be in a bar, and likes the look
and the price; or to a gentleman's servant. I
make from 1s. to 1s. 6d. a day; full 1s. 6d. if I
stick close to it. I may make 2s. or 2s. 6d. a
week, too, in selling belts and stockings; but I only
sometimes carry stockings. Perhaps I clear 9s. a
week the year round. There's lots in the trade
don't clear 1s. a day, for they only carry low-priced
things. I go for 4d. profit on every shilling's
worth I sell. I've only myself to keep. I pay
3d. a night at a lodging-house, and nothing on
Sundays. I had a young woman with me when I
was a coster, but we didn't agree, and parted. She
was too fond of lifting her hand to her mouth
(`tippling') to please me. I mean to live very
near this week, and get a few shillings if I can to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 390.]

try something at Greenwich next Monday." This
was said on the Tuesday in Passion-week.

The braces are bought by the street-sellers at
the swag-shops I have described. The prices
range from 1s. 6d. (for common children's) to 12s. a dozen; 3s., 3s. 6d., 6s. 6d.,and 7s. being the
most frequent prices. Higher-priced articles are
also sold at the swags and by the street-sellers,
but not one in twenty of these compared with the
lower priced.

In London and its suburbs, and on "rounds,"
of which the metropolis forms the central point,
and at stands, there are, I am assured, not fewer
than 500 persons vending braces. Of these a
twentieth portion may be women, and a tenth old
and sometimes infirm men. There are few chil-
dren in the trade. The stall-keepers, selling
braces with other articles, are about 100, and of
the remainder of this class, those who are not
Irishmen are often impoverished mechanics, such
as tailors — brace-vending being easily resorted to,
and carried on quietly in public-houses, and it does
not entail the necessity of bawling aloud, to which a
working-man, driven to a street-life, usually feels
repugnance. Calculating that 500 brace-sellers
clear 5s. a week each on those articles alone, and
estimating the profit at 33 per cent., it shows a
street expenditure of 3900l. One brace-seller
considered that 500 such sellers was too low a
number; but the most intelligent I met with
agreed on that estimate.

The Belts sold in the street are nearly all
of stout cotton web, "with India-rubber threads,"
and usually of a drab colour, woollen belts being
rarely ever seen now. They are procured in the
same way, and sold by the same parties, as are
braces. The amount expended on belts is, from
the best information I can command, about an
eighth of that expended on braces. The belts are
sold at 1s. each, and cost 8s. the dozen, or 9d. each, if only one be purchased.

The street-sale of hose used to be far more con-
siderable than it is now, and was, in a great mea-
sure, in the hands of a class who had personal
claims to notice, independent of the goodness of
their wares. These were old women, wearing,
generally, large white aprons, and chintz-patterned
gowns, and always scrupulously clean. They
carried from door to door, in the quieter streets,
and in the then suburbs, stockings of their "own
knitting." Such they often were; and those
which were not were still knitted stockings, al-
though they might be the work of old women in
the country, who knitted by the fireside, needing
no other light on winter evenings and at the
doors of their cottages in the sunshine in summer.
Of these street-sellers some were blind. Between
thirty and forty years ago, I am told, there were
from twelve to twenty blind knitters, but my
informant could not speak with certainty, as
he might probably observe the same women in
different parts. The blind stocking-sellers would
knit at a door as they waited. The informant I
have quoted thought that the last of these knitters
and street-sellers disappeared upwards of twenty
years ago, as he then missed her from his door, at
which she used to make her regular periodical
appearance. The stockings of this trade were
most frequently of white lamb's-wool, and were
sold at from 3s. 6d. to 5s. 6d. They were long
in the leg, and were suited "for gentle-people's
winter wear." The women-sellers made in those
days, I am assured, a comfortable livelihood.

The sale of stockings is now principally in the
hands of the men who vend braces, &c. The kind
sold is most frequently unbleached cotton. The
price to a street-buyer is generally from 6d. to 9d.; but the trade is of small extent. "It's one of
the trades," a street-seller said to me, "that we
can't compete with shop-keepers in. You shall
go to a haberdashery swag-shop, and though they
have `wholesale haberdashers,' and `hawkers sup-
plied' on the door-post, you'll see a pair of stock-
ings in the window marked with a very big
and very black 6, and a very little and not half
black ¾; and if I was to go in, they'd very likely
ask me 6s. 6d. a dozen for an inferior thing.
They retail themselves, and won't be undersold
if they can help it, and so they don't care to
accommodate us in things that's always going."

A few pairs of women's stockings are hawked by
women, and sold to servant-maids; but the trade
in these goods, I am informed, including all classes
of sellers — of whom there may be fifty — does not
exceed (notwithstanding the universality of the
wear), the receipt of 6s. weekly per individual,
with a profit of from 1s. 4d. to 2s., and an aggre-
gate expenditure of about 800l. in the year. The
trade is an addition to some other street trade.

The brace-sellers used to carry with their wares
another article, of which India-rubber web formed
the principal part. These were trowser-straps,
"with leather buttonings and ingy-spring bodies."
It was only, however, the better class of brace-
sellers who carried them; those who, as my in-
formant expressed it, "had a full stock;" and
their sale was insignificant. At one time, the
number of brace-sellers offering these straps was,
I am informed, from 70 to 100. "It was a poor
trade, sir," said one of the class. "At first I sold
at 4d., as they was 6d. in middling shops, and 1s. in the toppers, if not 1s. 6d.; but they soon came
down to 3d., and then to 2d. My profit was short
of 3d. in 1s. My best customers for braces didn't
want such things; plain working-men don't. And
grooms, and stable-keepers generally, wears boots
or knee-gaiters, and footmen sports knee-buckles
and stockings. All I did sell to was, as far as I
can judge, young mechanics as liked to turn out
like gents on a Sunday or an evening, and real
gents that wanted things cheap. I very seldom
cleared more than 1s. a week on them. The
trade's over now. If you see a few at a stand,
it's the remains of an old stock, or some that a
swag-shop has pushed out for next to nothing to
be rid of them."

The sale of waistcoats is confined to Smithfield,
as regards the class I now treat of — the sellers of
articles made by others. Twelve or fourteen years
back, there was a considerable sale in what was
a branch of duffing. Waistcoats were sold to
countrymen, generally graziers' servants, under

[Description: 915EAF. Page 391.]

the pretence that they were of fine silk plush,
which was then rather an object of rustic Sunday
finery. A drover told me that a good many years
ago he saw a countryman, with whom he was
conversing at the time, pay 10s. 6d. for a "silk
plush waistcoat," the vendor having asked 15s., and having walked away — no doubt remarking
the eagerness of his victim — when the countryman
refused to give more than 10s. "He had a cus-
tomer set for it," he said, "at half-a-guinea." On
the first day the waistcoat was worn — the drover
was afterwards told by the purchaser — it was
utterly spoiled by a shower of rain; and when its
possessor asked the village tailor the value of the
garment, he was told that it had no value at all;
the tailor could not even tell what it was made of,
but he never saw anything so badly made in his
life; never. Some little may be allowed for the
natural glee of a village tailor on finding one of
his customers, who no doubt was proud of his
London bargain, completely taken in; but these
waistcoats, I am assured by a tailor who had seen
them, were the veriest rubbish. The trade, how-
ever, has been unknown, unless with a few rare
exceptions at a very busy time — such as the
market for the show and sale of the Christmas
stock — since the time specified.

The waistcoats now sold in Smithfield market,
or in the public-houses connected with it, are, I
am told, and also by a tailor, very paltry things;
but the price asked removes the trade from the
imputation of duffing. These garments are sold at
from 1s. to 4s. 6d. each; but very rarely 4s. 6d. The shilling waistcoats are only fit for boys — or
"youths," as the slop-tailors prefer styling them —
but 1s. 6d. is a common price enough; and seven-
eighths of the trade, I am informed, is for prices
under, or not exceeding, 2s. The trade is,
moreover, very small. There are sometimes no
waistcoat-sellers at all; but generally two, and
not unfrequently three. The profits of these men
are 1s. on a bad, and 2s. 6d. on a good day. As,
at intervals, these street-sellers dispose of a sleeve-
waistcoat (waiscoat with sleeves) at from 4s. 6d. to 6s., we may estimate the average earnings in the
trade at 5s. per market day, or 10s. in the week.
This shows an outlay of 78l. in the year, as the
profits of these street traders may be taken at 33
per cent.; or, as it is almost invariably worded by
such classes, "4d. in the 1s." The material is of
a kind of cotton made to look as stout as possible,
the back, &c., being the commonest stuff. They
are supplied by a slop-house at the East End, and
are made by women, or rather girls.

The sale of waistcoats in the street, markets,
&c., is of second-hand goods, or otherwise in the
hands of a distinct class. There are other belts,
and other portions of wearing apparel, which,
though not of textile fabrics, as they are often
sold by the same persons as I have just treated of,
may be described here. These are children's
"patent leather" belts, trowser-straps, and garters.

The sellers of children's and men's belts and
trowser-straps are less numerous than they were,
for both these things, I am told, but only on street
authority, are going out of fashion. From one
elderly man who had "dropped belts, and straps,
and all that, for oranges," I heard bitter com-
plaints of the conduct of the swag shop-keepers
who supplied these wares. The substance of his
garrulous and not very lucid complaint was that
when boys' patent leather belts came into fashion,
eleven, twelve, or thirteen years back, he could
not remember which, the usual price in the shops
was 1s., and they were soon to be had in the
streets for 6d. each. The belt-sellers "did well"
for a while. But the "swags" who, according to
my informant, at first supplied belts of patent
horse-leather, came to substitute patent sheep-
leather for them, which were softer, and looked as
well. The consequence was, that whenever the
sheep-leather belts were wet, or when there was
any "pull" upon them, they stretched, and "the
polish went to cracks." After having been wet a
few times, too, they were easily torn, and so the
street trade became distrusted. It was the same
with trowser-straps.

The belt trade is now almost extinct in the
streets, and the strap trade, which was chiefly in
the hands of old and infirm, and young people, is
now confined to the sellers of dog-collars, &c. The
trowser-straps are not glazed or patent-leather, now,
but "plain calf;" sold at 2d. a pair generally, and
bought at from 1s. 2d. to 1s. 4d. the dozen pairs.
Many readers will remember how often they used
to hear the cry, "Three pair for sixpence! Three pair
for sixpence!" A cry now, I believe, never heard.

Among the belt and strap-sellers were some
blind persons. One man counted to me three blind
men whom he knew selling them, and one sells
them still, attached to the rails by St. Botolph's
church, Bishopsgate.

The same persons who sold straps, &c., not in-
cluding the present sellers, the dog-collar men, &c.,
had lately no small traffic in the vending of garters.
The garter-sellers were, however, far more numer-
ous than ever were the strap-sellers. At one
time, I am told, there were 200 garter sellers; all
old or infirm, or poor women, or children, and
chiefly Irish children. As these children were
often stockingless and shoeless, their cry of "Penny
a pair! India-rubber garters, penny a pair!" was
sometimes pitiful enough, as they were offering a
cheap article, unused by themselves. The sudden
influx of garters, so to speak, was owing, I am
told, to a manufacturer having discovered a cheap
way of "working the India-rubber threads," and
having "thrown a lot into the market through the
swag shops." The price was at first 8s. a gross
(8d. a dozen), but as the demand increased, it was
raised to 9s. and 9s. 6d. The trade continued
about six weeks, but has now almost entirely
ceased. The stock of garters still offered for sale
is what stall-keepers have on hand, or what swag
shop-keepers tempt street-sellers to buy by re-
ducing the price. The leather garter-trade, 1d. a
pair being the usual price for sheep-skin garters, is
now almost unknown. It was some what extensive.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF BOOT AND STAY-
LACES, &c.

Like many street-callings which can be started on

[Description: 915EAF. Page 392.]

the smallest means, and without any previous
knowledge of the article sold being necessary to
the street-vendor, the boot and stay-lace trade
has very many followers. I here speak of those
who sell boot-laces, and subsist, or endeavour to
subsist, by the sale, without mixing it up with
begging. The majority, indeed the great majority,
of these street traders are women advanced in
years, and, perhaps, I may say the whole of them
are very poor. An old woman said to me, "I
just drag, on, sir, half-starving on a few boot-laces,
rather than go into the workhouse, and I know
numbers doing the same."

The laces are bought at the haberdashery swag-
shops I have spoken of, and amongst these old
women I found the term "swag-shop" as com-
mon as among men who buy largely at such esta-
blishments. The usual price for boot-laces to
be sold in the streets is 1d. a dozen. Each lace
is tagged at both ends, sufficing for a pair of boots.
The regular retail price is three a penny, but the
lace-sellers are not unfrequently compelled to give
four, or lose a customer. A better quality is sold
at 1½d. and 2d. a dozen, but these are seldom med-
dled with by the street lace-sellers. It is often a
matter of strong endeavour for a poor woman to
make herself mistress of 11d., the whole of which
she can devote to the purchase of boot-laces, as
for 11d. she can procure a gross, so saving 1d. in
twelve dozen.

The stay-laces, which are bought at the same
places, and usually sold by the same street-traders,
are 2d. and 2½d. the dozen. I am told that there
are as many of the higher as of the lower priced
stay-laces bought for street sale, "because," one
of the street-sellers told me "there's a great many
servant girls, and others too, that's very particular
about their stay-laces." The stay-laces are re-
tailed at ½d. each.

These articles are vended at street-stalls, along
with other things for female use; but the most
numerous portion of the lace-sellers are itinerant,
walking up and down a street market, or going on
a round in the suburbs, calling at every house
where they are known, or where, as one woman
expressed it, "we make bold to venture." Those
frequenting the street-markets, or other streets or
throughfares, usually carry the boot-laces in their
hands, and the stay-laces round their necks, and
offer them to the females passing. Their principal
customers are the working-classes, the wives and
daughters of small shop-keepers, and servant-maids.
"Ladies, of course," said one lace-seller, "won't
buy of us." Another old woman whom I ques-
tioned on the subject, and who had sold laces for
about fourteen years, gave me a similar account;
but she added: — "I've sold to high-up people
though. Only two or three weeks back, a fine-
dressed servant maid stopped me and said, `Here,
I must have a dozen boot-laces for mistress, and
she says, she'll only give 3d. for them, as it's a
dozen at once. A mean cretur she is. It's grand
doings before faces, and pinchings behind backs,
at our house.' "

Among the lace-sellers having rounds in the
suburbs are some who "have known better
days." One old woman had been companion and
housekeeper to a lady, who died in her arms, and
whose legacy to her companion-servant enabled
her to furnish a house handsomely. This she
let out in apartments at "high-figures," and any-
thing like a regular payment by her lodgers would
have supplied her with a comfortable maintenance.
But fine gentlemen, and fine ladies too, went away
in her debt; she became involved, her furniture
was seized, and step by step she was reduced to
boot-lace selling. Her appearance is still that of
"the old school;" she wears a very large bonnet of
faded black silk, a shawl of good material, but old
and faded, and always a black gown. The poor
woman told me that she never ventured to call
even at the houses where she was best received if
she saw any tax-gatherer go to or from the house:
"I know very well what it is," she continued,
"it's no use my calling; they're sure to be cross,
and the servants will be cross too, because their
masters or mistresses are cross with them. If the
tax-gatherer's not paid, they're cross at being
asked; if he is paid, they're cross at having had
to part with their money. I've paid taxes myself."

The dress of the boot lace-sellers generally is
that of poor elderly women, for the most part per-
haps a black chip, or old straw bonnet (often
broken) and a dark-coloured cotton gown. Their
abodes are in the localities in all parts of the me-
tropolis, which I have frequently specified as the
abodes of the poor. They live most frequently in
their own rooms, but the younger, and perhaps I
may add, coarser, of the number, resort to lodg-
ing-houses. It is not very uncommon, I was told
by one of the class, for two poor women, boot-lace
sellers or in some similar line, "to join" in a room,
so saving half the usual rent of 1s. 6d. for an
unfurnished room. This arrangement, however, is
often of short duration. There is always arising
some question, I was told, about the use or wear of
this utensil or the other, or about washing, or about
wood and coals, if one street-seller returned an
hour or two before her companion. This is not to
be wondered at, when we bear in mind that to
these people every farthing is of consequence.
From all that I can learn, the boot-lace sellers (I
speak of the women) are poor and honest, and
that, as a body, they are little mixed up with dis-
honest characters and dishonest ways. The ex-
ceptions are, I understand, among some hale per-
sons, such as I have alluded to as sojourning in
the lodging-houses. Some of these traders receive
a little parochial relief.

One intelligent woman could count up 100 per-
sons depending chiefly upon the sale of boot and
stay-laces, in what she called her own neighbour-
hood. This comprised Leather-lane, Holborn,
Tottenham Court-road, the Hampstead-road, and
all the adjacent streets. From the best data at
my command, I believe there are not fewer than
500 individuals selling these wares in London.
Several lace-sellers agreed in stating that they sold
a dozen boot-laces a-day, and a dozen stay-laces,
and 2 dozen extra on Saturday nights; but the
drawbacks of bad weather, &c., reduce the average
sale to not more than 6 dozen a week, or 384,400

[Description: 915EAF. Page 393.]

boot-laces in a year, at an outlay to the public of
3120l. yearly; from a half to three-fourths of the
receipts being the profit of the street-sellers.

The same quantity of stay-laces sold at 6d. a
dozen shows an outlay of 4680l., with about an
equally proportional profit to the sellers.

Most of these traders sell tapes and other ar-
ticles as well as laces. The tapes cost 3d. and
3½d. the dozen, and are sold at ½d. a knot. A
dozen in 2 days is an average sale, but I have
treated more expressly of those who depend prin-
cipally upon boot-lace selling for their livelihood.
Their average profits are about 3s. a week, on
laces alone. The trade, I am told, was much
more remunerative a few years back, and the de-
cline was attributed "to so many getting into the
trade, and the button boots becoming as fashionable
as the Adelaides."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 394.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Description: 915EAF. Page 395.]

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

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

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

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

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

THE BLIND STREET-SELLER OF BOOT-LACES.

The character, thoughts, feelings, regrets, and
even the dreams, of a very interesting class of
street-folk — the blind — are given in the narratives
I now proceed to lay before the reader, from blind
street-folk; but a few words of general introduc-
tion are necessary.

It may be that among the uneducated — among
those whose feelings and whose bodies have been
subjected to what may be called the wear and tear
of poverty and privation — there is a tendency, even
when misfortunes the most pitiable and undeserved
have been encountered, to fall from misery into
mendicancy. Even the educated, or, as the street
people more generally describe them, those "who
have seen better days," sometimes, after the ordeal
of the streets and the low lodging-houses, become
trading mendicants. Among such people there
may be, in one capacity or other, the ability and
sometimes the opportunity to labour, and yet —
whether from irrepressible vagabondism, from
utter repugnance to any settled mode of subsistence
(caused either by the natural disposition of the
individual, or by the utter exhaustion of mind and
body driving him to beg) — yet, I say, men of this
class become beggars and even "lurkers."

As this is the case with men who have the ex-
ercise of their limbs, and of the several senses of
the body, there must be some mitigating plea, if
not a full justification, in the conduct of those who
beg directly or indirectly, because they cannot and
perhaps never could labour for their daily bread —
I allude to those afflicted with blindness, whether
"from their youth up" or from the calamity being
inflicted upon them in maturer years.

By the present law, for a blind man to beg is to
be amenable to punishment, and to be subjected
to perhaps the bitterest punishment which can be
put upon him — imprisonment; to a deprivation of
what may be his chief solace — the enjoyment of
the fresh air; and to a rupture of the feeling,
which cannot but be comforting to such a man,
that under his infirmity he still has the sympathies
of his fellow-creatures.

It appears to me, then, that the blind have a
right to ask charity of those whom God has
spared so terrible an affliction, and who in the
terms best understood by the destitute themselves,
are "well to do;" those whom — in the canting
language of a former generation of blind and other
beggars — "Providence has blessed with affluence."
This right to solicit aid from those to whom such
aid does not even approach to the sacrifice of any
idle indulgence — to say nothing of any necessary
want — is based on their helplessness, but lapses if
it becomes a mere business, and with all the

[Description: 915EAF. Page 396.]

trickiness by which a street business is sometimes
characterised.

On this question of moral right, as of political
expediency, I quote an authority which must com-
mand attention, that of Mr. Stuart Mill: —

Apart from any metaphysical considerations
respecting the foundation of morals or of the social
union, he says, "It will be admitted to be right,
that human beings should help one another; and
the more so, in proportion to the urgency of the
need; and none needs help so urgently as one who
is starving. The claim to help, therefore, created
by destitution, is one of the strongest which can
exist; and there is primâ facie the amplest reason
for making the relief of so extreme an exigency as
certain, to those who require it, as, by any arrange-
ments of society, it can be made.

"On the other hand, in all cases of helping,
there are two sets of consequences to be considered;
the consequences of the assistance itself, and the
consequences of relying on the assistance. The
former are generally beneficial, but the latter for
the most part injurious; so much so, in many cases,
as greatly to outweigh the value of the benefit.
And this is never more likely to happen than in
the very cases where the need of help is the most
intense. There are few things for which it is
more mischievous, that people should rely on the
habitual aid of others, than for the means of sub-
sistence, and unhappily there is no lesson which
they more easily learn." I may here mention, in
corroboration of this statement, that I was told by
an experienced parochial officer, that there was
truth in the saying, "Once a pauper, and always
a pauper;" which seems to show that the lesson of
relying on the habitual aid of others may not only
be learned with ease, but is forgotten with diffi-
culty. "The problem to be solved," continues Mr.
Mill, "is, therefore, one of peculiar nicety, as well
as importance; how to give the greatest amount of
needful help, with the smallest encouragement to
undue reliance on it.

"Energy and self-dependence are, however," Mr.
Mill proceeds to argue, and, in this respect, it
seems to me, to argue to demonstration, "liable to
be impaired by the absence of help, as well as by its
excess. It is even more fatal to exertion to have
no hope of succeeding by it, than to be assured of
succeeding without it. When the condition of any
one is so disastrous that his energies are paralyzed
by discouragement, assistance is a tonic, not a
sedative: it braces, instead of relaxing the active
faculties: always provided that the assistance is
not such as to dispense with self-help, by substi-
tuting itself for the person's own labour, skill, and
prudence, but is limited to affording him a better
hope of attaining success by those legitimate
means. This, accordingly, is a test to which all
plans of philanthropy and benevolence should be
brought, whether intended for the benefit of indi-
viduals or of classes, and whether conducted on the
voluntary or on the government principle.

"In so far as the subject admits of any general
doctrine or maxim, it would appear to be this —
that if assistance is given in such a manner that
the condition of the person helped is rendered
as desirable as that of another (in a similar
grade of society) who succeeds in maintaining
himself without help, the assistance, if systematic
and capable of being previously calculated upon,
is MISCHIEVOUS: but if, while available to every-
body, it leaves to all a strong motive to do without
it if they can, it is then for the most part BENE-
CIAL."

That the workhouse should bring less comfort
and even greater irksomeness and restraint to any
able-bodied inmate, than is felt by the poorest
agricultural labourer in the worst-paid parts of the
country, or the most wretched slop tailor, or shoe-
maker, or cabinet maker in London, who supports
himself by his own labour, is, I think, a sound
principle. However wretched the ploughman
may be in his hut, or the tailor in his garret, he is
what I have heard underpaid mechanics call, still
"his own man." He is supported by his labour;
he has escaped the indignity of a reliance on others.

I need not now enter into the question whether
or not the workhouse system has done more harm
than good. Some harm it is assuredly doing, for its
over-discipline drives people to beg rather than
apply for parish relief; and so the public are
twice mulct, by having to pay compulsorily, in the
form of poor's-rate, and by being induced to give
voluntarily, because they feel that the applicant
for their assistance deserves to be helped.

But although the dogma I have cited, respecting
the condition of those in a workhouse, may be
sound in principle as regards the able-bodied, how
does it apply to those who are not able-bodied?
To those who cannot work? And above all how
does it apply to those to whom nature has denied
even the capacity to labour? To the blind, for
instance? Yet the blind man, who dreads the in-
justice of such a creed applied to his misfortune,
is subject to the punishment of the mendacious
beggar, should he ask a passer-by to pity his
afflictions. The law may not often be enforced,
but sometimes it is enforced — perhaps more fre-
quently in country than in town — and surely it is
so enforced against abstract right and political
morality. The blind beggar, "worried by the
police," as I have heard it described, becomes the
mendacious beggar, no longer asking, in honesty,
for a mite to which a calamity that no prudence
could have saved him gave him a fair claim, but
resorting to trick in order to increase his pre-
carious gains.

That the blind resort to deceitful representa-
tions is unquestionable. One blind man, I am
informed, said to Mr. Child the oculist, when he
offered to couch him, "Why, that would ruin me!"
And there are many, I am assured, who live by
the streets who might have their eyesight restored,
but who will not.

The public, however, must be warned to distin-
guish between those determined beggars and the
really deserving and helpless blind. To allow
their sympathies to be blunted against all, because
some are bad, is a creed most consolatory to
worldly successful selfishness, and alien to every
principle of pure morals, as well as to that of more
than morals — the spirit of Christianity.

The feelings of the blind, apart from their mere
sufferings as poor men, are well described in some
of the narratives I give, and the account of a
blind man's dreams is full of interest. Man is
blessed with the power of seeing dreams, it should
be remembered, visionally; but the blind man, to
whose statement I invite attention, dreams, it
will be seen, like the rest of his fraternity, through
the sense of hearing, or of feeling, best known as
"touching;" that is to say, by audible or tactile
representations.

Some of the poor blind, he told me, are polishers'
wheel-turners, but there is not employment for one
in one hundred at this. My informant only knew
two so engaged. People, he says, are glad to do it,
and will work at as low wages as the blind. Some
of the blind, too, blow blacksmiths' forges at foun-
dries; others are engaged as cutlers' wheel-turners.
"There was one talking to me the other day,
and he said he'd get me a job that way." Others
again turn mangles, but at this there is little em-
ployment to be had. Another blind acquaintance
of my informant's chops chaff for horses. Many of
the blind are basket-makers, learning the business
at the blind school, but one-half, I am told, can't
make a living at this, after leaving the school;
they can't do the work so neatly, and waste more
rods than the other workers. Other blind peo-
ple are chair-bottomers, and others make rope
mats with a frame, but all of these can scarcely
make a living. Many blind people play church
organs. Some blind men are shoemakers, but
their work is so inferior, it is almost impossible to
live by it.

The blind people are forced to the streets because,
they say, they can do nothing else to get a living;
at no trade, even if they know one, can they get a
living, for they are not qualified to work against
those who can see; and what's more, labourers'
wages are so low that people can get a man with
his eyesight at the same price as they could live
upon. "There's many a blind basket-weaver
playing music in the streets 'cause he can't get
work. At the trade I know one blind basket-
maker can make 15s. a-week at his trade, but
then he has a good connection and works for his-
self; the work all comes home. He couldn't make
half that working for a shop. At turning wheels
there's nothing to be done; there's so many
seeing men out of employment that's glad to do
the work at the same price as the blind, so that
unless the blind will go into the workhouse, they
must fly to the streets. The police, I am told,
treat the blind very differently: some of the force
are very good to them, and some has no feeling
at all — they shove them about worse than dogs;
but the police is just like other men, good and
bad amongst them. They're very kind to me,"
said my blind informant, "and they have a difficult
duty to perform, and some persons, like Colonel
Cavendish, makes them harsher to us than they
would be." I inquired whether my blind informant
had received one of the Census papers to fill up,
and he told me that he had heard nothing about
them, and that he had certainly made no return
to the government about his blindness; but what
it was to the government whether he was blind
or not, he couldn't tell. His wife was blind as
well as himself, and there was another blind man
living in his room, and none of his blind friends,
that he had heard of, had ever received any of the
papers.

"Some blind people in the streets carry laces.
There are some five men and one woman at the
West-end do this, and three of these have dogs
to lead them; one stands always on Langham-place.
One carries cabbage-nets, he is an old man of
seventy year, with white hair, and is likewise led
by a dog. Another carries matches (he has a
large family), and he is often led by one of his
boys. There is a blind woman who always sits
by the Polytechnic, and has indeed done so since
it was built. She gets her living by sewing,
making caps and things for ladies. Another
blind woman obtains a livelihood by knitting
garters and covers for bread trays and backs of
chairs. She generally walks about in the neigh-
bourhood of Baker-street, and Portman-square.
Many recite a lamentation as they go along, but
in many parts of London the police will not allow
them to do so.

"It's a very jealous place, is London. The
police is so busy; but many recites the lamenta-
tion for all that. It's a feeling thing — Oh,
they're very touching words."

The greater part in the streets are musi-
cians; five to one are, or ten to one. My in-
formant thinks, last Thursday week, there were
seven blind musicians all playing through the
streets together in one band. There are four
living in York-court; two in Grafton-court; two
in Clement's-lane; one in Orchard-place; two in
Gray's-buildings; two in Half-Moon-street, in
the City, and two in a court hard by; one up by
Ball's-pond; two in Rose-court, Whitechapel; three
in Golden-lane; two at Chelsea; three in West-
minster; one up at Paddington; one (woman) in
Marylebone; one in Westminster; one in Gray's-
inn-lane; one in Whitechapel; in all thirty-one;
but my informant was satisfied there must be at
least as many more, or sixty blind musicians
in all.

In the course of a former inquiry into the cha-
racter and condition of street performers, I re-
ceived the following account from a blind mu-
sician: —

"The street blind tried, some years back, to
maintain a burying and sick club of our own;
but we were always too poor. We live in
rooms. I don't know one blind musician who
lives in a lodging-house. I myself know a dozen
blind men now performing in the streets of Lon-
don. The blind musicians are chiefly married
men. I don't know one who lives with a woman
unmarried. The loss of sight changes a man, he
doesn't think of women, and women don't think
of him. We are of a religious turn, too, gene-
rally.

"When we agreed to form the blind club there
was not more than a dozen members. These
consisted of two basket-makers; one mat-maker;
four violin players; myself; and my two mates;

[Description: 915EAF. Page 398.]

and this was the number when it dropped for
want of funds; that's now sixteen years ago.
We were to pay 1s. a month, and sick members
were to have 5s. a week when they had paid two
years. Our other rules were the same as other
clubs. There's a good many blind who play at
sailors dances, Wapping and Deptford way. We
seldom hire children to lead us in the streets;
we have plenty of our own generally. I have
five. Our wives are generally women that have
their eyesight; but some blind men marry blind
women."

My informant was satisfied that there were
at least 100 blind men and women getting
their living in the streets, and about 500 through-
out the country. There are many who stay con-
tinually in Brighton, Bristol, Liverpool, Birming-
ham, Manchester, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Plymouth,
and indeed all large towns. "There are a great many
blind people, I am told," he said, "in Cornwall.
It's such a humane place for them; the people has
great feeling for the blind; they're very religious
there, and a many lose their sight in the mines,
and that's what makes them have a feeling for
others so." This man heard a calculation made
some time back, that there were 5000 blind people,
including those in schools and asylums, within five
miles round St. Paul's. The most of the blind have
lost their sight by the small-pox — nine out of
every ten of the musicians have done so; since
the vaccination has been discovered, I am told the
cases of blindness from small-pox have been con-
siderably increased. "Oh, that was a very clever
thing — very," said the blind boot-lace seller to me.
Those who have not lost their sight by the small-pox,
have gone blind from accidents, such as substances
thrown or thrust in the eyes, or inflammation
induced from cold and other ailments. My infor-
mant was not acquainted with one blind person in
the streets who had been born blind. One of his
acquaintance who had been blind from birth
caught the small-pox, and obtained his sight after
recovery at eight years old. "The great majority
have lost their sight at an early age — when mere
children, indeed; they have consequently been
trained to no employment; those few who have"
(my informant knew two) "been educated in
the blind schools as basket-makers, are unable
to obtain employment at this like a seeing per-
son. Why, the time that a blind man's feeling
for the hole to have a rod through, a seeing man
will have it through three or four times. The
blind people in the streets mostly know one
another; they say they have all a feeling of
brotherly love for another, owing to their being
similarly afflicted. If I was going along the
street, and had a guide with me that could see,
they would say, `Here's a blind man or blind
woman coming;' I would say, `Put me up to them
so as I'll speak to them;' then I should say, as I
laid my hand upon them, `Holloa, who's this?'
they'd say, `I'm blind.' I should answer, `So am I.'
`What's your name?' would be the next question.
`Oh, I have heard tell of you,' most like, I should
say. `Do you know so and so?' I would say,
`Yes, he's coming to see me,' or perhaps, `I'm
going to see him on Sunday:' then we say, `Do
you belong to any of the Institutions?' that's the
most particular question of all; and if he's not a
traveller, and we never heard tell of one another,
the first thing we should ask would be, `How did
you lose your sight?' You see, the way in which
the blind people in the streets gets to know one
another so well, is by meeting at the houses of
gentlemen when we goes for our pensions."

The boot, shoe, and stay laces, are carried by
the blind, I am told "seldom for sale;" for it's
very few they sell of them. "They have," they
say, "to prevent the police or mendicity from
interfering with them, though the police do not
often show a disposition to obstruct them." "The
officers of the Mendicity Society," they tell me, "are
their worst enemies." These, however, have de-
sisted from molesting them, because the magistrates
object to commit a blind man to prison. The
blind never ask anybody for anything, they tell
me their cry is simply "Bootlace! Bootlace!"
When they do sell, they charge 1½d. per pair for
the leather boot-laces, 1d. per pair the silk boot-
laces, and ½d. per pair for the cotton boot-laces,
and ½d. each for the stay-laces. They generally
carry black laces only, because the white ones are
so difficult to keep clean. For the stay-laces they
pay 2d. a dozen, and for the boot-laces 5d. a
dozen, for the leather or for the silk ones; and
1¼d. for the cotton; each of the boot-laces is
double, so that a dozen makes a dozen pair. They
buy them very frequently at a swag-shop in Comp-
ton-street. My informant carried only the black-
cotton laces, and doesn't sell six-penny worth in a
week. He did not know of a blind boot lace-
seller that sold more than he did.

"Formerly the blind people in the street used to
make a great deal of money; up to the beginning
of the peace, and during all the war, the blind got
money in handfuls. Where there was one blind
man travelling then, there's ten now. If they
didn't take 2l. and 2l. 10s. a day in a large
town, it was reckoned a bad day's work for the
musicianers. Almost all the blind people then
played music. In war time there was only one
traveller (tramp); there are 100 now. There was
scarcely a common lodging-house then in one
town out of the three; and now there's not a
village hardly in the country but what there's one,
and perhaps two or three. Why the lodging-houses
coin money now. Look at a traveller's house
where there's twenty beds (two in each bed), at
3d. each, and that's 10s. you know. There was
very few blind beggars then, and what there was
done well. Certainly, done well; they could get
hatfuls of money almost, but then money was of
no valley scarcely; you could get nothing for it
most; but now if you get a little, you can buy a
plenty with it. What is worth 6d. now fetched
2s. then. I wasn't in the streets then, I wish
I had been, I should have made a fortin, I think
I should. The blind beggars then could get 2l. a
day if they went to look for it." "I myself," said
one, "when I first began, have gone and sat
myself down by the side of the road and got my
1l., all in half-pence. When I went to Brain-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 399.]

tree, I stood beside a public-house, the `Orange
Tree,' just by where the foot-people went on to
the fair ground, and I took 15s. a day for two
days only, standing there a pattering my lamen-
tation from 1 o'clock till the dusk in the evening.
This is what I said: —

"Some say `pity the poor blind,' but the lamen-
tation is better. It's a very feeling thing. Many
people stands still and hears it right through, and
gives a halfpenny. I'd give one myself any day
to hear it well said. I'm sure the first time I
heard it the very flesh crept on my bones. I
larnt it to one blind man myself last summer.

"Now just to show you the difference of things
two year afterwards: I went to the very same
place where I had took 1l. by the road side, as I
told, and all I got was 4s., so you can see how
things was falling. The day I took the 1l., there
was only one blind man in the town beside me;
but when I got the 4s., there was three men
blind there. But things now is much worse —
bless you, a hundred times worse. If I went
now to Braintree fair, I don't think as I should
take 3s. You see there's so many blind men now
about that I should'nt wonder if there'd be eight
or ten at that very fair; they don't know where
to run to now to get a halfpenny; there's so many
blind people that persons makes game of them.
If they see two near one another, they cries out,
there's opposition! See what things is come to.
Twelve year ago I should have thought the town
was completely done, and people quite tired of me,
If I didn't get my shilling going down only one side
of a street, and now I may go up and down and
not get a penny. If I get 3d. I am very well satis-
fied. But mind, I may perhaps sometimes meet a
gentlemen who may give me a shilling, or one who
may give me 2s. 6d.; a person the other day
tapped me on the shoulder, near Brook-street,
and said, `Here's half-a-crown for you.' Why,
even five year ago one gentleman gave me 1l. twice over within three months, and Prince Na-
poleon gave me a sovereign last 23rd June was
two year. I know the date, because that's the
day the blind people goes to the Cloth Hall to get
their quarter's money, 25s., and I thought I was
as good as they." My informant told me he does
better than any of them. "Not one does better
than me," he said, "because I sticks to it night and
day. It's 12 o'clock every night before I leave
the streets. You know I leaves home by ten of a
morning. I will have it to get a living. Many
says they don't know how I stand it to keep so
long on my legs. I only has two meals a day —
my breakfast, a bit of summat about five or six at
a public-house — my dog though has plenty. I
feeds him well, poor fellow. Many times I
sleep as I go, and knock my stick just the
same as if I was awake. I get a comfortable
living — always a little in debt. I've got a
very good kerackter, thank God — indeed all the
blind men has — they can always get credit; and
my dog gets me many a shilling that I wouldn't
get at all. But then it's dreadful slavery. I've
never no amusement — always out excepting on
Sunday. Then I've got 5l. from Cloth Hall,
besides a small pension of 1s., and 2s. 6d., and 5s. a year from different gentlemen, who allows us poor
blind a small pension yearly. There are many
gentleman do this at the West-end. Some will
allow 10s. a year, and some only 1s. a year, to a
stated number; and they all pay on a particular
day that they may appoint. The Earl of Mans-
field allows twenty-four destitute blind people
10s. 6d. a year; and his mother gives two blind
1l., and four 10s. The Baroness Rothschild gives
to between seventy and eighty 5s. a piece once a
year." ("Bless her," said my informant, most
heartily, "she is a good woman.") "The Earl
Stanhope gives to between forty and fifty the
same sum every year, and he's a fine kind-
hearted gentleman. The Earl of Cork's brother
gives eight or nine of us a shilling a piece once
a year. Lady Otway Cave, she is very good to
us; she gives seventy or eighty of us 1s. each
every fust of May; but the butler, like a many
more, I am told, takes advantage of the blind,
and puts them off with 6d., and takes a receipt
from them for 1s. The Earl of Normanton gives
2s. 6d. to ten of us. Mrs. Managan, of May-fair,
gives three 2s. 6d. a piece. The Hon. Miss Brande
1s. a piece to eight. Lady Clements, Grosvenor-
square, 2s. a piece to fifteen. The Marchioness
of Aylesbury, 5s. a piece to about thirty. The
Earl of Harrowby gives twelve 5s. a piece. Lord
Dudley Stuart gives to seven or eight 5s. a piece.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 400.]

Mr. Gurney, 1s. a piece to forty. Mr. Ellis, Arling-
ton-street, 2s. 6d. a piece to fourteen. The Mar-
quis of Bute used to give 5s. a piece to sixty or
seventy; but the Marchioness, since his death,
has discontinued his allowance. The Dean of
Westminster gives 1s. a piece to thirty on Boxing-
day. Mr. Spottiswoode, 1s. a piece to about four-
teen. Archbishop of Oxford, 5s. a piece to twelve.
Rev. Sir Samuel Jarvis, 2s. 6d. a piece to five.
Lady Dundas, 1s. a piece to about fourteen or
fifteen. The Earl of Besborough, 1s. each to ten.
Lord Stafford, 1s. each to about twenty; he used
to give 2s. 6d., but, owing to his servant, I am
told the sum has been reduced to 1s. Lady
Isabella Thynne, 1s. to ten. The Countess of
Carlisle, 2s. 6d. each to sixteen. Earl Fitzwilliam
used to give 5s. to some, and 2s. 6d. to others, to
about twenty. The Countess of Essex, 2s. 6d. each to three. Lord Hatherton, 2s. 6d. each to
twelve. John Ashley Warr, Esq., 5s. each to
twenty-four. Lord Tynemouth, 2s. 6d. each to
forty. Miss Vaughan, 2s. 6d. each to forty (this
is bequeathed for ever). Lord Saltoun, 5s. each
to three. Mr. Hope, 1s. each to fifty. Mr. Warren
(Bryanstone-square), 1s. each to twenty-five. Miss
Howard (York-place), 1s. each to every blind per-
son that calls on Boxing-day. Sir John Curtis, 1s. each to eighty (this is also a bequest). Lady
Beresford, 1s. each to forty. Lord Robert Gros-
venor gives 1l. each to some few. The Countess
of Andover, 2s. 6d. a piece to ten. Lord Stanley
used to give 3s. to about twelve; but two years
ago the allowance was discontinued. The Marquis
of Bristol gives 10s. to eighteen. The Bishop of
London, 5s. to every one that can obtain a minis-
ter's signature. Mr. Mackenzie (Devonshire-place),
2s. 6d. to ten. Mr. Deacon, 2s. 6d. to ten. Miss
Sheriff (Manchester-square), 1s. to twenty. Miss
Morrison (Cadogan-place), 1s. each to ten. Mrs.
Kittoye (Wilton-crescent), 1s. to twenty. Mrs.
Ferguson, 2s. 6d. each to seven. The Earl of
Haddington, 10s. each to twelve." I am assured
that these are only half of the donors to the blind,
and that, with the exception of Lady Liddledam,
there is not one person living eastward of Tottenham
Court-road, who allows the smallest pension to the
blind. My informant told me that he knew of no
attorneys, barristers, surgeons, physicians, soldiers
or sailors, who distributed any money to the blind,
nor one tradesman. I think I get 10s. a week
regular," he said. "While the quality's in town
I'm safe. For other times I can't count above 5s. a week at the outside — if it's the least damp in
the world, the quality will not come out. The
musicians, you see, have got the chance of a damp
day, for then all the best people's at home;
but such as me does well only when they're out.
If it wasn't for the pensions that the quality
gives to the blind during the winter, they
couldn't do at all. The blind people who have
guides pay them no wages, they find them
their victuals and clothes; but the guides are
mostly children, and the blind are very good to
them; many that I know spoils them."

The blind people are mostly all of a religious
turn of mind. They all make a point of attending
divine service; and the majority of them are
Catholics. My informant knew only five among
his blind neighbours who were Protestants — and
two of these were Presbyterians, one a Metho-
dist, and two Churchmen; and on the other hand
he numbered up fourteen Catholics, all going to the
same chapel, and living within a short distance of
himself. They are peculiarly distinguished by a
love of music. "It's a sure bit of bread to the
most; besides, it makes them independent, you
see, and that's a great thing to people like us."
There is not one teetotaller, I am told, among the
street blind, but they are not distinguished by a
love of drink. The blind musicians often, when
playing at public-houses, are treated to drink, and,
indeed, when performing in the streets, are taken
by drunken men to play at taverns, and there
supplied with liquor; but they do not any of
them make a habit of drinking. There is, how-
ever, one now in prison who is repeatedly intoxi-
cated; and this, the blind say, is a great injury
to them; for people who see one of them drunk in
the streets, believe that they are all alike; and
there is one peculiarity among them all — being
continually mistaken for one another. However
different they may be in features, still, from the
circumstance of their being blind, and being
mostly accompanied by a dog, or a guide, few
persons can distinguish one from another. They
are mostly very jealous, they tell me, because they
say every one takes advantage of their affliction,
even their own children, and their own wives.
"Some of the wives dress themselves very gaily,
because they know their husbands can't see their
fine clothes, particularly those that have got no
children — then there's none to tell. But, pray mind
I only speaking of some of them — don't blame the
whole. People never took no money out of my
dog's basket — two gals of the town once did try to
steal a shilling out of it, that some gentleman had
dropped in, but the dog barked, and they gave a
scream, and run away. Many of the blind men
have married blind women — they say that they
don't like seeing women. If seeing men find it a
hard job to take care of seeing women, how are
blind men to do it?" My informant knows six
blind men who have married blind wives — the
blind wives, I am told, stick closer to home — and
do not want to go to plays, or dances, or shows,
and have no love of dress — and they are generally
more sober than those who can see. "A blind
person," says one, "has no reason to be as wicked
as those that can see — there's not half the tempta-
tion, you know. The women do all their house-
hold duties as well as if they had their eyesight.
They make puddings and pies, and boil them, or
send them to the oven, as well, as quick, and as
handy as a woman that can see. They sweep the
floor without leaving a speck; and tidy the room,
and black-lead the grate, and whiten the hearth,
and dress the chimney-piece off quite handsome, I
can tell you. They take great pride in their
chimney-piece — they like other people to see it —
and they take great pride in having their house
quite clean and neat. Where I live it's the
remark of all, that they who can't see have their

[Description: 915EAF. Page 401.]

houses the cleanest. I don't know of any blind
person that has a looking-glass over the mantel-
piece, though. I'm sure that many would, if
they had the money, just to please their friends.
And, what's more strange, the blind wives will
wash their husbands' shirts quite clean." "The
blind are very fond of their children, you see, sir,"
said one; "we owe so much to them, they're such
helps to us, even from their very infancy. You'll
see a little thing that can hardly walk, leading
her blind father about, and then, may be, our
affliction makes them loves us the more. The
blind people are more comfortable at home — they
are more together, and more dependent on one
another, and don't like going out into company as
others do. With women a love of company is
mostly of a love of seeing others, and being seen
themselves, so the blind wives is happy and con-
tented at home. No man that could see, unless
he was a profligate, would think of marrying a
blind woman; and the blind women knows this,
and that's why they love their blind husbands the
more — they pity one another, and so can't help
liking each other." Now, it's strange, that with
so many blind couples living together, no one ever
heard of any accident from fire with blind people
— the fact is, their blindness makes them so care-
ful, that there's no chance of it; besides, when
there's two blind people together, they never
hardly light a candle at all, except when a stranger
comes in, and then they always ask him, before
he leaves, to put the light out.

The blind people generally are persons of great
feeling; they are very kind and charitable to per-
sons who are in any way afflicted, or even to poor
persons. Many of those who live on charity
themselves are, I am assured, very generous to
those that want. One told me that "a beggar
had come to his house, and he had made him
cry with his story; my heart" he said, "was
that full I was ashamed." They're not par-
ticularly proud, though they like to be well-
dressed, and they say that no one can get a wife
so soon as a blind man. One assured me that
he'd go into any lodging-house in the country
and get two or three if he wanted — only they'd
fight, he said. "You see in the lodging-houses
there are many woman whose husbands (but they're
not married, you know) have told them to go on
and said they would follow them, which of course
they don't; or there's many in such places as
wants a companion. When a blind man goes into
one of these houses, a woman is sure to say to him,
`Can I fetch you anything, master?' Half an
ounce of tea may be, and when they've got it, of
course, they're invited to have a cup, and that
does the business. She becomes the blind man's
guide after that. The next morning, after telling
one another where to meet — `I'm going such a
road,' they whisper to each other, — away they
starts. I've known many a blind man run away
with a seeing man's wife. The women, I think,
does it for a living, and that's all.

"I can't see the least light in the world
— not the brightest sun that ever shone. I
have pressed my eye-balls — they are quite de
cayed, you see; but I have pushed them in,
and they have merely hurt me, and the water
has run from them faster than ever. I have never
seen any colours when I did so." (This question
was asked to discover whether the illusion called
"peacock's feathers" could still be produced by
pressure on the nerve). "I have been struck on
the eye since I have been blind, and then I
have seen a flash of fire like lightning. I know
it's been like that, because I've seen the
lightning sometimes, when it's been very vivid,
even since I was stone blind. It was terrible
pain when I was struck on the eye. A man one
day was carrying some chairs along the street, and
struck me right in the eye ball with the end of
the leg of one of the chairs; and I fell to the
ground with the pain. I thought my heart was
coming out of my mouth; then I saw the brightest
flash that ever I saw, either before or since I was
blind." (I irritated the ball of the eye with the
object of discovering whether the nerve was de-
cayed, but found it impossible to produce any lu-
minous impression — though I suspect this arose prin-
cipally from the difficulty of getting him to direct
his eye in the proper direction). "I know the differ-
ence of colours, because I remember them; but I
can't distinguish them by my touch, nor do I
think that any blind man in the world ever could.
I have heard of blind people playing at cards, but
it's impossible they can do so any other way than
by having them marked. I know many that
plays cards that way." He was given two similar
substances, but of different colours, to feel, but
could not distinguish between them — both were
the same to him, he said, "with the exception that
one felt stiffer than the other. I know hundreds
of people myself — and they know hundreds more
— and none of us has ever heard of one that could
tell colours by the feel. There's blind people in
the school can tell the colours of their rods; but
they do so by putting their tongue to them, and
so they can distinguish them that's been dipped in
copperas from them that hasn't. I know blind people
can take a clock to pieces, and put it together again,
as well as any person that can see. Blind
people gets angry when they hear people talk of
persons seeing with their fingers. A man has
told me that a blind person in St. James's work-
house could read the newspaper with his fingers,
but that, the blind know, is quite impossible."

Many blind men can, I am told, distinguish
between the several kinds of wood by touch alone.
Mahogany, oak, ash, elm, deal, they say, have all
a different feel. They declare it is quite ridiculous,
the common report, that blind people can discern
colours by the touch. One of my informants, who
assured me that he was considered to be one of
the cleverest of blind people, told me that he had
made several experiments on this subject, and
never could distinguish the least difference between
black or red, or white, or yellow, or blue, or, in-
deed, any of the mixed colours. "My wife," said
one, "went blind so young, that she doesn't never
remember having seen the light; and I am often
sorry for her that she has no idea of what a beau-
tiful thing light or colours is. We often talk about

[Description: 915EAF. Page 402.]

it together, and then she goes a little but melan-
choly, because I can't make her understand what
the daylight is like, or the great delight that there
is in seeing it. I've often asked whether she
knows that the daylight and the candlelight is of
different colours, and she has told me she thinks
they are the same; but then she has no notion of
colours at all. Now, it's such people as these I
pities." I told the blind man of Sanderson's won-
derful effect of imagination in conceiving that the
art of seeing was similar to that of a series of
threads being drawn from the distant object to
the eye; and he was delighted with the explana-
tion, saying, "he could hardly tell how a born blind
man could come at such an idea." On talking with
this man, he told me he remembered having seen
a looking-glass once — his mother was standing
putting her cap on before it, and he thought he
never saw anything so pretty as the reflection of
the half-mourning gown she had on, and the white
feathery pattern upon it (he was five years old then).
He also remembered having seen his shadow, and
following it across the street; these were the only
two objects he can call to mind. He told me that
he knew many blind men who could not compre-
hend how things could be seen, round or square,
all at once; they are obliged, they say, to pass
their fingers all over them; and how it is that the
shape of a thing can be known in an instant, they
cannot possibly imagine. I found out that this
blind man fancied the looking-glass reflected only
one object at once — only the object that was imme-
diately in front of it; and when I told him that,
looking in the glass, I could see everything in the
room, and even himself, with my back turned to-
wards him, he smiled with agreeable astonishment.
He said, "You see how little I have thought about
the matter." There was a blind woman of his
acquaintance, he informed me, who could thread
the smallest needle with the finest hair in a minute,
and never miss once. "She'll do it in a second.
Many blind women thread their needles with their
tongues; the woman who stitches by the Poly-
technic always does so." My informant was very
fond of music. One of the blind makes his own
teeth, he told me; his front ones have all been
replaced by one long bit of bone which he has
fastened to the stumps of his two eye teeth: he
makes them out of any old bit of bone he can
pick up. He files them and drills a hole through
them to fasten them into his head, and eats his food
with them. He is obliged to have teeth because he
plays the clarionet in the street. "Music," he said,
"is our only enjoyment, we all like to listen to it
and learn it." It affects them greatly, they tell me,
and if a lively tune is played, they can hardly help
dancing. "Many a tune I've danced to so that I
could hardly walk the next day," said one. Almost
all of the blind men are clever at reckoning. It
seems to come natural to them after the loss of their
sight. By counting they say they spend many a dull
hour — it appears to be all mental arithmetic with
them, for they never aid their calculations by their
fingers or any signs whatever. My informant
knew a blind man who could reckon on what day
it was new moon for a hundred years back, or when
it will be new moon a century to come — he had
never had a book read to him on the subject in his
life — he was one of the blind wandering musicians,
My informant told me he often sits for hours and
calculates how many quarters of ounces there are
in a ship-load of tea, and such like things. Many
of the blind are very partial to the smell of
flowers. My informant knew one blind man
about the streets who always would have some
kind of smelling flowers in his room.

"The blind are very ingenious; oh, very!" said
one to me, "they can do anything that they can
feel. One blind man who kept a lodging-house at
Manchester and had a wife fond of drink, made a
little chest of drawers (about two feet high), in
which he used to put his money, and so cleverly
did he arrange it that neither his wife nor any one
else could get at the money without breaking the
drawers all to pieces. Once while her blind hus-
band was on his travels, she opened every drawer
by means of false keys, and though she took each
one out, she could find no means to get at the
money, which she could hear jingling inside when
she shook it. At last she got so excited over it that
she sent for a carpenter, and even he was obliged to
confess that he could not get to it without taking
the drawers to pieces. The same blind man had a
great fancy for white mice, and made a little house
for them out of pieces of wood cut into the shape
of bricks: there were doors, windows, and all," said
my informant. The blind are remarkable for the
quickness of their hearing — one man assured me
he could hear the lamp-posts in the streets, and,
indeed, any substance (any solid thing he said)
that he passed in the street, provided it be as high
as his ear; if it were below that he could not hear it so well.

"Do you know, I can hear any substance in
the street as I pass it by, even the lamp-post or a
dead wall — anything that's the height of my
head, let it be ever so small, just as well, and tell
what it is as well as you as can see. One night
I was coming home — you 'll be surprised to hear
this — along Burlington-gardens, between twelve
and one o'clock, and a gentleman was following
me. I knew he was not a poor man by his walk,
but I didn't consider he was watching me. I just
heerd when I got between Sackville-street and
Burlington-street. Oh, I knows every inch of
the street, and I can go as quick as you can, and
walk four mile an hour; know where I am all the
while. I can tell the difference of the streets by
the sound of my ear — a wide street and a narrow
street — I can't tell a long street till I get to the
bottom of it. I can tell when I come to an open-
ing or a turning just by the click on the ear, with-
out either my touching with hand or stick. Well,
as I was saying, this gentleman was noticing me,
and just as I come to turn up Cork-street, which,
you know, is my road to go into Bond-street, on
my way home; just as I come into Cork-street,
and was going to turn round the corner, the
sergeant of police was coming from Bond-street,
at the opposite corner of Cork-street, I heerd him,
and he just stopped to notice me, but didn't know
the gentleman was noticing me too. I whipped

[Description: 915EAF. Page 403.]

round the corner as quick as any man that had
his sight, and said, `Good night, policeman.' I
can tell a policeman's foot anywhere, when he
comes straight along in his regular way while on
his beat, and they all know it too. I can't tell
it where there's a noise, but in the stillness of the
night nothing would beat me. I can't hear the
lamp-posts when there's a noise. When I said,
`Good night, policeman,' the gentleman whipped
across to him, and says, `Is that man really blind?"
and by this time I was half way up Cork-street,
when the gentleman hallooed to me to stop; and
he comes up, and says, says he, `Are you really
blind?' The sergeant of police was with him, and
he says, `Yes, he is really blind, sir;' and then he
says, `How is it that you go so cleverly along the
street if you're blind?' Well, I didn't want to
stop bothering with him, so I merely says, `I
do far cleverer things than that. I can hear the
lamp-post as well as you that can see it.' He
says, `Yes, because you know the distance from one
to another.' The sergeant stood there all the time,
and he says, `No, that can't be, for they're not a
regular distance one from another.' Then the
gentleman says, `Now, could you tell if I was
standing in the street when you passed me by?'
I said, `Yes; but you mustn't stand behind the
lamp-post to deceive me with the sound of the
substance.' Then he went away to try me, and a
fine try we had. He will laugh when he sees
that they're all put down. When he went away I
recollected that if he didn't stand as near to the
pavement as the lamp-post is, and remain still,
he'd deceive me. Oh, certainly, I couldn't hear
him if he was far off, and I shouldn't hear him in
the same way as I can hear the lamp-posts if he
didn't stand still. The policeman hallooed after
him, and told him that he mustn't deceive me;
but he wouldn't make no answer, for fear I should
catch the sound of his voice and know where he
was. I had agreed to touch every substance as I
went along and round the street to look for him;
we always call it looking though we are blind.
Well, when he had stood still the sergeant told me
to go; he's the sergeant of St. James' station-
house, and has been often speaking to me since
about it; and on I went at the rate of about three
mile an hour, and touched every lamp-post with-
out feeling for them, but just struck them with my
stick as I went by, without stopping, and cried
out, `There's a substance.' At last I come to him.
There's a mews, you know, just by the hotel in
Cork-street, and the gentleman stood between the
mews and Clifford-street, in Cork-street; and when
I come up to him, I stopped quite snddenly, and
cried out `There's a substance.' As I was offering
to touch him with my stick, he drew back very
softly, just to deceive me. Then he would have
another try, but I picked him out again, but that
wouldn't satisfy him, and he would try me a third
time; and then, when I come up to him, he kept
drawing back, right into the middle of the road.
I could hear the stones scrunch under his feet; so
I says, `Oh, that's not fair;' and he says, `Well,
I'm bet.' Then he made me a present, and said
that he would like to spend an hour some night
with me again. I don't think he was a doc-
tor, 'cause he never took no notice of my eyes,
but he was a real gentleman — the sergeant
said so.

"When I dream, it's just the as I am
now, I dream of hearing and touching. The last
dream that I had was about a blind man — that's
in prison just now. I went into his wife's house,
I knew it was her house by the sound of my foot
in it. I can tell whether a place is clean or dirty
by the sound. Then I heard her say, `Well, how
do you get on?' and I said `Very well;' and she
said `Sit down,' and after sitting there a little
while, I heard a voice at the door, and I said to
her, `Bless me, wouldn't you think that was John;'
she said, `Yes, I would,' but she took no farther
notice, and I heard his voice repeatedly. I
thought he was speaking to a child, and I got up
and went to the door, and says, `Halloa! is this
you;' I was quite surprised and took him by the
arm (laying his hand on his own) and he was in
his shirt sleeves. I knew that by the feel. Then
I was kind of afeard of him, though I am not
afeard of anything. I was rather surprised that
he should come out three weeks before his time.
Then I dreamt that he tried to frighten and
pushed me down on the floor, that way (making
the motion sideways), to make me believe he was
a ghost. I felt it as plain as I should if you
were to do the same to me now. I says to him
`Don't be so foolish, sit down', and I pushed him
away and got up. When I got up, his wife says
to him, `Sit down, John, and don't be so foolish;
sit down, and behave yourself;' and then we set
down the two of us, just on the edge of the bed
(here he moved his hand along the edge of the
table). I thought it was turned down. He's a
very resolute man and a wicked one, this blind
man is, so I would like to have been out from
him, but I was afeard to go, for he'd got a hold of
me; after that I waked and I heerd no more.
But it's my real opinion that he's dead now, it is
indeed, through having such dreams of him I
think so; and the same night his wife dreamt
that I was killed and all knocked into about a
hundred pieces; and those two dreams convince
me something's come to him. Oh, I do firmly be-
lieve in dreams, that I do; they're sent for people
to foresee things, I'm certain of it, if people will
only take notice of 'em. I have been many times
in prison myself, while I've been travelling the
country. You know in many towns they comes
and takes you up without given you never no
warning if they catches you begging. I was took
up once in Liverpool, once in Hull, once in Exeter,
and once in Biddeford, in Devonshire. Most of
the times I had a month, and one of them only
seven days. I think that's very unjust — never
to say you mustn't do it; but to drag you off
without never no warning. Every time before I
was put in quod I had always dreamt that my
father was starving to death for want of victuals,
and at last I got to know whenever I dreamt
that, I was sure of going to prison. I never
dreamt about my mother; she died, you see, when
I was very young, and I never remember hearing

[Description: 915EAF. Page 404.]

her speak but once or twice. My father never
did the thing that was right to me, and I didn't
care much about him. When I was at home I
was very fond of pigeons, and my mind went
so much upon them, that I used to dream of it
the night before, always when they had eggs,
and when my rabbits had young ones too. I
know when I wake in the morning that I am
awake by my thoughts. Sometimes I dream
I've got a lot of money in my hand, and when
I wake and put my hand to feel it, it's gone,
there's none there, and so I know it's been only a
dream. I'm much surprised at my disappointment
though."

Many of the blind are very fond of keeping
birds and animals; some of them keep pigeons in
one of their rooms, others have cocks and hens,
and others white mice and rabbits, and almost all
have dogs, though all are not led about by them.
Some blind men take delight in having nothing
but bull-dogs, not to lead them, but solely for
fancy. Nobody likes a dog so much as a blind
man, I am told — "they can't — the blind man is
so much beholden to his dog, he does him such
favours and sarvices." "With my dog I can go to
any part of London as independent as any one
who has got his sight. Yesterday afternoon when
I left your house, sir, I was ashamed of going
through the street. People was a saying, `Look'ee
there, that's the man as says he's blind.' I
was going so quick, it was so late you know,
they couldn't make it out, but without my dog
I must have crawled along, and always be in
great fear. The name of my present dog is
`Keeper;' he is a mongrel breed; I have had
him nine years, and he is with me night and
day, goes to church with me and all. If I
go out without him, he misses me, and then he
scampers all through the streets where I am in the
habit of going, crying and howling after me, just as
if he was fairly out of his mind. It's astonishing.
Often, before my first blind wife died (for I've
been married twice to blind women, and once to a
seeing woman), I used to say I'd sooner lose my
wife than my dog; but when I did lose her I was
sorry that ever I did say so. I didn't know what
it was. I'm sorry for it yet, and ever will be
sorry for it; she was a very good woman, and had
fine principles. I shall never get another that I
liked so much as the first. My dog knows every
word I say to him. Tell him to turn right or left,
or cross over, and whip! round he goes in a mo-
ment. Where I go for my tobacco, at the shop in
Piccadilly, close to the Arcade — it's down six or
seven steps, straight down — and when I tells
Keeper to go to the baccy shop, off he is, and drags
me down the steps, with the people after me, think-
ing he's going to break my neck down the place,
and the people stands on top the steps making all
kinds of remarks, while I'm below. If he was to
lose me to-night or to-morrow, he'd come back here
and rise the whole neighbourhood. He knows
any public-house, no matter whether he was there
before or not; just whisper to him, go to the
public-house, and away he scampers and drags me
right into the first he comes to. Directly I whis-
per to him, go to the public-house, he begins play-
ing away with the basket he has in his mouth,
throwing it up and laying it down — throwing it
and laying it down for pleasure; he gets his rest
there, and that's why he's so pleased. It's the
only place I can go to in my rounds to sit down.
Oh, he's a dear clever fellow. Now, only to show
you how faithful he is, one night last week I was
coming along Burlington-gardens, and I stopped to
light my pipe as I was coming home, and I let
him loose to play a bit and get a drink; and after
I had lit my pipe I walked on, for I knew the
street very well without any guide. I didn't take
notice of the dog, for I thought he was following
me. I was just turning into Clifford-street when
I heard the cries of him in Burlington-gardens.
I know his cry, let him be ever so far away; the
screech that he set up was really quite dreadful;
it would grieve anybody to hear him. So I puts
my fingers in my mouth and gives a loud whistle;
and at last he heard me, and then up he comes
tearing along and panting away as if his heart was
in his mouth; and when he gets up to me he
jumped up to me right upon my back, and screams
like — as if really he wanted to speak — you can't
call it panting, because it's louder than that, and
he does pant when he a'n't tired at all; all I can
say is, it's for all the world like his speaking, and
I understands it as such. If I say a cross word
to him after he's lost — such as, ah, you rascal, you
— he'll just stand of one side, and give a cry just
like a Christian. I've known him break the
windows up two story high when I've left him
behind, and down he would have been after me
only he durstn't jump out. I've had Keeper nine
year. The dog I had before him was Blucher;
he was a mongrel too; he had a tail like a wolf,
an ear like a fox, and a face black like a monkey.
I had him thirteen year. He was as clever as
Keeper, but not so much loved as he is. At last
he went blind; he was about two year losing his
sight. When I found his eyes was getting bad I
got Keeper. The way I first noticed him going
blind was when I would come to cross a street on
my way home; at nightfall the shade of the house
on the opposite side, as we was crossing, would
frighten him and drive him in the middle of the
road; and he wouldn't draw to the pavement till
he found he was wrong; and then after that he
began to run again the lamp-posts in the dark;
when he did this he'd cry out just like a Chris-
tian. I was sorry for him, and he knowed that,
for I used to fret. I was sorry for him on ac-
count of my own affliction. At last I was obli-
gated to take to Keeper. I got him of another
blind man, but he had no larning in him when he
come to me. I was a long time teaching him, for I
didn't do it all at once. I could have teached him
in a week, but I used to let the old dog have a
run, while I put Keeper into the collar for a bit"
(here the blind man was some time before he could
proceed for his tears), "and so he larnt all he knows,
little by little. Now Keeper and Blucher used to
agree pretty well; but I've got another dog now,
named Dash, and Keeper's as jealous of him as a
woman is of a man. If I say, `Come Keeper,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 405.]

come and have the collar on,' I may call twenty
times before he'll come; but if I say, `Dash,
come and have the collar on,' Keeper's there the first
word, jumping up agin me, and doing anything
but speak. At last my old Blucher went stone
blind, as bad as his master; it was, poor thing;
and then he used to fret so when I went out
without him that I couldn't bear it, and so
got at length to take him always with me,
and then he used to follow the knock of my
stick. He done so for about six months, and
then I was one night going along Piccadilly and
I stops speaking to a policeman, and Blucher
misses me; he couldn't hear where I was for the
noise of the carriages. He didn't catch the sound
of my stick, and couldn't hear my voice for the
carriages, so he went seeking me into the middle
of the road, and there a buss run over him, poor
thing. I heerd him scream out and I whistled
to him, and he came howling dreadful on to the
pavement again. I didn't think he was so much
hurt then, for I puts the collar on him to take
him safe back, and he led me home blind as he
was. The next morning he couldn't rise up at
all, his hind parts was useless to him. I took
him in my arms and found he couldn't move.
Well, he never eat nor drink nothing for a week,
and got to be in such dreadful pain that I was
forced to have him killed. I got a man to drown
him in a bag. I could'nt have done it myself
for all the world. It would have been as bad to
me as killing a Christian. I used to grieve terri-
bly after I'd lost him. I couldn't get him off
my mind. I had had him so many years, and he
had been with me night and day, my constant
companion, and the most faithful friend I ever
had, except Keeper: there's nothing in the world
can beat Keeper for faithfulness — nothing."

OF THE LIFE OF A BLIND BOOT-LACE SELLER.

The blind boot lace-seller who gave me the fol-
lowing history of his life was the original of the
portrait given in No. 17. He was a tall, strongly-
built man. In face he was ghastly, his cheek
bones were sharp and high, his nose flat to his
face, and his eyes were so deeply sunk in that he
had more the appearance of a death's head than
of a living man. His shirt was scrupulously
clean. He wore a bright red cotton neckerchief
and a plaid waistcoat of many colours. His
dog accompanied him and never left his master's
side one moment.

"It's very sorrowful — very sorrowful indeed
to hear that," said the boot-lace seller to me, on
my reading him the account of the blind needle-
seller; "it touches me much to hear that. But
you see I don't grieve for the loss of my sight as
he do, poor man. I don't remember ever seeing
any object. If there was a thing with many
colours in it, I could dissarn the highest colour.
I couldn't tell one from another, but only the
highest.

"I was born in Northumberland," he said,
"about five-and-fifty years ago. My father was
a grocer and had 1,000l. worth of freehold property
besides his business, which was very large for a
small town; his was the principal shop, and in
the general line. He had a cart of his own, in
which he attended market. I was very comfort-
ably brought up, never wanted for nothing, and had
my mother lived I should have had an independ-
ent fortune. At five years old, while mother
was still alive, I caught the small pox. I had
four sisters and one brother, and we all six had it
at once; that was before the vaccination was
properly established. I've heerd said that father
did not want to have us inoculated, because of
the people coming backwards and forwards to the
shop. I only wish vaccination had been in vogue
then as it is now, and I shouldn't have lost my
eyes. God bless the man who brought it up, I
say; people doesn't know what they've got to
thank him for. Well, all my sisters and brothers
had not a mark upon them. It laid hold of only
me. They couldn't lay a finger upon me, they
was obligated to lift me up in one of my father's
shirts, by holding the corners of it like a sheet. As
soon as ever the pock began to decay it took
away my eyes altogether. I didn't lose both my
eyeballs till about twenty years after that, though
my sight was gone for all but the shadow of day-
light and any high colours. At sixteen years of
age my left eye bursted; I suffered terribly then —
oh terribly! yes, that I did. The black-and-white
like all mixed together, the pock came right
through the star of the eye the doctor said; and
when I was five-and-twenty my other eye-ball
bursted, and then my eyes was quite out of my
head. Till that time I could see a little bit; I
could tell the daylight, and I could see the moon,
but not the shape of it. I never could see a star,
and do you know I grieved about the loss of that
little bit of sight as much as if I was losing the
whole of it. As my eye-ball sloughed day by
day, I could see the light going away by little,
every day till the week's end. When I looked at
the daylight just before it all went, I could see
the light look as red as fire — as red as blood;
and when it all left me, oh, I was dreadful sor-
rowful, I thought I was lost altogether. But, I
shouldn't have been so bad off, as I said, if
mother had lived, but she died when I was about
six year old. I didn't care much about her, indeed I
took a dreadful dislike to her. I heerd her say
one day to a person in the shop, that she
would sooner see me dead and buried than
be as I was, but now I know that it was her
fondness for me. Mother catched a cold, and
died after six day's illness. When she was gone,
father got to neglect his business. He had no one
then to attend to it, and he took and shut up the
shop. He lost heart, you see. He took and
turned all the tenants out of his property, and
furnished all the rooms of a large house suitable
for the quality that used to come to the town to
bathe. He mortgaged the place for 250l. to buy
the furniture, and that was the ruin of him.
Eighteen years afterwards the lawyers got the
better of him, and all the family was turned out
of the door without a penny. My father they'd
put in jail before. He died a few years afterwards
in the workhouse. When the family was turned

[Description: 915EAF. Page 406.]

out, there was only my eldest brother away at
sea, and my eldest sister in sarvice; so me and my
three sisters was sent in the wide world without
the means of getting a crust or a place to put our
heads in. All my sisters after that got into
sarvice, and I went to drive some coal carts at
North Shields. The coal carts was father's, and
they was all he had left out of his property; so I
used to go to Wall's End and fill the carts, then
take them down to North Shields and sell them
at the people's doors. We never used to sell less
than the load. I did all this, blind as I was,
without a person to guide, and continued at it
night and day for about fifteen year. It was
well known to the whole country side. I was
the talk for miles round. They couldn't believe
I was blind; though they see my eyes was gone,
still they couldn't hardly believe. Then, after the
fifteen year, me and my father had a complete
fall out. He took an advantage of my sister. He
had borrowed 20l. of her, and when he could he
wouldn't pay her. He behaved as bad as father
could, and then I broke with him." (He then
went over the whole story, and was affected,
even to speechlessness, at the remembrance of his
family troubles. Into these there is no necessity
to enter here; suffice it, the blind man appears
to have behaved very nobly.) "I came away
and went to my brother, who was well of at
Hull; when I got there, I found he had gone to
Russia and died there that very spring. While I
was on my way to Hull, I used to go to sleep at the
lodging-houses for travellers. I had never been in
one before, and there I got to think, from what I
heerd, that a roving life was a fine pleasant one.
The very first lodging-house I went into was one
in Durham, and there persons as was coming the
same road persuaded me to go and beg with them,
but I couldn't cheek it; it was too near hand at
home. We came on to Darlington, that was 18
miles further, that day. They still kept company
with me, and wanted me to beg, but I wouldn't;
I couldn't face it. I thought people would know
me. The next day we started on our way to
Northallerton, and then my few shillings was all
gone; so that night we went to seek relief, and
got a pennyworth of milk, and a penny loaf each
and our bed. The parish gave us a ticket to a
lodging-house. The next morning we started from
Northallerton, and then I was very hungry; all I
had the day before was the pennyworth of bread
I got from the parish. Then as we got about a
mile out of the town, there was a row of houses,
and the Scotchman who was with me says, `If
ye'll gang up wi' me, I'll speak for ye.' Well,
we went up and got 3d., and plenty of bread and
butter; almost every house we got something at;
then I was highly delighted; thinks I, this is a
business — and so I did. We shared with the
other man who had come on the road with us, and
after that we started once more, and then I was
all eager to go on with the same business.
You see I'd never had no pleasure, and it
seemed to me like a new world — to be
able to get victuals without doing anything —
instead of slaving as I'd been with a couple
of carts and horses at the coal-pits all the time.
I didn't think the country was half so big, and
you couldn't credit the pleasure I felt in going
about it. I felt as if I didn't care for nothing; it
was so beautiful to be away there quite free, with-
out any care in the world, for I could see plainly
I could always get the best of victuals, and the
price of my lodgings. There's no part in all
England like Yorkshire for living. We used to
go to all the farm-houses, we wouldn't miss one
if it was half a mile off the road; if the Scotchman
who was with me could only see a road he'd
take me up it, and we got nice bits of pie and
meat, and bread and cake, indeed as much as
would serve four people, when we got to the
lodging-house at night and a few shillings beside.
I soon got not to care about the loss of my brother.
At last we got to make so much money that I
thought it was made to chuck about the streets.
We got it so easy, you see. It was only 4s. or
5s., but then I was only a flatty or I could have
made 14s. or 15s. at least. This was in Borough-
bridge, and there at a place called, I think,
Bridely-hill, there was a lodging-house without
never a bed in it at all; but only straw littered
on the ground, and here I found upwards of sixty
or seventy, all tramps, and living in different ways,
pattering, and thieving, and singing, and all sorts;
and that night I got to think it was the finest
scene I had ever known. I grew pleaseder, and
pleaseder, with the life, and wondered how any
one could follow any other. There was no drunken-
ness, but it was so new and strange, and I'd never
known nothing of life before, that I was bewil-
dered, like, with over-joy at it. Then I soon got to
think I'd have the summer's pleasure out and
wouldn't go near Hull till the back end of the year,
for it was the month of May, that what I'm
talking about took place; and so things went on.
I never thought of home, or sisters, or anything,
indeed. I was so over-joyed that I could think
of nothing else. Whenever I got to a new country
it seemed like getting into a new nation, and
when I heard we were close upon a new place I
used to long and long to get into it. At last I
left the Scotchman and took up with an old sailor,
a man-of-warsman, who was coming up to London
to get his pension, and he was a regular `cadger'
like the other who had put me `fly to the dodge,'
though none of us wer'nt `fly' to nothing then.
I can't tell you, I wanted to, how I longed to be in
town, and, as I came through the streets with him, I
didn't know whether I carried the streets or they
carried me. You see I had heard people talk about
London in North Shields, and I thought there was
no poor people there at all — none but ladies and
gentlemen and sailors. In London the sailor drew
his pension, and he and me got robbed, and then
the sailor left me, and then I started off without
a penny into the country; and at Stratford-le-Bow
I began, for the first time, to say, `Pity the poor
blind.' Up to this time I had never axed no one
— never spoke, indeed — the cadgers who had been
with me had done this for me, and glad to have
the chance of sharing with me. A blind man
can get a guide at any place, because they know

[Description: 915EAF. Page 407.]

he's sure to get something. I took only 5d. at
Stratford-le-Bow, and then started on my way to
Romford; and there, in the lodging-house, I met a
blind man, who took me in partnership with him,
and larnt me my business complete — that he just
did, and since then I've been following it, and
that's about two or three and twenty year ago.
Since I've been in London, and that's fourteen
year, I've lived very regular, always had a place,
and attended my church. If it hadn't been for
the lodging-houses I should never, may be, have
been as I am; though, I must confess, I always
had a desire to find out travelling, but couldn't
get hold of any one to put me in the way of it.
I longed for a roving life and to shake a loose leg,
still I couldn't have done much else after my
quarrel with my father. My sister had offered to
lend me money enough to buy a horse and cart
for myself, but I didn't like that, and thought I'd
get it of my brother at Hull; and that and the
padding kens is solely the cause of my being as I
am; and since I first travelled there's more now
than ever — double and treble as many."

OF THE LOW LODGING-HOUSES.

The revelations of the Blind Boot-Lace Seller con-
cerning the low lodging-houses make me anxious
to arouse the public to a full sense of the atrocities
committed and countenanced in those infamous
places. It will have been noticed that the blind
man frankly tells us that he was "taught his
business" as a mendicant in one of these houses
of call for vagabonds of all kinds — beggars, pros-
titutes, cheats, and thieves. Up to the time of his
starting to see his brother at Hull, he appears to
have had no notion of living but by his labour,
and, more especially, no wish to make a trade of
his affliction. Till then he seems to have been
susceptible of some of the nobler impulses of hu-
manity, and to have left his home solely because
he refused to be party to a fraud on his own sis-
ter. Unfortunately, however, on his way to carry
out his generous purposes, he put up for the night
at the "travellers" house in the town where he
arrived, at the end of his first day's journey; from
the very minute that he set foot in the place he
was a lost man. Here were assembled scores of
the most degraded and vicious members of so-
ciety, lying in ambush, as it were, like tigers in
the jungle, ready to spring upon and make a prey
of any one who came within the precincts of their
lair. To such as these — sworn to live on the la-
bours of others, and knowing almost to a sixpence
the value of each human affliction as a means of
operating upon both the heart-strings and the
purse-strings of the more benevolent of the in-
dustrious or the affluent — to such as these, I say,
a blind man, unskilled in the art and system
of mendicancy, was literally a God-send. A
shipwreck or a colliery explosion, as they too
well knew, some of the more sceptical of the
public might call in question, but a real blind man,
with his eye-balls gone, was beyond all doubt;
and to inspire faith, as they were perfectly aware,
was one of the most important and diffi-
cult processes of the beggar's craft. Besides, of
all misfortunes, blindness is one which, to those
who have their sight, appears not only the greatest
of human privations, but a privation which wholly
precludes the possibility of self-help, and so gives
the sufferer the strongest claim on our charity.
In such a place, therefore, as a low lodging-house,
the common resort of all who are resolved not to
work for their living, it was almost impossible
for a blind man to pass even an hour without
every virtuous principle of his nature being un-
dermined, and overtures of the most tempting
character being made to him. To be allowed to
go partners in so valuable a misfortune was a
privilege that many there would strive for; ac-
cordingly, as we have seen, the day after the
blind man entered the low lodging-house, he who,
up to that time, had been, even in his affliction,
earning his living, was taken out by one of the
"travellers," and taught how much better a
living — how much more of the good things of this
world — he could get by mendicancy than by in-
dustry; and from the very hour when the blind
man learnt this, the most dangerous lesson that
any human being can possibly be taught, he be-
came, heart and soul, an ingrained beggar. His
description of the delight he felt when he found
that he had no longer any need to work — that he
could rove about the country as he pleased —
without a care, without a purpose — with a perfect
sense of freedom, and a full enjoyment of the
open air in the day, and the wild licence of the
lodging-house society at night, satisfied that he
could get as much food and drink, and even
money as he needed, solely for the asking for
it; his description of this is a frank confession of
a few of the charms of vagabondism — charms to
which the more sedate are not only strangers, but
of which they can form no adequate conception.
The pleasure of "shaking a loose leg," as the va-
grants themselves call it, is, perhaps, known only
in its intensity by those wayward spirits who
object to the restraint of work or the irksome-
ness of any settled pursuit. The perfect thought-
lessness that the blind man describes as the first
effect produced upon him by his vagabondism is the
more remarkable, because it seems to have effaced
from his mind all regard, even for the sister for
whose sake he had quitted his home — though to
those who have made a study of the vagrant charac-
ter it is one of those curious inconsistencies which
form the principal feature in the idiosyncrasy of
the class, and which, indeed, are a necessary
consequence of the very purposelessness, or want
of some permanent principle or feeling, which
constitutes, as it were, the mainspring of vaga-
bondism. Indeed, the blind man was a strange
compound of cunning and good feeling; at one
moment he was weeping over the afflictions of
others — he was deeply moved when I read to him
the sufferings of the Crippled Nutmeg-Grater Seller;
and yet, the next minute he was grinning be-
hind his hand, so that his laughter might be con-
cealed from me, in a manner that appeared almost
fiendish. Still, I am convinced that at heart he
was far from a bad man; there was, amid the
degradation that necessarily comes of habitual

[Description: 915EAF. Page 408.]

mendicancy, a fine expression of sympathy, that
the better class of poor always exhibit towards
the poor; nor could I help wondering when I
heard him — the professed mendicant — tell me
how he had been moved to tears by the recital of
the sufferings of another mendicant — sufferings
that might have been as profitable a stock in
trade to the one as his blindness was to the other;
though it is by no means unusual for objects of
charity to have their objects of charity, and to be
imposed upon by fictitious or exaggerated tales of
distress, almost as often as they impose upon
others by the very same means.

I now invite the reader's attention to the narra-
tives given below as to the character of the low
lodging-houses. The individuals furnishing me
with those statements, it should be observed, were
not "picked" people, but taken promiscuously
from a number belonging to the same class. I
shall reserve what else I may have to remark on
the subject till the conclusion of those state-
ments.

Prisons, tread-mills, penal settlements, gallows,
I said, eighteen months ago, in the `Morning
Chronicle,' are all vain and impotent as punish-
ments — and Ragged Schools and City missions
are of no avail as preventives of crime — so long
as the wretched dens of infamy, brutality, and
vice, termed "padding-kens" continue their
daily and nightly work of demoralization. If we
would check the further spread of our criminals —
and within the last four years they have increased
from 24,000 to 30,000 — we must apply ourselves
to the better regulation and conduct of these
places. At present they are not only the pre-
paratory schools, but the finishing academies for
every kind of profligacy and crime.

According to the report of the Constabulary
Commissioners, there were in 1839 —

                 

	Mendicants' Lodging- houses.	Lodgers.	Total No. of Inmates.
In London	221 average	11 or	2,431
In Liverpool	176	6	1,056
Bristol	69	7	483
Bath	14	9	126
Kingston-on-Hull	11	3	33
Newcastle-on-Tyne	78	3	234
Chester (see Report, p.35)	150	3	450
	619		4,813

Moreover, the same Report tells us, at p. 32,
that there is a low lodging-house for tramps in
every village. By the Post-office Directory there
are 3823 postal towns in England and Wales;
and assuming that in each of these towns there
are two "travellers" houses, and that each of
these, upon an average, harbours every night ten
tramps (in a list given at p. 311, there were in
83 towns no less than 678 low lodging-houses,
receiving 10,860 lodgers every night; this gives,
on an average, 8 such houses to each town, and
16 lodgers to each such house), we have thus
76,460 for the total number of the inmates of
such houses.

To show the actual state of these lodging-houses
from the testimony of one who had been long
resident in them, I give the following statement.
It was made to me by a man of superior educa-
tion and intelligence (as the tone of his narrative
fully shows), whom circumstances, which do not
affect the object of my present letter, and there-
fore need not be detailed, had reduced from afflu-
ence to beggary, so that he was compelled to be
a constant resident in those places. All the other
statements that I obtained on the subject — and
they were numerous — were corroborative of his
account to the very letter: —

"I have been familiar, unfortunately for me,
with low lodging-houses, both in town and coun-
try, for more than ten years. I consider that, as
to the conduct of those places, it is worse in Lon-
don than in the country — while in the country
the character of the keeper is worse than in Lon-
don, although but a small difference can be noted.
The worst I am acquainted with, though I haven't
been in it lately, is in the neighbourhood of Drury-
lane — this is the worst both for filth and for the
character of the lodgers. In the room where I
slept, which was like a barn in size, the tiles were
off the roof, and as there was no ceiling, I could
see the blue sky from where I lay. That may be
altered now. Here I slept in what was called the
single men's room, and it was confined to men.
In another part of the house was a room for
married couples, as it was called, but of such
apartments I can tell you more concerning other
houses. For the bed with the view of the blue
sky I paid 3d. If it rained there was no shelter.
I have slept in a room in Brick-lane, Whitechapel,
in which were fourteen beds. In the next bed to
me, on the one side, was a man, his wife, and
three children, and a man and his wife on the
other. They were Irish people, and I believe the
women were the men's wives — as the Irish women
generally are. Of all the women that resort to
these places the Irish are far the best for chastity.
All the beds were occupied, single men being
mixed with the married couples. The question is
never asked, when a man and woman go to a
lodging-house, if they are man and wife. All
must pay before they go to bed, or be turned into
the street. These beds were made — as all the
low lodging-house beds are — of the worst cotton
flocks stuffed in coarse, strong canvas. There is
a pair of sheets, a blanket, and a rug. I have
known the bedding to be unchanged for three
months; but that is not general. The beds are an

[Description: 915EAF. Page 409.]

average size. Dirt is the rule with them, and
cleanliness the exception. They are all infested
with vermin. I never met with an exception.
No one is required to wash before going to bed in
any of these places (except at a very few, where
a very dirty fellow would not be admitted), un-
less he has been walking on a wet day without
shoes or stockings, and then he must bathe his
feet. The people who slept in the room I am
describing were chiefly young men, almost all
accompanied by young females. I have seen girls
of fifteen sleep with `their chaps' — in some places
with youths of from sixteen to twenty. There is
no objection to any boy and girl occupying a bed,
even though the keeper knows they were pre-
viously strangers to each other. The accommoda-
tion for purposes of decency is very bad in some
places. A pail in the middle of a room, to which
both sexes may resort, is a frequent arrangement.
No delicacy or decency is ever observed. The
women are, I think, worse than the men. If any
one, possessing a sense of shame, says a word of
rebuke, he is at once assailed, by the women in
particular, with the coarsest words in the language.
The Irish women are as bad as the others with
respect to language, but I have known them keep
themselves covered in bed when the other women
were outraging modesty or decency. The Irish
will sleep anywhere to save a halfpenny a night,
if they have ever so much money." [Here
he stated certain gross acts common to lodging-
houses, which cannot be detailed in print.] "It
is not uncommon for a boy or man to take a girl
out of the streets to these apartments. Some are
the same as common brothels, women being taken
in at all hours of the day or night. In most,
however, they must stay all night as a married
couple. In dressing or undressing there is no
regard to decency, while disgusting blackguardism
is often carried on in the conversation of the in-
mates. I have known decent people, those that
are driven to such places from destitution, perhaps
for the first time, shocked and disgusted at what
they saw. I have seen a decent married pair so
shocked and disgusted that they have insisted on
leaving the place, and have left it. A great num-
ber of the lodging-houses are large old buildings,
which were constructed for other purposes; these
houses are not so ill-ventilated, but even there,
where so many sleep in one room, the air is hot
and foul. In smaller rooms, say twelve feet by
nine, I have seen four beds placed for single men,
with no ventilation whatsoever, so that no one
could remain inside in warmish weather, without
every door and window open; another room in
the same house, a little larger, had four double
beds, with as many men and women, and perhaps
with children. The Board of Health last autumn
compelled the keepers of these places to whitewash
the walls and ceilings, and use limewash in other
places; before that, the walls and ceilings looked
as if they had been blackwashed, but still you
could see the bugs creeping along those black
walls, which were not black enough to hide
that. In some houses in the summer you can
hardly place your finger on a part of the wall
free from bugs. I have scraped them off by hand-
fulls.

"Nothing can be worse to the health than these
places, without ventilation, cleanliness, or decency,
and with forty people's breaths perhaps mingling
together in one foul choking steam of stench.
[The man's own words.] They are the ready
resort of thieves and all bad characters, and the
keepers will hide them if they can from the police,
or facilitate any criminal's escape. I never knew
the keepers give any offender up, even when re-
wards were offered. If they did, they might
shut up shop. These houses are but receptacles,
with a few exceptions, for beggars, thieves, and
prostitutes, and those in training for thieves and
prostitutes — the exceptions are those who must lodge at the lowest possible cost. I consider them
in every respect of the worst possible character,
and think that immediate means should be adopted
to improve them. Fights, and fierce fights too,
are frequent in them, and I have often been
afraid murder would be done. They are money-
making places, very. One person will own several
— as many as dozen. In each house he has one
or more `deputies,' chiefly men. Some of these
keepers are called respectable men; some live out
in the country, leaving all to deputies. They are
quite a separate class from the keepers of regular
brothels. In one house that I know they can
accommodate eighty single men; and when single
men only are admitted, what is decent, or rather
what is considered decent in such places, is less
unfrequent. Each man in such houses pays 4d. a
night, a bed to each man or boy; that is 26s. 8d. nightly, or 486l. 13s. 4d. a year, provided the
beds be full every night — and they are full six
nights out of seven. Besides that, some of the
beds supply double turns; for many get up at two
to go to Covent-garden or some other market, and
their beds are then let a second time to other
men; so that more than eighty are frequently
accommodated, and I suppose 500l. is the nearest
sum to be taken for an accurate return. The
rent is very trifling; the chief expense to be de-
ducted from the profits of the house in question is
the payment of three and sometimes four deputies,
receiving from 7s. to 12s. a week each — say an
average of from 30s. to 40s. a week — as three or
four are employed. Fire (coke being only used)
and gas are the other expenses. The washing is
a mere trifle. Then there are the parochial and the
water-rates. The rent is always low, as the
houses are useable for nothing but such lodgings.
The profits of the one house I have described
cannot be less than 300l. a year, and the others
are in proportion. Now, the owner of this house
has, I believe, 10 more such houses, which, letting
only threepenny beds (some are lower than that),
may realise a profit of about 200l. a year each.
These altogether yield a clear profit of 2300l. for
the eleven of them; but on how much vice and
disease that 2300l. has been raised is a question
beyond a schoolmaster. The missionaries visit
these lodging-houses, but, judging from what I
have heard said by the inmates in all of them,
when the missionaries have left, scarcely any

[Description: 915EAF. Page 410.]

good effect has resulted from the visits. I never
saw a clergyman of any denomination in any
one of these places, either in town or country. In
London the master or deputy of the low lodging-
house does not generally meddle with the disposal
of stolen property, as in the country. This is
talked about, alike in the town and country
houses, very openly and freely before persons
known only to be beggars, and never stealing: it
is sufficient that they are known as tramps. In
London the keepers must all know that stolen
property is nightly brought into the house, and
they wink at its disposal, but they won't mix
themselves up with disposing of it. If it be pro-
visions that have been stolen, they are readily
disposed of to the other inmates, and the owner
or deputy of the house may know nothing about
it, and certainly would not care to interfere if he
did. I never heard robberies planned there, but
there are generally strangers present, and this
may deter. I believe more robberies are planned
in low coffee-shops than in lodging-houses. The
influence of the lodging-house society on boys who
have run away from their parents, and have got
thither, either separately or in company with lads
who have joined them in the streets, is this: —
Boys there, after paying their lodgings, may
exercise the same freedom from every restraint as
they see the persons of maturer years enjoy. This
is often pleasant to a boy, especially if he has
been severely treated by his parents or master;
he apes, and often outdoes, all the men's ways,
both in swearing and lewd talk, and so he gets a
relish for that sort of life. After he has resorted
to such places — the sharper boys for three, and
the duller for six months — they are adepts at any
thieving or vice. Drunkenness, and even mo-
derate drinking, is very rare among them. I
seldom or never see the boys drink — indeed,
thieves of all ages are generally sober men. Once
get to like a lodging-house life, and a boy can
hardly be got out of it. I said the other day to
a youth, `I wish I could get out of these haunts
and never see a lodging-house again;' and he
replied, `If I had ever so much money I would
never live anywhere else.' I have seen the boys
in a lodging-house sit together telling stories, but
paid no attention to them."

STATEMENT OF A YOUNG PICKPOCKET.

To show the class of characters usually fre-
quenting these lodging-houses, I will now give the
statement of a boy — a young pickpocket — without
shoes or stockings. He wore a ragged, dirty, and
very thin great coat, of some dark jean or linen,
under which was another thin coat, so arranged
that what appeared rents — and, indeed, were rents,
but designedly made — in the outer garment, were
slits through which the hand readily reached
the pockets of the inner garment, and could
there deposit any booty. He was a slim, agile lad,
with a sharp but not vulgar expression, and small
features. His hands were of singular delicacy and
beauty. His fingers were very long, and no lady's
could have been more taper. A burglar told me
that with such a hand he ought to have made his
fortune. He was worth 20l. a week, he said, as
a "wire," that is, a picker of ladies' pockets.
When engaged "for a turn," as he told me he
once was by an old pickpocket, the man looked
minutely at his fingers, and approved of them
highly. His hands, the boy said, were hardly
serviceable to him when very cold. His feet were
formed in the same symmetrical and beautiful
mould as his hands. "I am 15," he said. "My
father was a potter, and I can't recollect my mo-
ther" (many of the thieves are orphans or
motherless). "My father has been dead about
five years. I was then working at the pottery
in High-street, Lambeth, earning about 4s. a
week; in good weeks, 4s. 6d. I was in work
eight months after my father died; but one
day I broke three bottles by accident, and the fore-
man said `I shan't want you any more;' and I took
that as meant for a discharge; but I found after-
wards that he did'nt so mean it. I had 2s. and
a suit of clothes then, and tried for work at all
the potteries; but I couldn't get any. It was
about the time Smithfield fair was on. I went,
but it was a very poor concern. I fell asleep in
a pen in the afternoon, and had my shoes stolen
of my feet. When I woke up, I began crying.
A fellow named Gyp then came along (I knew his
name afterwards), and he said, `What are you
crying for?' and I told him, and he said, `Pull off
your stockings, and come with me, and I'll show
you where to sleep.' So I did, and he took me to
St. Olave's workhouse, having first sold my stock-
ings. I had never stolen anything until then.
There I slept in the casual ward, and Gyp slept
there too. In the morning we started together for
Smithfield, where he said he had a job to sweep the
pens, but he couldn't sweep them without pulling
off his coat, and it would look so queer if he hadn't
a shirt — and he hadn't one. He promised to
teach me how to make a living in the country if I
would lend him mine, and I was persuaded —
for I was an innocent lad then — and went up
a gateway and stripped off my shirt and gave
it to him, and soon after he went into a public-
house to get half a pint of beer; he went in at
one door and out at another, and I didn't see
him for six months afterwards. That afternoon I
went into Billingsgate market and met some boys,
and one said, `Mate, how long have you been
knocking about; where did you doss?' I didn't
know what they meant, and when they'd told me
they meant where did I sleep? I told them how
I'd been served. And they said, `Oh! you must
expect that, until you learn something,' and they
laughed. They all know'd Gyp; he was like the
head of a Billingsgate gang once. I became a pal
with these boys at Billingsgate, and we went about
stealing fish and meat. Some boys have made 2s. in a morning, when fish is dear — those that had
pluck and luck; they sold it at half-price. Bil-
lingsgate market is a good place to sell it; plenty
of costermongers are there who will buy it,
rather than of the salesmen. I soon grew as bad
as the rest at this work. At first I sold it to other
boys, who would get 3d. for what they bought
at 1d. Now they can't do me. If I can get a thing

[Description: 915EAF. Page 411.]

cheap where I lodge, and have the money, and can
sell it dear, that's the chance. I carried on this fish
rig for about two years, and went begging a little,
too. I used to try a little thieving sometimes in
Petticoat-lane. They say the `fliest' is easy to
take in sometimes — that's the artfullest; but I
could do no good there. At these two years'
end, I was often as happy as could be; that is,
when I had made money. Then I met B — ,
whom I had often heard of as an uncommon clever
pickpocket; he could do it about as well as I
can now, so as people won't feel it. Three of his
mates were transported for stealing silver plate.
He and I became pals, and started for the
country with 1d. We went through Foot's Cray,
and passed a farm where a man's buried at the top
of a house; there's something about money while
a man 's above ground; I don't understand it, but
it's something like that. A baker, about thirty
miles from London, offended us about some bread;
and B — said `I'll serve him out.' We watched
him out, and B — tried at his pocket, saying,
`I'll show you how to do a handkerchief;' but the
baker looked round, and B — stopped; and just
after that I flared it (whisked the handkerchief out);
and that's the first I did. It brought 1s. 3d. We
travelled across country, and got to Maidstone, and
did two handkerchiefs. One I wore round my neck,
and the other the lodging-housekeeper pawned for
us for 1s. 6d. In Maidstone, next morning, I was
nailed, and had three months of it. I didn't mind
it so much then, but Maidstone's far worse now,
I've heard. I have been in prison three times in
Brixton, three times in the Old Horse (Bridewell),
three times in the Compter, once in the Steel, and
once in Maidstone — thirteen times in all, including
twice I was remanded, and got off; but I don't
reckon that prison. Every time I came out harder
than I went in. I've had four floggings; it was
bad enough — a flogging was — while it lasted; but
when I got out I soon forgot it. At a week's end
I never thought again about it. If I had been
better treated I should have been a better lad. I
could leave off thieving now as if I had never
thieved, if I could live without." [I am inclined
to doubt this part of the statement.] "I have
carried on this sort of life until now. I didn't often
make a very good thing of it. I saw Manning and
his wife hung. Mrs. Manning was dressed beau-
tiful when she came up. She screeched when Jack
Ketch pulled the bolt away. She was harder
than Manning, they all said; without her there
would have been no murder. It was a great deal
talked about, and Manning was pitied. It was a
punishment to her to come on the scaffold and see
Manning with the rope about his neck, if people
takes it in the right light. I did 4s. 6d. at the
hanging — two handkerchiefs, and a purse with 2s. in it — the best purse I ever had; but I've only
done three or four purses. The reason is, because
I've never been well dressed. If I went near a
lady, she would say, `Tush, tush, you ragged
fellow!' and would shrink away. But I would
rather rob the rich than the poor; they miss it
less. But 1s. honest goes further than 5s. stolen.
Some call that only a saying, but it's true. All
the money I got soon went — most of it a-gambling.
Picking pockets, when any one comes to think on
it, is the daringest thing that a boy can do. It
didn't in the least frighten me to see Manning and
Mrs. Manning hanged. I never thought I should
come to the gallows, and I never shall — I'm not
high-tempered enough for that. The only thing that
frightens me when I'm in prison is sleeping in a
cell by myself — you do in the Old Horse and the
Steel — because I think things may appear. You
can't imagine how one dreams when in trouble.
I've often started up in a fright from a dream. I
don't know what might appear. I've heard people
talk about ghosts and that. Once, in the Country,
a tin had been left under a tap that went drip —
drip — drip. And all in the ward were shocking
frightened; and weren't we glad when we found
out what it was! Boys tell stories about haunted
castles, and cats that are devils; and that frightens
one. At the fire in Monument-yard I did 5s. 7d. — 3s. in silver and 2s. 3d. in handkerchiefs, and
4d. for three pairs of gloves. I sell my handker-
chiefs in the Lane (Petticoat-lane). I carry on
this trade still. Most times I've got in prison is
when I've been desperate from hunger, and have
said to B — , `Now I'll have money, nailed or
not nailed.' I can pick a woman's pocket as easy
as a man's, though you wouldn't think it. If one's
in prison for begging, one's laughed at. The others
say, `Begging! Oh, you cadger!' So a boy is
partly forced to steal for his character. I've lived
a good deal in lodging-houses, and know the ways
of them. They are very bad places for a boy to
be in. Where I am now, when the place is full,
there's upwards of 100 can be accommodated. I
won't be there long. I'll do something to get out
of it. There's people there will roh their own
brother. There's people there talk backward —
for one they say eno, for two owt, for three eerht, for four ruof, for five evif, for six exis. I don't
know any higher. I can neither read nor write.
In this lodging-house there are no women. They
talk there chiefly about what they've done, or are
going to do, or have set their minds upon, just as
you and any other gentlemen might do. I have
been in lodging-houses in Mint-street and Kent-
street, where men and women and children all
slept in one room. I think the men and women
who slept together were generally married, or lived
together; but it's not right for a big boy to sleep
in the same room. Young men have had beds to
themselves, and so have young women there; but
there's a deputy comes into the room, every now
and then, to see there's nothing wrong. There's
little said in these places, the people are generally
so tired. Where I am there's horrid language —
swearing, and everything that's bad. They are to
be pitied, because there's not work for honest
people, let alone thieves. In the lodging-houses
the air is very bad, enough to stifle one in bed —
so many breaths together. Without such places
my trade couldn't be carried on; I couldn't live.
Some though would find another way out. Three
or four would take a room among them. Any-
body's money's good — you can always get a
room. I would be glad to leave this life, and

[Description: 915EAF. Page 412.]

work at a pottery. As to sea, a bad captain
would make me run away — sure. He can do
what he likes with you when you're out at sea.
I don't get more than 2s. a week, one week with
the other, by thieving; some days you do nothing
until hunger makes your spirits rise. I can't
thieve on a full belly. I live on 2s. a week from
thieving, because I understand fiddling — that
means, buying a thing for a mere trifle, and selling
it for double, or for more, if you're not taken in
yourself. I've been put up to a few tricks in
lodging-houses, and now I can put others up to it.
Everybody must look after themselves, and I
can't say I was very sorry when I stole that 2s. from a poor woman, but I'd rather have had
1s. 6d. from a rich one. I never drink — eating's
my part. I spend chief part of my money in
pudding. I don't like living in lodging-houses,
but I must like it as I'm placed now — that sort
of living, and those lodging-houses, or starving.
They bring tracts to the lodging-houses — pipes are
lighted with them; tracts won't fill your belly.
Tracts is no good, except to a person that has a
home; at the lodging-houses they're laughed at.
They seldom are mentioned. I've heard some of
them read by missionaries, but can't catch any-
thing from them. If it had been anything bad, I
should have caught it readily. If an innocent
boy gets into a lodging-house, he'll not be inno-
cent long — he can't. I know three boys who
have run away, and are in the lodging-houses still,
but I hope their father has caught them. Last
night a little boy came to the lodging-house where
I was. We all thought he had run away, by the
way he spoke. He stayed all night, but was
found out in two or three falsehoods. I wanted
to get him back home, or he'll be as bad as I am
in time, though he's nothing to me; but I
couldn t find him this morning; but I'll get him
home yet, perhaps. The Jews in Petticoat-lane
are terrible rogues. They'll buy anything of you
— they'll buy what you've stolen from their next-
door neighbours — that they would, if they knew
it. But they'll give you very little for it, and
they threaten to give you up if you won't take a
quarter of the value of it. `Oh! I shee you do
it,' they say, `and I like to shee him robbed, but
you musht take vot I give.' I wouldn't mind
what harm came to those Petticoat-laners. Many
of them are worth thousands, though you wouldn't
think it." After this I asked him what he, as a
sharp lad, thought was the cause of so many boys
becoming vagrant pickpockets? He answered,
"Why, sir, if boys runs away, and has to shelter
in low lodging-houses — and many runs away from
cruel treatment at home — they meet there with
boys such as me, or as bad, and the devil soon
lays his hand on them. If there wasn't so many
lodging-houses there wouldn't be so many bad
boys — there couldn't. Lately a boy came down
to Billingsgate, and said he wouldn't stay at
home to be knocked about any longer. He said
it to some boys like me; and he was asked if he
could get anything from his mother, and he said
`yes, he could.' So he went back, and brought
a brooch and some other things with him to a
place fixed on, and then he and some of the boys
set off for the country; and that's the way boys
is trapped. I think the fathers of such boys
either ill-treat them, or neglect them; and so they
run away. My father used to beat me shocking;
so I hated home. I stood hard licking well, and
was called `the plucked one."' This boy first
stole flowers, currants, and gooseberries out of the
clergyman's garden, more by way of bravado, and
to ensure the approbation of his comrades, than
for anything else. He answered readily to my
inquiry, as to what he thought would become of
him? — "Transportation. If a boy has great luck
he may carry on for eight years. Three or four
years is the common run, but transportation is
what he's sure to come to in the end." This lad
picked my pocket at my request, and so dexte-
rously did he do his "work," that though I was
alive to what he was trying to do, it was impos-
sible for me to detect the least movement of my
coat. To see him pick the pockets, as he did, of
some of the gentlemen who were present on the
occasion, was a curious sight. He crept behind
much like a cat with his claws out, and while in
the act held his breath with suspense; but imme-
diately the handkerchief was safe in his hand, the
change in the expression of his countenance was
most marked. He then seemed almost to be con-
vulsed with delight at the success of his perilous
adventure, and, turning his back, held up the hand-
kerchief to discover the value of his prize, with
intense glee evident in every feature.

STATEMENT OF A PROSTITUTE.

The narrative which follows — that of a prosti-
tute, sleeping in the low-lodging houses, where
boys and girls are all huddled promiscuously toge-
ther, discloses a system of depravity, atrocity, and
enormity, which certainly cannot be paralleled in
any nation, however barbarous, nor in any age,
however "dark." The facts detailed, it will be
seen, are gross enough to make us all blush for
the land in which such scenes can be daily per-
petrated. The circumstances, which it is im-
possible to publish, are of the most loathsome and
revolting nature.

A good-looking girl of sixteen gave me the fol-
lowing awful statement: —

"I am an orphan. When I was ten I was
sent to service as maid of all-work, in a small
tradesman's family. It was a hard place, and my
mistress used me very cruelly, beating me often.
When I had been in place three weeks, my mother
died; my father having died twelve years before.
I stood my mistress's ill-treatment for about six
months. She beat me with sticks as well as with
her hands. I was black and blue, and at last I
ran away. I got to Mrs. — , a low lodging-
house. I didn't know before that there was such
a place. I heard of it from some girls at the
Glasshouse (baths and washhouses), where I went
for shelter. I went with them to have a halfpenny
worth of coffee, and they took me to the lodging-
house. I then had three shillings, and stayed
about a month, and did nothing wrong, living on

[Description: 915EAF. Page 413.]

the three shillings and what I pawned my clothes
for, as I got some pretty good things away with
me. In the lodging-house I saw nothing but what
was bad, and heard nothing but what was bad. I
was laughed at, and was told to swear. They
said, `Look at her for a d — modest fool' —
sometimes worse than that, until by degrees I got
to be as bad as they were. During this time I
used to see boys and girls from ten and twelve
years old sleeping together, but understood nothing
wrong. I had never heard of such places before I
ran away. I can neither read nor write. My
mother was a good woman, and I wish I'd had
her to run away to. I saw things between almost
children that I can't describe to you — very often I
saw them, and that shocked me. At the month's
end, when I was beat out, I met with a young
man of fifteen — I myself was going on to twelve
years old — and he persuaded me to take up with
him. I stayed with him three months in the same
lodging-house, living with him as his wife, though
we were mere children, and being true to him.
At the three months' end he was taken up for
picking pockets, and got six months. I was sorry,
for he was kind to me; though I was made ill
through him; so I broke some windows in St.
Paul's-churchyard to get into prison to get cured.
I had a month in the Compter, and came out well.
I was scolded very much in the Compter, on ac-
count of the state I was in, being so young. I
had 2s. 6d. given to me when I came out, and was
forced to go into the streets for a living. I conti-
nued walking the streets for three years, some-
times making a good deal of money, sometimes
none, feasting one day and starving the next. The
bigger girls could persuade me to do anything they
liked with my money. I was never happy all the
time, but I could get no character and could not
get out of the life. I lodged all this time at a
lodging-house in Kent-street. They were all thieves
and bad girls. I have known between three and
four dozen boys and girls sleep in one room. The
beds were horrid filthy and full of vermin. There
was very wicked carryings on. The boys, if any
difference, was the worst. We lay packed on a
full night, a dozen boys and girls squeedged into
one bed. That was very often the case — some at
the foot and some at the top — boys and girls all
mixed. I can't go into all the particulars, but
whatever could take place in words or acts between
boys and girls did take place, and in the midst of
the others. I am sorry to say I took part in these
bad ways myself, but I wasn't so bad as some of
the others. There was only a candle burning all
night, but in summer it was light great part of the
night. Some boys and girls slept without any
clothes, and would dance about the room that way.
I have seen them, and, wicked as I was, felt
ashamed. I have seen two dozen capering about
the room that way; some mere children, the boys
generally the youngest. * * * *
There were no men or women present. There were
often fights. The deputy never interfered. This
is carried on just the same as ever to this day, and
is the same every night. I have heard young
girls shout out to one another how often they had
been obliged to go to the hospital, or the infirmary,
or the workhouse. There was a great deal of
boasting about what the boys and girls had stolen
during the day. I have known boys and girls
change their `partners,' just for a night. At three
years' end I stole a piece of beef from a butcher.
I did it to get into prison. I was sick of the life
I was leading, and didn't know how to get out of
it. I had a month for stealing. When I got out
I passed two days and a night in the streets doing
nothing wrong, and then went and threatened to
break Messrs. — windows again. I did that
to get into prison again; for when I lay quiet of a
night in prison I thought things over, and con-
sidered what a shocking life I was leading, and how
my health might be ruined completely, and I
thought I would stick to prison rather than go back
to such a life. I got six months for threatening.
When I got out I broke a lamp next morning for
the same purpose, and had a fortnight. That was
the last time I was in prison. I have since been
leading the same life as I told you of for the three
years, and lodging at the same houses, and seeing
the same goings on. I hate such a life now more
than ever. I am willing to do any work that I
can in washing and cleaning. I can do a little at
my needle. I could do hard work, for I have
good health. I used to wash and clean in prison,
and always behaved myself there. At the house
where I am it is 3d. a night; but at Mrs. — 's
it is 1d. and 2d. a night, and just the same goings
on. Many a girl — nearly all of them — goes out
into the streets from this penny and twopenny
house, to get money for their favourite boys by
prostitution. If the girl cannot get money she
must steal something, or will be beaten by her
`chap' when she comes home. I have seen them
beaten, often kicked and beaten until they were
blind from bloodshot, and their teeth knocked out
with kicks from boots as the girl lays on the
ground. The boys, in their turn, are out thieving
all day, and the lodging-house keeper will buy any
stolen provisions of them, and sell them to the
lodgers. I never saw the police in the house. If
a boy comes to the house on a night without money
or sawney, or something to sell to the lodgers, a
handkerchief or something of that kind, he is not
admitted, but told very plainly, `Go thieve it,
then.' Girls are treated just the same. Any
body may call in the daytime at this house and
have a halfpenny worth of coffee and sit any length
of time until evening. I have seen three dozen
sitting there that way, all thieves and bad girls.
There are no chairs, and only one form in front of
the fire, on which a dozen can sit. The others
sit on the floor all about the room, as near the
fire as they can. Bad language goes on during the
day, as I have told you it did during the night,
and indecencies too, but nothing like so bad as at
night. They talk about where there is good
places to go and thieve. The missioners call
sometimes, but they're laughed at often when
they're talking, and always before the door's
closed on them. If a decent girl goes there to
get a ha'porth of coffee, seeing the board over the
door, she is always shocked. Many a poor girl

[Description: 915EAF. Page 414.]

has been ruined in this house since I was, and
boys have boasted about it. I never knew boy
or girl do good, once get used there. Get used
there, indeed, and you are life-ruined. I was an
only child, and haven't a friend in the world. I
have heard several girls say how they would like
to get out of the life, and out of the place. From
those I know, I think that cruel parents and mis-
tresses cause many to be driven there. One
lodging-house keeper, Mrs. — , goes out dressed
respectable, and pawns any stolen property, or
sells it at public-houses."

As a corroboration of the girl's statement, a
wretched-looking boy, only thirteen years of age,
gave me the following additional information. He
had a few rags hanging about him, and no shirt —
indeed, he was hardly covered enough for pur-
poses of decency, his skin being exposed through
the rents in his jacket and trowsers. He had a
stepfather, who treated him very cruelly. The
stepfather and the child's mother went "across
the country," begging and stealing. Before the
mother died, an elder brother ran away on account
of being beaten: —

"Sometimes (I give his own words) he (the
stepfather) wouldn't give us a bit to eat, telling us
to go and thieve for it. My brother had been
a month gone (he's now a soldier in Gibraltar)
when I ran away to join him. I knew where to
find him, as we met sometimes. We lived by
thieving, and I do still — by pulling flesh (stealing
meat). I got to lodge at Mrs. — , and have
been there this eight months. I can read and
write a little." [This boy then confirmed what
the young girl had told me of the grossest acts
night by night among the boys and girls, the lan-
guage, &c., and continued] — "I always sleep on
the floor for 1d. and pay a ½d. besides for coke.
At this lodging-house cats and kittens are melted
down, sometimes twenty a day. A quart pot is a
cat, and pints and half pints are kittens. A kit-
ten (pint) brings 3d. from the rag shops, and a
cat 6d. There's convenience to melt them down
at the lodging-house. We can't sell clothes in
the house, except any lodger wants them; and
clothes nearly all goes to the Jews in Petticoat-
lane. Mrs. — buys the sawney of us; so
much for the lump, 2d. a pound about; she sells it
again for twice what she gives, and more. Per-
haps 30 lb. of meat every day is sold to her. I
have been in prison six times, and have had three
dozen; each time I came out harder. If I left
Mrs. — 's house I don't know how I could get
my living. Lots of boys would get away if they
could. I never drink, I don't like it. Very few
of us boys drink. I don't like thieving, and often
go about singing; but I can't live by singing, and
I don't know how I could live honestly. If I
had money enough to buy a stock of oranges
I think I could be honest."

The above facts require no comment from me.

STATEMENT OF A BEGGAR.

A beggar decently attired, and with a simple
and what some would call even a respectable look,
gave me the following account: —

"I am now twenty-eight, and have known all
connected with the begging trade since I was four-
teen. My grandfather (mother's father) was rich,
owning three parts of the accommodation houses
in St. Giles's; he allowed me 2s. a week pocket-
money. My grandfather kept the great house, the
old Rose and Crown, in Church-lane, opposite
Carver-street, best known as the `Beggar's Opera.'
When a child of seven, I have seen the place
crowded — crammed with nothing but beggars,
first-rates — none else used the house. The money
I saw in the hands of the beggars made a great
impression upon me. My father took away my
mother's money. I wish my mother had run
away instead. He was kind, but she was always
nagging. My father was a foreman in a foundry.
I got a situation in the same foundry after my
father cut. Once I was sent to a bank with a
cheque for 38l. to get cashed, in silver, for wages.
In coming away, I met a companion of mine, and
he persuaded me to bolt with the money, and go
to Ashley's. The money was too much for my
head to carry. I fooled all that money away. I
wasn't in bed for more than a fortnight. I bought
linnets in cages for the fancy of my persuader. In
fact, I didn't know what use to put the money to.
I was among plenty of girls. When the money
was out I was destitute. I couldn't go back to my
employers, and I couldn't face my mother's temper
— that was worse; but for that nagging of hers I
shouldn't have been as I am. She has thrashed
me with a hand broom until I was silly; there's the
bumps on my head still; and yet that woman would
have given me her heart's blood to do me a good.
As soon as I found myself quite destitute, I
went wandering about the City, picking up the
skins of gooseberries and orange peel to eat, to
live on — things my stomach would turn at now.
At last my mother came to hear that I tried
to destroy myself. She paid the 38l., and my
former employers got me a situation in Padding-
ton. I was there a month, and then I met him
an advised me to steal the money before — he's
called the ex-king of the costermongers now.
Well he was crying hareskins, and advised me
again to bolt, and I went with him. My mind
was bent upon costermongering and a roving
life. I couldn't settle to anything. I wanted to
be away when I was at work, and when I was
away I wanted to be back again. It was difficult
for me to stick to anything for five minutes toge-
ther; it is so now. What I begin I can't finish at
the time — unless it's a pot of beer. Well, in four
days my adviser left me; he had no more use for
me. I was a flat. He had me for a "go-along,"
to cry his things for him. Then, for the first time
in my life, I went into a low lodging-house. There
was forty men and women sleeping in one room. I
had to sleep with a black man, and I slept on the
floor to get away from the fellow. There were
plenty of girls there; some playing cards and
dominoes. It was very dirty — old Mother — ,
in Lawrence-lane — the Queen of Hell she was
called. There was one tub among the lot of
us. I felt altogether disgusted. Those who
lived there were beggars, thieves, smashers, coiners,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 415.]

purchasers of begged and stolen goods, and pro-
stitutes. The youngest prostitute was twelve, and
so up to fifty. The beastliest language went on.
It's done to outrival one another. There I met
with a man called Tom Shallow (shallow is cant
for half-naked), and he took me out ballad-singing,
and when we couldn't get on at that (the songs
got dead) he left me. I made him 10s. or 12s. a
day in them days, but he only gave me my lodg-
ings and grub (but not half enough), and two
pipes of tobacco a day to keep the hunger down,
that I mightn't be expensive. I then 'listed. I
was starving, and couldn't raise a lodging. I took
the shilling, but was rejected by the doctor. I
'listed again at Chatham afterwards, but was re-
jected again. I stayed jobbing among the soldiers
for some weeks, and then they gave me an old re-
gimental suit, and with that I came to London.
One gave me a jacket, and another a pair of
military trowsers, and another a pair of old am-
munition boots, and so on. About that time a
batch of invalids came from Spain, where they
had been under General Evans. On my way up
from Chatham, I met at Gravesend with seven
chaps out on `the Spanish lurk' as they called it
— that is, passing themselves off as wounded men
of the Spanish Legion. Two had been out in Spain,
and managed the business if questions were asked;
the others were regular English beggars, who had
never been out of the country. I joined them as
a serjeant, as I had a sergeant's jacket given me
at Chatham. On our way to London — `the school
(as the lot is called) came all together — we picked
up among us 4l. and 5l. a day — no matter where
we went. `The school' all slept in lodging houses,
and I at last began to feel comfortable in them. We
spent our evenings in eating out-and out suppers.
Sometimes we had such things as sucking pigs,
hams, mince pies — indeed we lived on the best.
No nobleman could live better in them days. So
much wine, too! I drank in such excess, my nose
was as big as that there letter stamp; so that I
got a sickening of it. We gave good victuals
away that was given to us — it was a nuisance to
carry them. It cost us from 6d. to 1s. a day to
have our shoes cleaned by poor tramps, and for
clean dickies. The clean dodge is always the
best for begging upon. At Woolwich we were
all on the fuddle at the Dust Hole, and our two
spokesmen were drunk; and I went to beg of
Major — , whose brother was then in Spain —
he himself had been out previously. Meeting
the major at his own house, I said, `I was a
sergeant in the 3rd Westminster Grenadiers, you
know, and served under your brother.' `Oh! yes,
that's my brother's regiment,' says he. `Where
was you, then, on the 16th of October?' `Why,
sir, I was at the taking of the city of Irun,' says
I — (in fact, I was at that time with the coster-
monger in St. Giles's, calling cabbages, `white
heart cabbages, oh!') Then said the major,
`What day was Ernani taken on?' `Why,' said
I (I was a little tipsy, and bothered at the ques-
tion), `that was the 16th of October, too.' `Very
well, my man,' says he, tapping his boots with a
riding whip he held, `I'll see what I can do for
you;' and the words were no sooner out of his
mouth than he stepped up to me and gave me a
regular pasting. He horsewhipped me up and
down stairs, and all along the passages; my flesh
was like sassages. I managed at last, however,
to open the door myself, and get away. After
that `the school' came to London. In a day we
used to make from 8l. to 10l. among us, by walk-
ing up Regent-street, Bond-street, Piccadilly, Pall-
mall, Oxford-street, the parks — those places were
the best beats. All the squares were good too.
It was only like a walk out for air, and your 25s. a man for it. At night we used to go to plays,
dressed like gentlemen. At first the beaks pro-
tected us, but we got found out, and the beaks
grew rusty. The thing got so overdone, every
beggar went out as a Spanish lurksman. Well,
the beaks got up to the dodge, and all the Spanish
lurksmen in their turns got to work the universal
staircase, under the care of Lieutenant Tracy (Tot-
hill-fields treadmill). The men that had really
been out and got disabled were sent to that stair-
case at last, and I thought I would try a fresh
lurk. So I went under the care and tuition of a
sailor. He had been a sailor. I became a turn-
pike sailor, as it's called, and went out as one of
the Shallow Brigade, wearing a Guernsey shirt
and drawers, or tattered trowsers. There was a
school of four. We only got a tidy living — 16s. or 1l. a day among us. We used to call every
one that came along — coalheavers and all — sea-
fighting captains. `Now, my noble sea-fighting
captain,' we used to say, `fire an odd shot from
your larboard locker to us, Nelson's bull-dogs;'
but mind we never tried that dodge on at Green-
wich, for fear of the old geese, the Collegemen.
The Shallow got so grannied (known) in London,
that the supplies got queer, and I quitted the land
navy. Shipwrecks got so common in the streets,
you see, that people didn't care for them, and
I dropped getting cast away. I then took to
screeving (writing on the stones). I got my head
shaved, and a cloth tied round my jaws, and
wrote on the flags —

`Illness and Want,'

though I was never better in my life, and always
had a good bellyfull before I started of a morning.
I did very well at first: 3s. or 4s. a day — some-
times more — till I got grannied. There is one
man who draws Christ's heads with a crown of
thorns, and mackerel, on the pavement, in coloured
chalks (there are four or five others at the same bu-
siness); this one, however, often makes 1l. a day
now in three hours; indeed, I have known him
come home with 21s., besides what he drank on the
way. A gentleman who met him in Regent-street
once gave him 5l. and a suit of clothes to do
Christ's heads with a crown of thorns and mackerel
on the walls. His son does Napoleon's heads best,
but makes nothing like so much as the father.
The father draws cats' heads and salmon as well
— but the others are far the best spec. He will
often give thirteen-pence, and indeed fourteen-
pence, for a silver shilling, to get rid of the cop-
pers. This man's pitch is Lloyd-square, not far
from Sadler's Wells. I have seen him commence

[Description: 915EAF. Page 416.]

his pitch there at half-past eleven, to catch the
people come from the theatre. He is very clever.
In wet weather, and when I couldn't chalk, as
I couldn't afford to lose time, I used to dress tidy
and very clean for the `respectable broken-down
tradesman or reduced gentleman' caper. I wore
a suit of black, generally, and a clean dickey, and
sometimes old black kid gloves, and I used to
stand with a paper before my face, as if ashamed —

This is called standing pad with a fakement. It
is a wet-weather dodge, and isn't so good as
screeving, but I did middling, and can't bear
being idle. After this I mixed with the street
patterers (men who make speeches in the streets)
on the destitute mechanics' lurk. We went in a
school of six at first, all in clean aprons, and spoke
every man in his turn. It won't do unless you're
clean. Each man wanted a particular article of
dress. One had no shirt — another no shoes —
another no hat — and so on. No two wanted the
same. We said: —

The next of the school that spoke would change
the story somehow, and try to make it more heart-
rending still. We did well at first, making about
5s. a day each, working four hours, two in the
morning and two in the afternoon. We got a
good deal of clothing too. The man who went
without a shirt never went to a door to ask for
one; he had to show himself in the middle of the
road. The man that did go to the door would
say, `Do bestow a shirt on my poor shopmate,
who hasn't had one for some days.' It's been
said of me, when I had my shirt tied round my
waist all the time out of sight. The man who
goes without his shirt has his pick of those given;
the rest are sold and shared. Whatever trade we
represented we always had one or two really of
the trade in the school. These were always to be
met at the lodging-houses. They were out of
work, and had to go to low lodging-houses to
sleep. There they met with beggars who kiddied
them on to the lurk. The lodging-houses is good
schools for that sort of thing, and when a me-
chanic once gets out on the lurk he never cares to
go to work again. I never knew one return. I
have been out oft and oft with weavers with a
loom, and have woven a piece of ribbon in a gen-
tleman's parlour — that was when we was Co-
ventry ribbon weavers. I have been a stocking
weaver from Leicester, and a lacemaker too from
Nottingham. Distressed mechanics on their way
to London get initiated into beggar's tricks in the
low lodging-houses and the unions. This is the
way, you see, sir. A school may be at work
from the lodging-house where the mechanic goes
to, and some of the school finds out what he is,
and says, `Come and work with us in a school:
you'll do better than you can at your business,
and you can answer any questions; we'll lurk on
your trade.' I have been out with a woman and
children. It's been said in the papers that
children can be hired for that lurk at 4d. or 6d. a day — that's all fudge, all stuff, every bit of it
— there's no children to be hired. There's many
a labouring man out of work, who has a wife and
three or more children, who is glad to let them go
out with any patterer he knows. The woman is
entitled to all the clothes and grub given, and her
share of the tin — that's the way it's done; and
she's treated to a drink after her day's work,
into the bargain. I've been out on the respectable
family man lurk. I was out with a woman and
three kids the other day; her husband was on the
pad in the country, as London was too hot to
hold him. The kids draws, the younger the better,
for if you vex them, and they're oldish, they'll
blow you. Liverpool Joe's boy did so at Bury St.
Edmund's to a patterer that he was out with, and
who spoke cross to him. The lad shouted out so
as the people about might hear, `Don't you jaw
me, you're not my father; my father's at home
playing cards.' They had to crack the pitch (dis-
continue) through that. The respectable family
dodge did pretty well. I've been on the clean
family lurk too, with a woman and children.
We dressed to give the notion that, however
humble, at least we were clean in all our
poverty. On this lurk we stand by the side
of the pavement in silence, the wife in a per-
ticler clean cap, and a milk-white apron. The
kids have long clean pinafores, white as the
driven snow; they're only used in clean lurk,
and taken off directly they come home. The
husband and father is in a white flannel jacket,
an apron worn and clean, and polished shoes. To
succeed in this caper there must be no rags, but
plenty of darns. A pack of pawn-tickets is car-
ried in the waistcoat pocket. (One man that I
know stuck them in his hat like a carman's.)
That's to show that they've parted with their
little all before they came to that. They are real
pawn-tickets. I have known a man pay 2s. 6d.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 417.]

for the loan of a marriage certificate to go out
on the clean lurk. If a question is asked, I say
— `We've parted with everything, and can get
no employment; to be sure, we have had a loaf
from the parish, but what's that among my
family?' That takes the start out of the people,
because they say, why not go to the parish? Some
persons say, `Oh, poor folks, they're brought to
this, and how clean they are — a darn is better
than a patch any time.' The clean lurk is a bare
living now — it was good — lots of togs came in,
and often the whole family were taken into a house
and supplied with flannel enough to make under
clothing for them all; all this was pledged soon
afterwards, and the tickets shown to prove what
was parted with, through want. Those are some
of the leading lurks. There's others. `Fits,' are
now bad, and `paralytics' are no better. The
lucifer lurk seems getting up though. I don't
mean the selling, but the dropping them in the
street as if by accident. It's a great thing with
the children; but no go with the old 'uns. I'll
tell you of another lurk: a woman I knows sends
out her child with ¼ oz. of tea and half a quarter
of sugar, and the child sits on a door step crying,
and saying, if questioned, that she was sent
out for tea and sugar, and a boy snatched the
change from her, and threw the tea and sugar in
the gutter. The mother is there, like a stranger,
and says to the child: — `And was that your poor
mother's last shilling, and daren't you go home,
poor thing?' Then there is a gathering — some-
times 18d. in a morning; but it's almost getting
stale, that is. I've done the shivering dodge too
— gone out in the cold weather half naked. One
man has practised it so much that he can't get off
shivering now. Shaking Jemmy went on with
his shivering so long that he couldn't help it at
last. He shivered like a jelly — like a calf's foot
with the ague — on the hottest day in summer.
It's a good dodge in tidy inclement seasons. It's
not so good a lurk, by two bob a day, as it once
was. This is a single-handed job; for if one man
shivers less than another he shows that it isn't
so cold as the good shiverer makes it out — then
it's no go. Of the maimed beggars, some are
really deserving objects, as without begging they
must starve to death; that's a fact, sir. What's
a labouring man to do if he's lost any of his limbs?
But some of these even are impostors. I know
several blind men who have pensions; and I
know two who have not only pensions, but keep
lodging houses, and are worth money, and still go
out a begging — though not near where they live.
There's the man with the very big leg, who sits
on the pavement, and tells a long yarn about the
tram carriage having gone over him in the mine.
He does very well — remarkable well. He goes
tatting and billy-hunting in the country (gathering
rags and buying old metal), and comes only to
London when he has that sort of thing to dispose
of. There's Paddy in the truck too; he makes a
good thing, and sends money home to Ireland; he
has a decrepit old mother, and it's to his credit.
He never drinks. There's Jerry, the collier, he
has lost both arms, and does a tidy living, and
deserves it; it's a bad misfortune. There's Jack
Tiptoe, he can't put one heel to the ground — no
gammon; but Mr. Horsford and he can't agree,
so Jack takes to the provinces now. He did very
well indeed here. There used to be a society
among us called the Cadger's Club; if one got into
a prison there was a gathering for him when he
came out, and 6s. a week for a sick member, and
when he got out again two collections for him, the
two amounting perhaps to 1l. We paid 3d. a
week each — no women were members — for thirteen
weeks, and then shared what was in hand, and
began for the next thirteen, receiving new members
and transacting the usual business of a club. This
has been discontinued these five years; the land-
lord cut away with the funds. We get up raffles,
and help one another in the best way we can now.
At one time we had forty-five members, besides
the secretary, the conductor, and under-conductor.
The rules were read over on meeting nights — every
Wednesday evening. They were very strict; no
swearing, obscene or profane language was per-
mitted. For the first offence a fine of 1d. was
inflicted, for the second 2d., and for the third the
offender was ejected the room. There was very
good order, and few fines had to be inflicted.
Several respectable tradesmen used to pay a trifle
to be admitted, out of curiosity, to see the pro-
ceedings, and used to be surprised at their regu-
larity. Among the other rules were these: a fine
of 1d. for any member refusing to sing when called
on; visitors the same. All the fines went to the
fund. If a member didn't pay for five meeting
nights he was scratched. Very few were scratched.
The secretary was a windmill cove (sold children's
windmills in the streets), and was excused con-
tributing to the funds. He had 1d. from each
member every sharing night, once a quarter, for
his labour; he was a very good scholar, and had
been brought up well. The landlord generally
gave a bob on a sharing night. The conductor
managed the room, and the under-conductor kept
the door, not admitting those who had no right to
be there, and putting out those who behaved im-
properly. It was held in the Coachmakers' Arms,
Rose-street, Longrave-street; tip-top swells used
to come among us, and no mistake; real noble-
men, sir. One was the nephew of the Duke
of — , and was well-known to all of us by the
nick-name, Facer.

I used to smoke a very short and very black
pipe, and the honourable gent has often snatched
it from my mouth, and has given me a dozen
cigars for it. My face has been washed in the
gin by a noble lord after he'd made me drunk,
and I felt as if it was vitriol about my eyes.
The beggars are now dispersed and broken up.
They live together now only in twos and threes,
and, in plain truth, have no money to spend; they
can't get it. Upon an average, in former days a
cadger could make his two or three guineas per
week without working overtime; but now he can
hardly get a meal, not even at the present winter,
though it's been a slap up inclement season, to be
sure. The Mendicity Society has ruined us —
them men took me and gave me a month, and I

[Description: 915EAF. Page 418.]

can say from my conscience, that I was no more
guilty of begging at that time than an unborn
baby. The beggars generally live in the low
lodging-houses, and there of a night they tell their
tales of the day, and inform each other of the
good and bad places throughout London, and what
`lurks' do the best. They will also say what
beats they intend to take the next day, so that
those who are on the same lurk may not go over
the same ground as their pals. It is no use tell-
ing a lie, but the low lodging-houses throughout
London and the country are nests for beggars and
thieves. I know some houses that are wholly
supported by beggars. In almost every one of the
padding kens, or low lodging-houses in the country,
there is a list of walks written on a piece of paper,
and pasted up over the kitchen mantel-piece. Now
at St. Alban's, for instance, at the — , and at
other places, there is a paper stuck up in each of
the kitchens. This paper is headed `Walks out
of this town,' and underneath it is set down the
names of the villages in the neighbourhood at
which a beggar may call when out on his walk,
and they are so arranged as to allow the cadger to
make a round of about six miles, each day, and
return the same night. In many of those papers
there are sometimes twenty walks set down. No
villages that are in any way `gammy' are ever
mentioned in these papers, and the cadger, if he
feels inclined to stop for a few days in the town,
will be told by the lodging-house keeper, or the
other cadgers that he may meet there, what gen-
tleman's seats or private houses are of any account
on the walk that he means to take. The names
of the good houses are not set down in the paper,
for fear of the police. Most of the lodging-house
keepers buy the `scran' (broken victuals) of the
cadgers; the good food they either eat themselves
or sell to the other travellers, and the bad they
sell to parties to feed their dogs or pigs upon.
The cadgers' talk is quite different now to what
it was in the days of Billy. You see the flats
got awake to it, so in course we had to alter the
patter. The new style of cadgers' cant is nothing
like the thieves' cant, and is done all on the
rhyming principle. This way's the caper. Sup-
pose I want to ask a pal to come and have a glass of rum and smoke a pipe of tobacco, and have a
game at cards with some blokes at home with me, I
should say, if there were any flats present,
`Splodger, will you have a Jack-surpass of finger-
and-thumb, and blow your yard of tripe of nosey
me knacker, and have a touch of the broads with
me and the other heaps of coke at my drum. [In
this it will be observed that every one of the
`cant words rhymes with the words ordinarily
used to express the same idea.] I can assure you
what little we cadgers do get we earn uncommon
hard. Why, from standing shaking — that is,
being out nearly naked in the hardest frosts — I
lost the use of my left side for nearly three years,
and wasn't able to stir outside the door. I got
my living by card-playing in the low lodging-
houses all that time. I worked the oracle — they
were not up to it. I put the first and seconds on
and the bridge also. I'd play at cards with any
one. You see, sir, I was afeard to come to you at
first because I had been `a starving' on the pave-
ment only a few days ago, not a hundred yards
from your very door, and I thought you might
know me."

MEETING OF THIEVES.

As a further proof, however, of the demoralizing
influences of the low lodging-houses, I will now
conclude my investigations into the subject with a
report of the meeting of vagrants, which I con-
vened for the express purpose of consulting them
generally upon several points which had come
under my notice in the course of my inquiries.
The Chronicle reporter's account of this meeting
was as follows: —

A meeting of an unprecedented character was
held at the British Union School-room, Shak-
speare-walk, Shadwell, on Monday evening last.
The use of the school-room was kindly granted by
Mr. Fletcher, the proprietor, to whose liberality
we stand indebted for many similar favours. It
was convened by our Metropolitan Correspondent,
for the purpose of assembling together some of the
lowest class of male juvenile thieves and vaga-
bonds who infest the metropolis and the country
at large; and although privately called, at only
two days' notice, by the distribution of tickets of
admission among the class in question at the
various haunts and dens of infamy to which they
resort, no fewer than 150 of them attended on the
occasion. The only condition to entitle the parties
to admission was that they should be vagrants,
and under twenty years of age. They had all
assembled some time before the hour for com-
mencing the proceedings arrived, and never was
witnessed a more distressing spectacle of squalor,
rags, and wretchedness. Some were young men,
and some mere children; one, who styled himself
a "cadger," was six years of age, and several who
confessed themselves "prigs" were only ten. The
countenances of the boys were of various charac-
ters. Many were not only good-looking, but had
a frank, ingenuous expression that seemed in no
way connected with innate roguery. Many, on
the other hand, had the deep-sunk and half-averted
eye which are so characteristic of natural dis-
honesty and cunning. Some had the regular
features of lads born of parents in easy circum-
stances. The hair of most of the lads was cut
very close to the head, showing their recent libera-
tion from prison; indeed, one might tell by the
comparative length of the crop, the time that each
boy had been out of gaol. All but a few of the
elder boys were remarkable, amidst the rags, filth,
and wretchedness of their external appearance,
for the mirth and carelessness impressed upon
their countenances. At first their behaviour was
very noisy and disorderly: coarse and ribald jokes
were freely cracked, exciting general bursts of
laughter; while howls, cat-calls, and all manner
of unearthly and indescribable yells threatened for
some time to render the object of the meeting
utterly abortive. At one moment a lad would
imitate the bray of a jack-ass, and immediately the
whole hundred and fifty would fall to braying.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 419.]

Then some ragged urchin would crow like a cock,
whereupon the place would echo again with a
hundred and fifty cock-crows. Then, as a black
boy entered the room, one of the young vagabonds
would shout out "swe-ee-op." This would be
received with peals of laughter, and followed by a
general repetition of the same cry. Next, a hun-
dred and fifty cat-calls of the shrillest possible
description would almost split the ears. These
would be succeeded by cries of "Strike up, you
catgut scrapers," "Go on with your barrow,"
"Flare up, my never-sweats," and a variety of
other street sayings. Indeed, the uproar which
went on before the meeting began will be best
understood if we compare it to the scene presented
by a public menagerie at feeding time. The
greatest difficulty, as might be expected, was ex-
perienced in collecting the subjoined statistics of
their character and condition. By a well-contrived
and persevering mode of inquiry, however, the
following facts were elicited: —

With respect to their ages, the youngest boy
present was 6 years old. He styled himself a
"cadger," and said that his mother, who is a
widow, and suffering from ill-health, sends him
into the streets to beg. There were seven of 10
years of age, three of 12, three of 13, ten of 14,
ten of 15, eleven of 16, twenty of 17, twenty-six
of 18, and forty-five of 19.

Nineteen had fathers and mothers still living;
thirty-nine had only one parent, and eighty were
orphans in the fullest sense of the word, having
neither father nor mother alive.

Of professed beggars there were fifty, and sixty-
six who acknowledged themselves to be habitual
thieves. The announcement that the greater num-
ber present were thieves pleased them exceedingly,
and was received with three rounds of applause.

Twelve of the youths assembled had been in
prison once (two of these were but 10 years of
age); 5 had been in prison twice; 3, thrice; 4 four
times; 7, five times; 8, six times; 5, seven times;
4, eight times; 2, nine times (1 of them 13 years
of age); 5, ten times; 5, twelve times; 2, thir-
teen times; 3, fourteen times; 2, sixteen times;
3, seventeen times; 2, eighteen times; 5, twenty
times; 6, twenty-four times; 1, twenty-five times;
1, twenty-six times; and 1, twenty-nine times.
The announcements in reply to the questions as
to the number of times that any of them had been
in prison were received with great applause, which
became more and more boisterous as the number
of imprisonments increased. When it was an-
nounced that one, though only 19 years of age,
had been in prison as many as twenty-nine times,
the clapping of hands, the cat-calls, and shouts of
"brayvo!" lasted for several minutes, and the
whole of the boys rose to look at the distinguished
individual. Some chalked on their hats the figures
which designated the sum of the several times that
they had been in gaol.

As to the causes of their vagabondism, it was
found that 22 had run away from their homes,
owing to the ill-treatment of their parents; 18
confessed to having been ruined through their
parents allowing them to run wild in the streets,
and to be led astray by bad companions; and 15
acknowledged that they had been first taught
thieving in a lodging-house.

Concerning the vagrant habits of the youths,
the following facts were elicited: 78 regularly
roam through the country every year, 65 sleep
regularly in the casual wards of the unions, and
52 occasionally slept in tramper's lodging-houses
throughout the country.

Respecting their education, according to the
popular meaning of the term, 63 of the 150 were
able to read and write, and they were principally
thieves. Fifty of this number said they had
read "Jack Sheppard," and the lives of Dick
Turpin, Claude du Val, and all the other popular
thieves' novels, as well as the "Newgate Calendar"
and "Lives of the Robbers and Pirates." Those
who could not read themselves, said they'd had
"Jack Sheppard" read to them at the lodging-
houses. Numbers avowed that they had been
induced to resort to an abandoned course of life
from reading the lives of notorious thieves, and
novels about highway robbers. When asked
what they thought of "Jack Sheppard," several
bawled out "He's a regular brick" — a sentiment
which was almost universally concurred in by the
deafening shouts and plaudits which followed.
When asked whether they would like to be Jack
Sheppards, they answered, "Yes, if the times
was the same now as they were then." Thirteen
confessed that they had taken to thieving in order
to go to the low theatres; and one lad said he had
lost a good situation on the Birmingham Railway
through his love of the play.

Twenty stated they had been flogged in prison — many of them two, three, and four different
times. A policeman in plain clothes was present;
but their acute eyes were not long before they
detected his real character notwithstanding his
disguise. Several demanded that he should be
turned out. The officer was accordingly given to
understand that the meeting was a private one,
and requested to withdraw. Having apologised
for intruding, he proceeded to leave the room —
and, no sooner did the boys see the policeman
move towards the door, than they gave vent to
several rounds of very hearty applause, accom-
panied with hisses, groans, and cries of "throw
him over."

The process of interrogating them in the mass
having been concluded, the next step was to call
several of them separately to the platform, to
narrate, in their peculiar style and phraseology,
the history of their own career, together with the
causes which had led them to take up a life of
dishonesty. The novelty of their position as
speech-makers seemed peculiarly exciting to the
speakers themselves, and provoked much merri-
ment and interest amongst the lads. Their antics
and buffoonery in commencing their addresses
were certainly of the most ludicrous character.
The first speaker, a lad 17 years of age, ascended
the platform, dressed in a torn "wide-a-awake"
hat, and a dirty smock-frock. He began: — Gen-
tlemen [immense applause and laughter], I am a
Brummagem lad [laughter]. My father has been

[Description: 915EAF. Page 420.]

dead three years, and my mother seven. When
my father died I had to go and live along with my
aunt. I fell out of employment, and went round
about the town, and fell into the company of a lot
of chaps, and went picking ladies' pockets. Then
I was in prison once or twice, and I came to
London, and have been in several prisons here. I
have been in London three years; but I have
been out of it several times in that time. I can't
get anything honest to do; and I wish I could get
something at sea, or in any foreign land. I don't
care what or where it is [cheers and yells].

Another lad about 16, clad in a ragged coat,
with a dirty face and matted hair, next came
forward and said — My father was a soldier, and
when I growed up to about ten years I joined the
regiment as a drummer in the Grenadier Guards.
I went on and got myself into trouble, till at last
I got turned away, and my father left the regi-
ment. I then went out with some more chaps
and went thieving, and have been thieving about
two years now. [Several voices — "Very good;"
"that's beautiful;" "I hope you do it well."]

The third boy, who stated that he had been
twenty-four times in prison, said he belonged to
Hendon, in Middlesex, and that his father left his
mother seventeen years ago, and he did not know
whether he was dead or alive. He went to Christ-
church school for some time, but afterwards picked
up with bad companions, and went a thieving. He
went to school again, but again left it to go a
thieving and cadging with bad companions. He
had been doing that for the last five years; and if
he could get out of it he would be very glad to
leave it [cheers].

The fourth lad (who was received with loud
cheering, evidently indicating that he was a well-
known character) said, he came from the city of
York, and was a farrier. His father died a few
years ago, and then he took to work; but "the
play" led him on to be a thief, and from that
time to the present he had done nothing but beg
or thieve. If he could go to Australia he would
be very glad; as if he stopped in England he
feared he should do nothing but thieve to the end
[laughter, with cries of "well done," "very well
spoken"].

The next speaker was about 18 years of age,
and appeared a very sharp intelligent lad. After
making a very grave but irresistibly comical pre-
fatory bow, by placing his hand at the back of his
head, and so (as it were) forcing it to give a nod,
he proceeded: My father is an engineer's labourer,
and the first cause of my thieving was that he
kept me without grub, and wallopped me
[laughter]. Well, I was at work at the same
time that he was, and I kept pilfering, and at last
they bowled me out [loud cheers]. I got a show-
ing up, and at last they turned me away; and, not
liking to go home to my father, I ran away. I
went to Margate, where I had some friends, with
a shilling in my pocket. I never stopped till I
got to Ramsgate, and I had no lodging except
under the trees, and had only the bits of bread I
could pick up. When I got there my grand-
father took me in and kept me for a twelvemonth.
My mother's brother's wife had a spite against
me, and tried to get me turned away. I did not
know what thieving was then; and I used to
pray that her heart might be turned, because I
did not know what would become of me if my
grandfather turned me away. But she got other
people to complain of me, and say I was a
nuisance to the town; but I knowed there was
no fault in me; but, however, my grandfather
said he could put up with me no longer, and
turned me away. So after that I came back to
London, and goes to the union. The first night I
went there I got tore up [cheers and laughter].
Everything was torn off my back, and the bread
was taken away from me, and because I said a
word I got well wallopped [renewed laughter].
They "small-ganged" me; and afterwards I went
seven days to prison because others tore my
clothes. When I went in there — this was the
first time — a man said to me, "What are you
here for?" I said, "For tearing up." The man
said to another, "What are you here for?" and
the other made answer, "For a handkerchief."
The man then said, "Ah, that's something like;"
and he said to me, "Why are you not a thief —
you will only get to prison for that." I said, "I
will." Well, after that I went pilfering small
things, worth a penny or twopence at first; but I
soon saw better things were as easy to be got as
them, so I took them [laughter]. I picked up
with one that knowed more than me. He fairly
kept me for some time, and I learnt as well as
him. I picked him up in a London workhouse.
After that I thought I would try my friends
again, and I went to my uncle at Dover, but he
could do nothing for me, so I got a place at a
butcher's, where I fancied myself fairly blessed,
for I had 2s. a week and my board and washing.
I kept a twelvemonth there honest, without
thieving. At last my master and I fell out and I
left again, so I was forced to come up to London,
and there I found my old companions in the
Smithfield pens — they were not living anywhere.
I used to go to the workhouse and used to tear
up and refuse to work, and used to get sent to
"quod," and I used to curse the day when it was
my turn to go out. The governor of the prison
used to say he hoped he wouldn't see my face
there again; but I used to answer, "I shall be
here again to night, because it's the only place
I've got." That's all I've got to say.

The next lad, who said he had been fourteen
times in prison, was a taller, cleaner, and more
intelligent-looking youth than any that had pre-
ceded him. After making a low affected bow,
over the railing, to the company below, and utter-
ing a preliminary a-hem or two with the most
ludicrous mock gravity, he began by saying: —
"I am a native of London. My father is a poor
labouring man, with 15s. a week — little enough,
I think, to keep a home for four, and find candle-
light [laughter]. I was at work looking after a
boiler at a paper-stainer's in Old-street-road at 6s. a week, when one night they bowled me out. I
got the sack, and a bag to take it home in
[laughter]. I got my wages, and ran away from

[Description: 915EAF. Page 421.]

home, but in four days, being hungry, and having
no money, I went back again. I got a towelling,
but it did not do me much good. My father did
not like to turn me out of doors, so he tied me to
the leg of the bedstead [laughter]. He tied my
hands and feet so that I could hardly move, but I
managed somehow to turn my gob (mouth) round
and gnawed it away. I run down stairs and got
out at the back door and over a neighbour's wall,
and never went home for nine months. I never
bolted with anything. I never took anything that
was too hot for me. The captain of a man-of-war
about this time took me into his service, where I
remained five weeks till I took a fever, and was
obliged to go to the hospital. When I recovered,
the captain was gone to Africa; and not liking to
go home, I stepped away, and have been from
home ever since. I was in Brummagem, and was
seven days in the new `stir' (prison), and nearly
broke my neck. When I came out, I fell into
bad company, and went cadging, and have been
cadging ever since; but if I could leave off, and
go to the Isle of Dogs, the Isle of Man, or the
Isle of Woman [laughter], or any other foreign
place, I would embrace the opportunity as soon as
I could. And if so be that any gentleman would
take me in hand, and send me out, I would be
very thankful to him, indeed. And so good
night" [cheers].

A dirty little boy, fourteen years of age, dressed
in a big jacket, next stood forward. He said his
father was a man-of-war's man, and when he came
home from sea once his father, his mother, and all
of them got drunk. The lad then stole 4d. from
his father's pocket. After this, when he was sent
for sixpenny rum he used to fetch fourpenny, and
for fourpenny gin threepenny; and for fourpenny
beer he used to fetch threepenny, and keep the
difference to himself. His mother used to sell
fruit, and when she left him at the stall he used
to eat what he could not sell, and used to sell
some to get marbles and buttons. Once he stole
a loaf from a baker's shop. The man let him off,
but his father beat him for it. The beating did
him no good. After that he used to go "smug-
ging" [running away with] other people's things.
Then one day his father caught him, and tied his
leg to the bedstead, and left him there till he was
pretty near dead. He ran away afterwards, and
has been thieving ever since.

A lad about twenty was here about to volunteer
a statement concerning the lodging-houses, by
which he declared he had been brought to his
ruin, but he was instantly assailed with cries of
"come down!" "hold your tongue!" and these
became so general, and were in so menacing a
tone, that he said he was afraid to make any dis-
closures, because he believed if he did so he would
have perhaps two or three dozen of the other
chaps on to him [great confusion].

Mr. Mayhew:

Will it hurt any of you here if
he says anything against the lodging-houses [yes,
yes]? How will it do so?

A Voice:

They will not allow stolen property
to come into them if it is told.

Mr. Mayhew:

But would you not all gladly
quit your present course of life [yes, yes, yes]?
Then why not have the lodging-house system, the
principal cause of all your misery, exposed?

A Voice:

If they shut up the lodging-houses,
where are we to go? If a poor boy gets to the
workhouse he catches a fever, and is starved into
the bargain.

Mr. Mayhew:

— Are not you all tired of the
lives you now lead? [Vociferous cries of "yes, yes,
we wish to better ourselves!" from all parts of the
room.]
However much you dread the exposure
of the lodging-houses, you know, my lads, as well
as I do, that it is in them you meet your com-
panions, and ruin, if not begun there, is at least
completed in such places. If a boy runs away
from home he is encouraged there and kept se-
creted from his parents. And do not the parties
who keep these places grow rich on your degrada-
tion and your peril? [Loud cries of "yes, yes!"]

Then why don't you all come forward now, and,
by exposing them to the public, who know nothing
of the iniquities and vice practised in such places,
put an end to these dens at once? There is not
one of you here — not one, at least, of the elder
boys, who has found out the mistake of his present
life, who would not, I verily believe, become
honest, and earn his living by his industry, if he
could. You might have thought a roving life a
pleasant thing enough at first, but you now know
that a vagabond's life is full of suffering, care,
peril, and privation; you are not so happy as you
thought you would be, and are tired and disgusted
with your present course. This is what I hear
from you all. Am I not stating the fact? [Re-
newed cries of "yes, yes, yes!" and a voice:
"The fact of it is, sir, we don't see our folly till it
is too late."]
Now I and many hundreds and
thousands really wish you well, and would gladly
do anything we could to get you to earn an honest
living. All, or nearly all, your misery, I know,
proceeds from the low lodging-houses ["yes, yes, it
does, master! it does"]
; and I am determined,
with your help, to effect their utter destruction.
[A voice, "I am glad of it, sir — you are quite
right; and I pray God to assist you."]

The elder boys were then asked what they
thought would be the best mode of effecting their
deliverance from their present degraded position.
Some thought emigration the best means, for if
they started afresh in a new colony, they said
they would leave behind them their bad charac-
ters, which closed every avenue to employment
against them at home. Others thought there
would be difficulties in obtaining work in the
colonies in sufficient time to prevent their being
driven to support themselves by their old practices.
Many again thought the temptations which sur-
rounded them in England rendered their reforma-
tion impossible; whilst many more considered that
the same temptations would assail them abroad
which existed at home.

Mr. Mayhew then addressed them on another
point. He said he had seen many notorious
thieves in the course of his investigations. Since
then he had received them at all hours into his
house — men of the most desperate and women of

[Description: 915EAF. Page 422.]

the most abandoned characters — but he had never
lost a 6d. worth of his property by them. One
thief he had entrusted with a sovereign to get
changed, and the lad returned and gave him back
the full amount in silver. He had since gone out
to America. Now he would ask all those present
whether, if he were to give them a sovereign, they
would do the same? [Several voices here called
out that they would, and others that they would
not. Others, again, said that they would to him,
but to no one else.]

Here one of the most desperate characters pre-
sent, a boy who had been twenty-six times in
prison, was singled out from the rest, and a sove-
reign given to him to get changed, in order to
make the experiment whether he would have the
honesty to return the change or abscond with it in
his possession. He was informed, on receiving it,
that if he chose to decamp with it, no proceedings
should be taken against him. He left the room
amid the cheers of his companions, and when he
had been absent a few moments all eyes were
turned towards the door each time it opened,
anxiously expecting his arrival, to prove his trust-
worthiness. Never was such interest displayed
by any body of individuals. They mounted the
forms in their eagerness to obtain the first glimpse
of his return. It was clear that their honour was
at stake; and several said they would kill the lad
in the morning if he made off with the money.
Many minutes elapsed in almost painful suspense,
and some of his companions began to fear that so
large a sum of money had proved too great a
temptation for the boy. At last, however, a
tremendous burst of cheering announced the lad's
return. The delight of his companions broke forth
again and again, in long and loud peals of ap-
plause, and the youth advanced amidst triumphant
shouts to the platform, and gave up the money in
full.

The assemblage was then interrogated as to
the effect of flogging as a punishment; and the
general feeling appeared to be that it hardened
the criminal instead of checking his depravity,
and excited the deadliest enmity in his bosom at
the time towards the person inflicting it. When
asked whether they had seen any public execu-
tions, they almost all cried out that they had seen
Manning and his wife hung; others said that they
had seen Rush and Sarah Thomas executed. They
stated that they liked to go a "death-hunting,"
after seeing one or two executed. It hardened
them to it, and at last they all got to thieve under
the gallows. They felt rather shocked at the
sight of an execution at first; but, after a few
repetitions, it soon wore off.

Before the meeting broke up several other lads
expressed a strong desire to make statements.

A young man, 18 years of age, and of a
miserable and ragged appearance, said he first left
home from bad usage; and could not say whether
it was the same with his sister or not, but she left
her home about nine months ago, when he met
her while he was getting his living as a coster-
monger. With the stock-money that he had, rather
than she should be driven to prostitution and the
streets, he bought as many things as he could to
furnish a room. This exhausted his stock-money,
and then his furniture had to go a little at a time
to support him and his sister in food. After this
he was obliged to take a furnished room, which
put him to greater expense. To keep her off the
streets, he was compelled to thieve. His father,
if he ever had the feeling of a Christian, would
never have treated him as he had done. Could a
father (he asked) have any feeling, who chained
his son up by the leg in a shed, as his father had
done to him, and fed him on bread and water for
one entire month: and then, after chaining him
up all day, still chain him in bed at night. This
it was that drove him into the streets at first. It
was after his mother died, and he had a step-
mother, that his father treated him thus. His
mother-in-law ill-treated him as well as his father.
If he had been a transport he could not have been
treated worse. He told his father that he was
driving him on the road to transportation, but
he took no notice of it; and he was obliged to
leave his roof. He had been in Newgate since.

A little boy, dressed in the garb of a sailor,
came up to Mr. Mayhew crying bitterly, and im-
plored him to allow him to say a word. He stated
— I am here starving all my time. Last night I
was out in the cold and nearly froze to death.
When I got up I was quite stiff and could hardly
walk. I slept in Whitechapel under a form where
they sell meat. I was an apprentice on board of
a fishing smack, and ran away because I was ill-
treated. After I ran away I broke into my
master's house because I was hungry. He gave
me twelve months, and now he is in the union
himself; he failed in business and got broken up.
I have been out of prison three months, starving;
and I would rather do anything than thieve. If
I see a little thing I take it, because I can't get
anything to eat without it. [Here the child, still
weeping piteously, uncovered his breast, and
showed his bones starting through his skin. He
said he was anxious to get out of the country.]

The following statement respecting the lodging-
houses was made, after the others had left, by
another lad. He left home when about thirteen,
and never thieved before that. His father was
dead, and his mother was unable to keep him. He
got a situation and held it for three years and
nine months, until he picked up with a man from
a lodging-house, and through keeping late hours
he was obliged to leave his place and sleep in a
lodging-house himself. The lodging-house is in
Short's-gardens. This he considered to have been
the commencement of his downfall. About forty
thieves lived in the house, and they brought in
stolen property of every description, and the de-
puties received it and took it to other people to sell
it again, and get the price and pay the thieves.
They got double as much as the thieves did, or
else they would have nothing to do with it.
Several housebreakers lived at the house, and he
heard them there plan the robbery of Bull and
Wilson, the woollen-drapers in St. Martin's-lane.
One of the men secreted himself in the house in
the daytime, and the other two were admitted by

[Description: 915EAF. Page 423.]

him at night. If he had stated this at the meeting
the persons present would have killed him. He
was sure that more might be done by giving proper
encouragement to virtue, and by reforming the
criminal, than by rigorous prosecution. He said
(with tears in his eyes) that he should be very
willing and happy to work for an honest living if
he could only get it to do. He showed a letter of
recommendation for good conduct to his former
master, and a Bible; both of which had been
given him by the chaplain of the gaol which he
had just left, after undergoing an imprisonment of
twelve months. It was useless (he said) for a
young man like him to apply to the parish for re-
lief; he might just as well stand in the street and
talk to a lamp-post. Then what was a man to do
after he left prison? He must go a thieving to
live. He was persuaded that if there was an in-
stitution to give employment to the homeless, the
friendless, and the penniless, after being liberated
from prison, it would be the means of rescuing
thousands.

The proceedings then terminated. The assem-
blage, which had become more rational and ma-
nageable towards the close, dispersed, quite peace-
ably it should be added, and the boys were
evidently sincerely grateful for the efforts being
made to bring their misfortunes before the notice
of those in whose power it may be to alleviate
them.

Before they were dismissed, as much money
was dispensed to each as would defray his night's
lodging.

OF THE COUNTRY LODGING-HOUSES.

Concerning the lodging-houses, more especially
in the country, I give the statement of a middle-
aged man, familiar with them for twenty years.
He was recommended to me as possessed of much
humour and a great master of humourous slang: —

"I can tell you all about it, sir; but one lodging-
house is so like another that I can't draw much
distinction. In small country towns, especially
agricultural towns, they are decent places enough,
regular in their hours, and tidy enough. At these
places they have what they call `their own travel-
lers,' persons that they know, and who are always
accommodated in preference. As to the characters
that frequent these places, let us begin with the
Crocusses. They carry about a lot of worms in
bottles, what they never took out of anybody,
though they'll tell you different, or long pieces of
tape in bottles, made to look like worms, and on
that they'll patter in a market place as if on a real
cure, and they've got the cheek to tell the people
that that very worm was taken from Lady — ,
near the town, and referring them to her to prove
it. The one I knew best would commence with a
piece of sponge in a bottle, which he styled the
stomach wolf. That was his leading slum, and
pretty well he sponged them too. When he'd pat-
tered on about the wolf, he had another bottle with
what he called a worm 200 inches long, he bounced
it was, which the day before yesterday he had
from Mrs. — 's girl (some well-known person),
and referred them to her. While he's going on, a
brother Crocus will step up, a stranger to the people,
and say, `Ah, Doctor — , you're right. I had
the pleasure of dining with Mr. — when the
worm was extracted, and never saw a child so
altered in my life.' That's what the Crocus's call
giving a jolly; and after that don't the first
Crocus's old woman serve out the six-penny-
worths? The stuff is to cure every mortal thing
a man can ail — ay, or a woman either. They'd
actually have the cheek to put a blister on a
cork leg. Well, when they're done pattering on
the worm racket, then come the wonderful pills.
Them are the things. These pills, from eight to a
dozen in a box, are charged 4d. to 6d. according to
the flat's appearance — as the Crocus calls his cus-
tomers. The pills meet with a ready sale, and
they're like chip in porridge, neither good nor harm.
It's chiefly the bounciful patter, the cheek they
have, that gets them Crocusses on. It's amazing.
They'll stare a fellow in the face, and make him
believe he's ill whether he is or no. The man I
speak of is a first-rate cove; he trains it and
coaches it from market to market like any gentle-
man. He wears a stunning fawny (ring) on his
finger, an out-and-out watch and guard, and not a
duffer neither — no gammon; and a slap-up suit of
black togs. I've seen the swell bosmen (farmers)
buy the pills to give the people standing about, just
to hear the Crocus patter. Why they've got the
cheek to pitch their stall with their worms opposite
a regular medical man's shop, and say, `Go over
the way and see what he'll do — he'll drive up in
a horse and gig to your door, and make you pay
for it too; but I don't — I've walked here to do
you good, and I will do you good before I leave
you. One trial is all I ask' — and quite enough
too (said my informant). I'll warrant they won't
come a second time; if they do, it's with a stick
in their hands. If he does much business in the
worm-powder way (some have it in cakes for chil-
dren), the Crocus never gives them a chance to
catch him. But if it's only pills, he'll show next
market day, or a month after, and won't he crack
about it then? He says, `One trial is all I ask,'
and one of them got it and was transported. I
knew one of these Crocusses who was once so hard
up from lushing and boozing about that he went
into a field and collected sheep dung and floured
it over, and made his pills of it, and made the
people swallow it at Lutterworth market, in Lei-
cestershire; because there they'll swallow any-
thing. If the Crocus I have mentioned see this
in the paper — as he will, for he's a reading-man —
won't he come out bouncefull? He'll say, `Why
am I thus attacked — why don't the proprietor and
the editor of this paper come forward — if he's
among you? Who made this report? let him
come forward, and I'll refute him face to face.'
And no doubt (my informant remarked), he'd give
him a tidy dose, too, the Crocus would. For my-
self, I'd far rather meet him face to face than his
medicine, either his blue or his pink water.
There's another sort who carry on the crocussing
business, but on a small scale; they're on the
penny and twopenny racket, and are called hedge
crocusses — men who sell corn salve, or `four pills

[Description: 915EAF. Page 424.]

a penny,' to cure anything, and go from house to
house in the country. But as the hedge crocus is
shickery togged, he makes poorly out. Respectable
people won't listen to him, and it's generally the
lower order that he gulls. These hedge fellows
are slow and dull; they go mouching along as if
they were croaking themselves. I've seen the
head crocus I've mentioned at four markets in
one week, and a town on a Saturday night, clear
from 5l. to 7l. — all clear profit, for his fakement
costs him little or nothing. For such a man's
pound, the hedge fellow may make 1s. The next
I'll tell you about is durynacking, or duryking.
The gipsies 9and they're called Romanies) are
the leading mob at this racket, but they're well
known, and I needn't say anything about
those ladies. But there're plenty of trav-
elling women who go about with a basket
and a bit of driss (lace) in it, gammy lace, for a
stall-off (a blind), in case they meet the master,
who would order them off. Up at a bosken
(farm-house) they'll get among the servant girls,
being pretty well acquainted with the neighbour-
hood by inquiries on the road, as to the number
of daughters and female servants. The first in-
quiry is for the missus or a daughter, and if they
can't be got at they're on to the slaveys. Sup-
pose they do get hold of one of the daughters,
they commence by offering the driss, which, as it
is queer stuff, wouldn't be picked up by an agri-
cultural young lady, as the durynacker very well
knows. Then she begins, `Ah! my sweet young
lady, my blessed looking angel' — if she's as ugly
as sin, and forty; they say that, and that's the
time you get them to rights, when they're old
and ugly, just by sweetening them, and then they
don't mind tipping the loaver (money) — `I know
you dont want this stuff (she'll continue), there's
something on your mind. I see you're in love;
but the dear handsome gentleman — he'll not
slight you, but loves you as hard as a hammer.'
This is thrown out as a feeler, and the young
lady is sure to be confused; then the durrynacker
has hold of her mauly (hand) in a minute. It's
all up with the girl, once the woman gets a grip.
She's asked in directly, and of course the sisters
(if she has any) and the slavey are let into the
secret, and all have their fortunes told. The for-
tune-teller may make a week's job of it, according
as the loaver comes out. She'll come away with
her basket full of eggs, bacon, butter, tea and
sugar, and all sorts of things. I have seen them
bring the scran in! Every one is sure to have
handsome husbands, thumping luck, and pretty
children. The durrynacker, too, is not particular,
if there's a couple of silver spoons — she doesn't
like odd ones; and mind you, she always carries a
basket — big enough too. I know a man on this
lurk, but he works the article with a small glass
globe filled full of water, and in that he shows
girls their future husbands, and kids them on to
believe they do see them — ay, and the church
they're to be married in — and they fancy they do
see it as they twist the globe this way and that,
while he twists the tin out of them, and no flies.
He actually had the cheek, though he knew
I was fly to every fake, to try to make me
believe that I could see the place where Smith
O'Brien had the fight in Ireland! `Don't you
see them cabbages, and a tall man in a green
velvet cap among them, holloring out, "I'm the
King of Munster?"' I don't know any other male
durrynacker worth noticing; the women have
all the call. Young women won't ask their for-
tunes of men. The way the globe man does is to
go among the old women and fiddle (humbug)
them, and, upon my word, three-parts of them are
worse than the young ones. Now I'll tell you
about the tat (rag) gatherers; buying rags they
call it, but I call it bouncing people. Two men I
lodged with once, one morning hadn't a farthing,
regularly smashed up, not a feather to fly with,
they'd knocked down all their tin lushing. Well,
they didn't know what to be up to, till one hit
upon a scheme. `I've got it, Joe,' says he. He
borrows two blue plates from the lodging-house
keeper, a washing jug and basin. Off they goes,
one with the crockery, and the other with a bag.
They goes into the by-courts in Windsor, be-
cause this bouncing caper wouldn't do in the main
drag. Up goes the fellow with a bag, and hollas
out, `Now, women, bring out your copper, brass,
white rags, old flannel, bed-sacking, old ropes,
empty bottles, umbrellas — any mortal thing — the
best price is given;' and the word's hardly out,
when up comes his pal, hollaring, `Sam, holloa!
stop that horse,' as if he'd a horse and cart pass-
ing the court, and then the women bring out their
umbrellas and things, and the're all to be ex-
changed for crockery such as he shows, and all
goes into the bag, and the bagman goes off with
the things, leaving the other to do the bounce,
and he keeps singing out for the horse and cart
with the load of crockery, gammoning there is
one, that the ladies may have their choice, and he
then hurries down to quicken his cart-driver's
movements, and hooks it, leaving the flats com-
pletely stunned. Oh! it does give them a ferry-
cadouzer. Two other men go about on this lurk,
one with an old cracked plate under his waistcoat,
and the other with a bag. And one sings out,
`Now, women, fourpence a pound for your white
rags. None of your truck system, your needles
and thread for it. I don't do it that way;
ready money, women, is the order of the day
with me.' Well, one old mollesher (woman),
though she must have known her rags would only
bring 2d. a lb. at a fair dealer's, if there be one,
brought out 8 lbs. of white rags. He weighs
them with his steelyards, and in they went to the
bag. The man with the bag steps it immediately,
and the other whips out his flute quite carelessly,
and says — `Which will you have marm, Jem Crow,
or the Bunch of Roses?' The old woman says
directly, `What do you mean, 8 times 4 is 32,
and 32 pence is 2s. 8d.; never mind, I won't be
hard, give me half-a-crown.' Well, when she
finds there's no money, out she hollars, and he
plays his distracted flute to drown her voice, and
backs himself manfully out of the court. I have
known these men get on so that I have seen them
with a good horse and cart. There's another class

[Description: 915EAF. Page 425.]

of rag bloaks, who have bills printed with the
Queen's Arms at the top, if you please, `By royal
authority' — that's their own authority, and they
assume plenty of it. Well, this bill specifies the best
prices for rags, left-off clothes, &c. One fellow goes
and drops these bills at the kens (houses), the other
comes after him, and as the man who drops marks
every house where a bill has been taken, the
second man knows where to call. Any house
where he gets a call commences the caper. Well,
anything to be disposed of is brought out, often in
the back yard. The party of the house produces
the bill, which promises a stunning tip for the old
lumber. The man keeps sorting the things out,
and running them down as not so good as he ex-
pected; but at the same time he kids them on by
promising three times more than the things are
worth. This is a grand racket — the way he
fakes them, and then he says, `Marm (or sir, as it
may be), I shall give you 15s. for the lot,' which
stuns the party, for they never expected to get
anything like that — and their expectations is not
disappointed, for they don't. Then he turns round
directly, and commences sorting more particularly
than before, putting the best and the easiest to
carry altogether. He starts up then, and whips a
couple of bob, or half a bull (2s. 6d.) into the
woman's hand, saying, `I always like to bind a
bargain, marm — one of the fairest dealing men
travelling. Do save all your old lumber for me.'
Of a sudden he begins searching his pockets, and
exclaims, `Dear me, I haven't enough change in
my pocket, but I'll soon settle that — my mate has
it outside. I'll just take a load out to the cart,
and come back for the others with the money;'
and so he hooks it, and I've no occasion to tell
you he never comes back; and that's what he calls
having them on the knock."

The other inmates at the lodging-houses which
my informant described are of the class concerning
whom full information is or will be given in other
portions of this or the following letters. His de-
scription of the lodging-houses, too, was a corrobo-
ration of the statement I give to-day. All the
classes described meet and mix at the lodging-
houses.

I shall reserve what I have to say concerning
the influence of the low lodging-houses of Lon-
don and the country till the conclusion of the
present volume.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CHEMICAL ARTICLES
OF MANUFACTURE.

The street purveyors of blacking, of the different
preparations of black lead, of plating-balls, of corn-
salves, of grease-removing compositions, of china
and glass cements, of rat poisons, of fly-papers, of
beetle-wafers, of gutta-percha heads, of lucifer-
matches, and of cigar-lights, may be classed
generally under two heads. They are either very
old or very young persons, or else they are men
who recommend their wares by patter.

Among the first-mentioned class are the vendors
of cakes of blacking, papers of black-lead, and
lucifer matches. Of blacking and black-lead the
street-sellers are more frequently old women; of
lucifer matches they are usually women and
children, and of all ages. It is not uncommon,
in the quieter roads of the suburbs especially, to
see a young woman extend her bare red arm from
beneath a scanty ragged shawl, and with an im-
ploring look, a low curtsey, and a piteous tone,
proffer a box of matches for sale; while a child in
her arms, perhaps of two or three years old, ex-
tends in its little hand another box. There are
also in the street sale of lucifer matches very
many girls and boys, parentless or uncared for,
and many old or infirm women and men.

The street-sellers of chemically-manufactured
articles, who feel it necessary to recommend their
wares by a little street oratory, or patter, (the
paper-worker, whose humorous remarks I have
before quoted, once described it to me as "adver-
tising by word of mouth,") are the vendors of
the articles which are to cure, to repair, to reno-
vate, or to kill. Any other itinerant vendors of
chemical articles are of the ordinary class of street
traders.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF BLACKING, BLACK
LEAD, ETC.

I specify these two commodities jointly, because
they are frequently sold by the same individual.
In Whitechapel and Spitalfields are eight estab-
lishments, where the street-sellers of blacking are
principally supplied with their stock. It is sold
in cakes, which are wrapped in a kind of oil
paper, generally printed on the back, so as to catch
the eye, with the address of some well-known
blacking manufacturer. Thus some which a street-
seller of blacking showed me were printed, in
large type, as a sort of border, "Lewis's India
Rubber Blacking," while in the middle was a very
black and very predominant 30, and beneath it,
in small and hardly distinguishable type, "Prin-
cess-st., Portman-market." Any shopkeeper, who
"supplies the trade," if he be a regular customer
of the manufacturer, can have his name and
address printed on the cover of the blacking-cakes.
The 30 is meant to catch the eye with the well-
known flourish of "30, Strand."

The quality of these cakes of blacking, the
street-sellers whom I questioned told me was
highly approved by their customers, and, as black-
ing is purchased by the classes who aim at a
smartness and cleanliness above that of the pur-
chasers of many street commodities, there is no
reason to doubt the assertion. The sale of this
blacking, indeed, is chiefly on a round, and it
would be hopeless as to future custom to call a
second time at any house where bad blacking had
been sold on a previous visit. The article is
vended wholesale, in "gross boxes," and "half-
gross boxes." The half-gross boxes are 1s. 9d., and capital, even in this trifling trade, has its
customary advantages, for the "gross boxes" are
but 3s. It should be remembered, however, that
to the buyer of two "half-gross" a couple of the
plain wooden boxes, in which the blacking is sold,
and often hawked, must be supplied; but to
the buyer of a "gross box" only one of these
cases is furnished. I may mention, to the credit

[Description: 915EAF. Page 426.]

of the vendors, that of the wholesale blacking
makers, two have themselves been street-sellers,
and one still, but only at intervals, goes "on a
blacking-round" among his old customers. There
are other blacking-makers, but those I have speci-
fied, as to number, are more particularly the pro-
viders for the street trade. The poor people who
sell blacking at a distance from the manufacturer's
premises — as in the case of the "30, Princess-st.,
Portman-market" — are supplied by oilmen, chand-
lers, and other shopkeepers, who buy largely of
the manufacturers, and can consequently supply
the purchasers by the dozen, for street sale or
hawking, as cheaply as they would be supplied by
the manufacturer himself. A dozen is generally
charged 3½d., and as the cakes are sold at ½d. each (occasionally 1d., both by the street people
and more frequently the small shopkeepers) the
profit is moderate enough. The cakes, however,
which are regularly retailed at 1d., are larger, and
cost nearly twice the amount of the others whole-
sale.

This trade presents the peculiarity of being
almost entirely a street "door-to-door" trade, as
I heard it described. Blacking is not presented
for purposes of begging, as are lucifer-matches,
tracts, memorandum-books, boot-laces, &c.; for
the half-trading, half-begging, is carried on in the
quieter parts of town, and more extensively in the
suburbs, ladies being principally accosted, and to
them blacking is not offered.

There are now, I learn from good authority,
never fewer than 200 persons selling cake black-
ing, "from door to door." More than half of
them are elderly women, and more than three-
fourths women of all ages and girls. The other
sellers are old men and boys. None of the black-
ing-sellers make the article they vend. To sell
eight dozen cakes a week is a full average, and of
these the "pennies" and the "half-pennies" are
about equally divided. This gives a weekly out-
lay of 6s. to each individual seller, with an average
profit of about 2s. 6d., and shows a yearly street-
expenditure by the public of 3120l. The profit,
however, is not in equal apportionment among
the traders in blacking, for the "old hands" on
a regular round will do double the business of the
others.

In liquid blacking the trade is now small. It
is occasionally sold in the street markets on
Saturday nights, but the principal traffic is in the
public-houses. This kind of blacking is retailed at
2d. a bottle, and, I was informed by a man who
had sold it, was "rather queer stuff." It is la-
belled "equal to" (in very small letters) Day and
Martin" in very large letters. One of the manu-
facturers a few years ago told my informant that
he had been threatened "with being sued for
piracy, but it was no use sueing a mouse." There
are sometimes none, and sometimes twenty per-
sons hawking this blacking, and they are princi-
pally, I am informed, the servants of showmen,
"out of employ," or "down on their luck."
Some of these men "raffle" their blacking in
public-houses. They are provided with tickets,
numbered from one to six, which are thrown, the
blank sides upwards on a table, and the drawer
of number six wins a two-penny bottle of blacking
for ½d.; for this the raffler receives 3d. Few of
these traders sell more than one dozen bottles in a
day, the principal trade being in the evening, and
"one-and-a-half dozen is a very good day." The
goods are carried in a sack, slung from the shoul-
der, and are a very heavy carriage, as two-and-a-
half dozen, which are often carried, weigh about
100 lbs. If ten men, the year through, take each
6s. weekly (about half the amount being profit),
which, I am assured, is the average extent of the
trade, we find 156l. yearly expended in this
liquid blacking. "Ten years ago," said one
blacking seller to me, "it was three times as
much as it is now." At the mews blacking is
sold by men who are for the most part servants
out of place, or who have become known
to the denizens of the mews, from having been
"helpers" in some capacity, if they have not
worn a livery. Here the article vended is what
it is announced to be, — "Hoby's" or "Everett's"
blacking. The sellers are known to the coach-
men and grooms, many of whom have to "find
their own blacking," or there would be no busi-
ness done in the mews, the dwellers there being
great sticklers for "a good article." The profit
to the vendors is 3s. in 12s. Shilling bottles are
vended as numerously as "sixpennies." An old
coachman, who had lived in mews in all parts of
town, calculated that, take the year through, there
was every day twenty men selling blacking in
the mews, with an average profit of 10d. a day,
or 5s. a week, so taking 15s. each. This gives a
mews expenditure, yearly, of 780l.

Black-Lead, for the polishing of grates, is sold
in small paper packets, the half ounce being a
½d., and the ounce a 1d. The profit is cent. per
cent. Nearly all the women who sell blacking, as
I have described, sell black-lead also. In addition
to these elderly traders, however, there are from
twenty to thirty boys and girls who vend black-
lead in the street markets, but chiefly on Saturday
nights, and on other days offer it through the area
rails — their wretched plight, without any actual
begging, occasionally procuring them custom.

The black-lead sold in the streets has often a
label in imitation of that of established shop-
keepers, as "Superfine Pencil Black-Lead, prepared
expressly for, and sold by T. H. Jennings, Oil-
Colour and Italian Warehouse, 25, Wormwood-
street, City." The name and address must of
course be different, but the arrangement of the
lines, and often the type, is followed closely,
as are the adornments of the packet, which
in the instance cited are heraldic. In other parts of
town, the labels of tradesmen are imitated in a
similar way, but not very closely; and in nearly
half the qantity sold a bonâ fide label is given,
without imitation or sham. "There would be
more sold in that way," I was told by a sharp
lad, "quite the real ticket, if the dons as whole-
sales the black-lead, would make it up to sell in
ha'porths and penn'orths, with a proper 'lowance
to us as sells." This boy and a young sister went
on a round; the boy with black-lead, the girl with

[Description: 915EAF. Page 427.]

boot-laces, in one direction, the mother going in
another, and each making for their room at six in
the evening, or as soon as "sold out."

There are, I am informed, 100 to 150 persons
selling and hawking black-lead in the streets, and
it may be estimated that they take 4s. each
weekly (the adults selling other small articles
with the black-lead); thus we find, averaging the
number of sellers at 125, that 1250l. is yearly
expended in this article, half of which sum forms
the profit of the street-folk.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF FRENCH POLISH.

The greater part of the French polish vended in
the streets is bought at oil and varnish-shops in
Bethnal-green and Whitechapel, the wholesale
price being 1s. a pint. The street-vendors add
turpentine to the polish, put it into small bottles,
and retail it at 1d. a bottle. They thus contrive
to clear 5d. on each shilling they take.

There are now five and sometimes six men
selling French polish in the streets and public-
houses. "But the trade's getting stale," I was
told; "there was twice as many in it three or
four years back, and there'll be fewer still next
year." When French polish first became famous
there were, I was informed, several cabinet-makers
who hawked it — some having prepared it them-
selves — and they would occasionally clear 5s. in a
day. Of these street-traders there are now none,
the present vendors having been in no way con-
nected with the manufacture of furniture. These
men generally carry with them pieces of "fancy
wood," such as rose, or sandal wood, which they
polish up in the streets to show the excellence of
the varnish. The chief purchasers are working
people and small tradespeople, or their wives, who
require trifling quantities of such a composition
when they re-polish any small article of furniture.

The French polish-sellers, I am assured by a
man familiar with the business, take 2s. a day
each, or rather in an evening, for the sales are
then the most frequent: the 2s. leaves a profit of
10d. The street expenditure is, therefore (reckon-
ing five regular sellers), 156l. yearly. None of
the French polish-sellers confine themselves en-
tirely to the sale of it.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF GREASE-REMOVING
COMPOSITIONS.

The persons engaged in this trade carry it on
with a regular patter. One man's street announce-
ment is in the following words: "Here you have
a composition to remove stains from silks, muslins,
bombazeens, cords, or tabarets of any kind or
colour. It will never injure nor fade the finest
silk or satin, but restore it to its original colour.
For grease on silks, &c., only rub the composition
on dry, let it remain five minutes, then take a
clothes' brush and brush it off, and it will be found
to have removed the stains. For grease in woollen
cloths spread the composition on the place with a
piece of woollen cloth and cold water; when dry
rub it off, and it will remove the grease or stain.
For pitch or tar use hot water instead of cold, as
that prevents the nap coming off the cloth. Here
it is. Squares of grease-removing composition,
never known to fail, only 1d. each."

This street-traffic, I was informed, was far more
extensively carried on when silks and woollen
cloths, and textile manufactures generally, were
more costly and more durable than at present,
and when to dye, and scour, and "turn" a gar-
ment, was accounted good housewiveship. The
sellers then told wonders of their making old silk
gowns, or old coats, as good as new, by removing
every discolouration, no matter from what cause.
Now a silk dress is rarely, if ever, subjected to
the experiment of being renovated by the virtues
of grease-removing compositions sold in the streets.
The trade, at present, is almost confined to the
removing of the grease from coat-collars, or of
stains from contact with paint, &c., with which
boys (principally) have damaged their garments.

The grease-remover generally carries his wares
on a tray slung in front of him, and often illus-
trates the efficacy of his composition, by showing
its application to the very greasy collar of a boy's
old jacket, which is removed with admirable fa-
cility. The man patters as he carries on this
work. "You would have thought now that
jacket was done for, and only fit for the rag-bag,
or to go to make up a lot for a Jew; but with my
composition — only 1d. a cake — it has acquired a
new nap and a new gloss, and you've escaped a
tailor's bill for awhile for 1d. You can use your
own eyes. You've seen me do it, and here's the
very same stuff as I have proved to you is so
useful and was never known to fail. No mother,
or wife, or mistress, or maid, that wishes to be
careful and not waste money, should be without
it in the house. It removes stains from silks,
&c., &c."

Notwithstanding these many recommendations,
the street trade in grease-removing cakes is a very
poor one. It cannot be carried on in bad weather,
for an audience cannot then be collected, and to
clear 1s. 6d. in a day is accounted fair work. No
grease-remover confines his trade to that common-
dity. One of the best known sells also plate balls,
and occasionally works conundrums and comic
exhibitions. The two brothers, who were formerly
Grecians at the Blue Coat School, are also in this
line. There are now seven men who sell grease-
removing compositions, which they prepare them-
selves. The usual ingredients are pipe clay, two
pennyworth of which is beat up and "worked
with two colours," generally red lead and stone
blue. This gives the composition a streaky look,
and takes away the appearance of pipe clay.

The purchasers of this article are, I am told,
women and servants, but the trade is one which
is declining. One of the best localities for sale is
Ratcliff Highway and the purchasers there are
sailors. One man told me that he once made a
pound's worth for a sailor, who took it to sea with
him. The street-seller did not know for what
purpose, but he conjectured that it was as a matter
of speculation to a foreign country.

Calculating that the seven grease-removers carry
on the sale of the article 3 days each week, and
clear 1s. 6d. per day, we find 78 guineas yearly

[Description: 915EAF. Page 428.]

expended in the streets for the removal of grease.
Nearly the whole is profit.

Plating Balls are generally sold by the grease-
removers, but sometimes they are proffered for
sale alone. There are four men whose prin-
cipal dependance is on the sale of plating
balls. One announces his wares as "making
plate as good as silver, and all inferior metals
equal to the best plated. No tarnish can stand
against my plate balls," he goes on, "and if, in
this respectable company, there should chance to
be any lady or genl'man that has no plate, then
let him make an old brass candlestick shine like
gold, or his tin candlestick, extinguisher and all,
shine like silver. Here are the balls that can do
it, and only 4 a penny. You have only to rub
the ball on your wash-leather, or dry woollen
cloth, and rub it on what has to be restored.
Four a penny!"

These balls, which are prepared by the street-
sellers, are usually made of a halfpennyworth of
whitening, a farthing'sworth of red-lead, and an
ounce of quicksilver, costing 7d. A gross of balls
costs 7¾d., as regards the materials. The receipts
of the plating ball sellers are the same as those of
the grease-removers, but with a somewhat smaller
profit.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CORN-SALVE.

The street purveyors of corn-salve, or corn-plaster,
for I heard both words used, are not more than
a dozen in number; but, perhaps, none depend
entirely upon the sale of corn-salve for a living.
As is the wont of the pattering class to which
they belong, these men make rounds into the
country and into the suburbs, but there are some-
times, on one day, a dozen "working the main
drags" (chief thoroughfares) of London: there
are no women in the trade. The salve is most
frequently carried on a small tray, slung in front
of the street professional; but sometimes it is sold
at a small stall or stand. Oxford-street, Holborn,
Tottenham-court-road, and Whitechapel, are fa-
vourite localities for these traders; as are Black-
friars-road and Newington-causeway on the Surrey
side of the Thames. On the Saturday evening
the corn-salve sellers resort to the street markets.

The patter of these traders is always to the
same purport (however differently expressed) — the
long-tested efficacy and the unquestionable cheap-
ness of their remedies. The vendors are glib and
unhesitating; but some, owing, I imagine, to a
repetition of the same words, as they move from
one part of a thoroughfare to another, or occupy a
pitch, have acquired a monotonous tone, little cal-
culated to impress a street audience — to effect
which a man must be, or appear to be, in earnest.
The patter of one of these dealers, who sells corn-
salve on fine evenings, and works the public-
houses, "with anything likely." on wet evenings,
is, from his own account, in the following words: —

"Here you have a speedy remedy for every
sort of corn! Your hard corn, soft corn, blood
corn, black corn, old corn, new corn, wart, or
bunion, can be safely cured in three days! Nothing
further to do but spread this salve on a piece of
glove-leather, or wash-leather, and apply it to the
place. Art and nature does the rest. Either
corns, warts, or bunions, cured for one penny."

This, however, is but as the announcement of
the article on sale, and is followed by a recapitu-
lation of the many virtues of that peculiar recipe;
but, as regards the major part of these street-
traders, the recapitulation is little more than a
change of words, if that. There are, however,
one and sometimes two patterers, of acknowledged
powers, who every now and then sell corn-salve —
for the restlessness of this class of people drives
them to incessant changes in their pursuits — and
their oratory is of a higher order. One of the
men in question speaks to the following purport: —

"Here you are! here you are! all that has to
complain of corns. As fast as the shoemaker
lames you, I'll cure you. If it wasn't for me he
dursn't sing at his work; bless you, but he knows
I'll make his pinching easy to you. Hard corn,
soft corn, any corn — sold again! Thank you, sir,
you'll not have to take a 'bus home when you've
used my corn-salve, and you can wear your boots
out then; you can't when you've corns. Now,
in this little box you see a large corn which was
drawn by this very salve from the honourable
foot of the late lamented Sir Robert Peel. It's
been in my possession three years and four months,
and though I'm a poor man — hard corn, soft corn, or
any corn — though I'm a poor man, the more's the
pity, I wouldn't sell that corn for the newest
sovereign coined. I call it the free-trade corn,
gen'l'men and leddis. No cutting and paring,
and sharpening penknives, and venturing on ra-
zors to level your corns; this salve draws them
out — only one penny — and without pain. But
wonders can't be done in a moment. To draw
out such a corn as I've shown you, the foot, the
whole foot, must be soaked five minutes in warm
soap and water. That makes the salve penetrate,
and draw the corn, which then falls out, in three
days, like a seed from a flower. Hard corn, soft
corn, &c., &c."

The corn from "the honourable foot" of Sir
Robert Peel, or from the foot of any one likely to
interest the audience, has been scraped and
trimmed from a cow's heel, and may safely be sub-
mitted to the inspection and handling of the in-
credulous. "There it is," the corn-seller will
reiterate — "it speaks for itself."

One practice — less common than it was, how-
ever, — of the corn-salve street-seller, is to get a
friend to post a letter — expressive of delighted as-
tonishment at the excellence and rapidity of the
corn-cure — at some post-office not very contiguous.
If the salve-seller be anxious to remove the corns
of the citizens, he displays this letter, with the
genuine post-mark of Piccadilly, St. James's-
street, Pall-mall, or any such quarter, to show
how the fashionable world avails itself of his
wares, cheap as they are, and fastidious as are
the fashionable! If the street-professional be
offering his corn-cures in a fashionable locality, he
produces a letter from Cheapside, or Cornhill —
"there it is, it speaks for itself" — to show how
the shrewd city-people, who were never taken in

[Description: 915EAF. Page 429.]

by street-sellers in their lives, and couldn't be,
appreciated that particular corn-salve! Occasion-
ally, as the salve-seller is pattering, a man comes
impetuously forward, and says loudly, "Here,
doctor, let me have a shilling's-worth. I bought
a penn'orth, and it cured one corn by bringing it
right out — here the d — d thing is, it troubled me
seven year — and I've got other corns, and I'm
determined I'll root out the whole family of
them. Come, now, look sharp, and put up a
shilling's-worth." The shilling's-worth is gravely
handed to the applicant as if it were not only a
boná fide, but an ordinary occurrence in the way
of business.

One corn-salve seller — who was not in town at
the time of my inquiry into this curious matter —
had, I was assured, "and others might have" full
faith in the efficacy of the salve he vended. One
of his fellow-traders said to me, "Ay, sir, and he
has good reason for trusting to it for a cure; he
cured me of my corns, that I'm sure of; so there
can be no nonsense about it. He has a secret."
On my asking this informant if he had tried his
own corn-salve, he laughed, and said "No! I'm
like the regular doctors that way, never tries my
own things." The same man, who had no great
faith in what he sold being of any use in the cure
of "corn, wart, or bunion," assured me — and I
have no doubt with truth — that he had sold his
remedy to persons utter strangers to him, who
had told him afterwards that it had cured their
corns. "False relics," says a Spanish proverb,
"have wrought true miracles," and to what cause
these corn-cures were attributable, it is not my
business to inquire.

I had no difficulty in acquiring a knowledge of
the ingredients of a street corn-salve. "Any-
body," said one man, "that understands how to
set about it, can get the recipe for 2d." Resin,
1 lb., (costing 2d.); tallow, ¼ lb. (1½d.); emerald
green (1d.); all boiled together. The emerald
green, I was told, was to "give it a colour." The
colour is varied, but I have cited the most usual
mode of preparation. Attempts have been made
to give an aromatic odour to the salve, but all the
perfumes within the knowledge, or rather the
means, of the street-sellers, were overpowered by
the resin and the tallow, "and it has," remarked
one dealer, "a physicky sort of smell as it is,
which answers." The quantity I have cited would
supply a sufficiency of the composition for the
taking of "a sovereign in penn'orths." In a
week or so the stuff becomes discoloured, often
from dust, and has to be re-boiled. Some of the
traders illustrate the mode of applying the salve
by carrying a lighted candle, and a few pieces of
leather, and showing how to soften the composi-
tion and spread it on the leather. "After all,
sir," said the man, who had faith in the virtues of
his fellow street-trader's salve, "the regular thing,
such as I sell, may do good; I cannot say; but it
is very likely that the resin will draw the corn,
just as people apply cobbler's wax, which has
resin in it. The chemists will sell you something
of the same sort as I do."

The principal purchasers are working men, who
buy in the streets, and occasionally in the public-
houses. The trade, however, becomes less and
less remunerative. To take 15s. in a week is a
good week, and to take 10s. is more usual; the
higher receipt is no doubt attributable to a supe-
rior patter being used, as men will give 1d. to be
amused by this street work, without caring
about the nostrum. Calculating that eight of these
traders take 10s. weekly — so allowing for the fre-
quent resort of the patterers to anything more at-
tractive — we find 208l. expended in the streets on
this salve. The profits of the seller are about
the same as his receipts, for 240 pennyworths can
be made out of materials costing only 4½d. The
further outlay necessary to this street profession is
a tray worth 1s. or 1s. 6d., but a large old back-
gammon board, which may be bought at the
second-hand shops for 1s. and sometimes for 6d., is
more frequently used by the street purveyors of
corn-salve.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF GLASS AND CHINA
CEMENT, AND OF RAZOR PASTE.

The sale of glass and china cement is an old trade
in the streets, but one which becomes less and
less followed. Before the finer articles of crock-
eryware became cheap as they are now, it was of
importance to mend, if possible, a broken dish of
better quality, and of more importance to mend a
china punch-bowl. Dishes, however, are now
much cheaper, and china punch-bowls are no
longer an indispensable part of even tavern fes-
tivity.

The sellers of this cement proclaim it as one
which will "cure any china, stone, or earthen-
ware, and make the broken parts adhere so firmly,
that if you let it fall again, it will break, not at
the part where it has been cemented, but at some
other. Only a halfpenny, or a penny a stick."
These traders sometimes illustrate the adhesive
strength of the composition by producing a plate
or dish which has been cemented in different
places, and letting it fall, to break in some
hitherto sound part. This they usually succeed
in doing. For the cementing of glass the street
article is now perhaps never sold, and was but
scantily sold, I am informed, at any time, as the
junction was always unsightly.

There are now four men who sell this cement
in the streets, one usually to be found in Wilder-
ness-row, Goswell-street, being, perhaps, the one
who carries on the trade most regularly. They
all make their own cement; one of the receipts
being — 1 lb. shellac (5d.), ¼ lb. brimstone (½d.),
blended together until it forms a thick sort of
glue. This quantity makes half-a-crown's-worth
of the cement for the purposes of retail. The
sellers do not confine themselves to one locality,
but are usually to be found in one or other of the
street-markets on a Saturday night. If each seller
take 5s. weekly (of which 4s. may be profit), we
find 52l. expended yearly by street customers in
this cement.

I include razor paste under this head, as some-
times, and at one time more frequently than now,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 430.]

the same individual sold both articles, though not
at the same time.

There are twelve street-sellers of razor-paste,
but they seem to prefer "working" the distant
suburbs, or going on country rounds, as there
are often only three in London. It is still
vended, I am told, to clerks, who use it to
sharpen their pen-knives, but the paste, owing to
the prevalence of the use of steel pens, is now
almost a superfluity, compared to what it was.
It is bought also, and frequently enough in public-
houses, by working men, as a means of "setting"
their razors. The vendors make the paste them-
selves, except two, who purchase of a street-
seller. The ingredients are generally fuller's
earth (1d.), hog's lard (1d.), and emery powder
(2d.). The paste is sold in boxes carried on a
tray, which will close and form a sort of case,
like a backgammon board. The quantity I have
given will make a dozen boxes (each sold at 1d.),
so that the profit is 7d. in the 1s., for to the 4d. paid for ingredients must be added 1d., for the
cost of a dozen boxes. The paste is announced
as "warranted to put an edge to a razor or pen-
knife superior to anything ever before offered to
the public." The street-sellers offer to prove this
by sharpening any gentleman's pen-knife on the
paste spread on a piece of soldier's old belt, which
sharpening, when required, they accomplish readily
enough. One of these paste-sellers, I was told,
had been apprenticed to a barber; another had
been a cutler, the remainder are of the ordinary
class of street-sellers.

Calculating that 6 men "work" the metropolis
daily, taking 2s. each per day (with 1s. 2d. profit),
we find 187l. the amount of the street outlay.

OF THE STREET-SELLER OF CRACKERS AND
DETONATING BALLS.

This trade, I am informed by persons familiar
with it, would be much more frequently carried
on by street-folk, and in much greater numbers,
were it not the one which of all street callings finds
the least toleration from the police. "You must
keep your eyes on both corners of the street," said
one man, "when you sell crackers; and what good
is it the police stopping us? The boys have only
to go to a shop, and then it's all right."

The trade is only known in the streets at
holiday seasons, and is principally carried on for
a few days before and after the 5th of November,
and again at Christmas-tide. "Last November was
good for crackers," said one man; "it was either
Guy Faux day, or the day before, I'm not
sure which now, that I took 15s., and nearly
all of boys, for waterloo crackers and ball crackers
(the common trade names), `waterloo' being
the `pulling crackers.' At least three parts was
ball crackers. I sold them from a barrow, wheel-
ing it about as if it was heartstone, and just
saying quietly when I could, `Six a penny crack-
ers.' The boys soon tell one another. All sorts
bought of me; doctors' boys, school boys, pages,
boys as was dressed beautiful, and boys as hadn't
neither shoes nor stockings. It's sport for them
all." The same man told me he did well at what
he called "last Poram fair," clearing 13s. 6d. in
three days, or rather evenings or nights. "Poram
fair, sir," he said, "is a sort of feast among the
Jews, always three weeks I've heard, afore their
Passover, and I then work Whitechapel and all
that way."

I inquired of a man who had carried on this
street trade for a good many years, it might be
ten or twelve, if he had noticed the uses to which
his boy-customers put his not very innocent
wares, and he entered readily into the subject.

"Why, sir," he said, "they're not all boy-
customers, as you call them, but they're far the
most. I've sold to men, and often to drunken
men. What larks there is with the ball-crackers!
One man lost his eye at Stepney Fair, but that's
6 or 7 years ago, from a lark with crackers. The
rights of it I never exactly understood, but I
know he lost his eye, from the dry gravel in the
ball-cracker bouncing into it. But it's the boys
as is fondest of crackers. I sold 'em all last
Christmas, and made my 5s. and better on Boxing-
day. I was sold out before 6 o'clock, as I had a
regular run at last — just altogether. After that,
I saw one lad go quietly behind a poor lame old
woman and pull a Waterloo close behind her ear;
he was a biggish boy and tidily dressed; and the
old body screamed, `I'm shot.' She turned about,
and the boy says, says he, `Does your grand-
mother know you're out? It's a improper thing,
so it is, for you to be walking out by yourself.'
You should have seen her passion! But as she
was screaming out, `You saucy wagabone! You
boys is all wagabones. People can't pass for you.
I'll give you in charge, I will," the lad was off
like a shot.

"But one of the primest larks I ever saw that
way was last winter, in a street by Shoreditch.
An old snob that had a bulk was making it all
right for the night, and a lad goes up. I don't
know what he said to the old boy, but I saw him
poke something, a last I think it was, against the
candle, put it out, and then run off. In a minute,
three or four lads that was ready, let fly at the bulk
with their ball-crackers, and there was a clatter
as if the old snob had tumbled down, and knocked
his lasts down; but he soon had his head out —
he was Irish, I think — and he first set up a roar
like a Smithfield bull, and he shouts, `I'm kilt
intirely wid the murthering pistols! Po-lice!
Po-o-lice!' He seemed taken quite by surprise
— for they was capital crackers — I think he
couldn't have been used to bulks, or he would
have been used to pelting; but how he did bellow,
surely.

"I think it was that same night too, I saw a
large old man, buttoned up, but seeming as if he
was fine-dressed for a party, in a terrible way in the
Commercial-road. I lived near there then. There
was three boys afore me — and very well they did it
— one of 'em throws a ball-cracker bang at the old
gent's feet, just behind him, and makes him jump
stunning, and the boy walks on with his hands in
his pocket, as if he know'd nothing about it.
Just after that another boy does the same, and
then the t'other boy; and the old gent — Lord,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 431.]

how he swore! It was shocking in such a re-
spectable man, as I told him, when he said, I'd crackered him! `Me cracker you,' says I; `it'ud
look better if you'd have offered to treat a poor
fellow to a pint of beer with ginger in it, and the
chill off, than talk such nonsense.' As we was
having this jaw, one of the boys comes back and
lets fly again; and the old gent saw how it was,
and he says, `Now, if you'll run after that lad,
and give him a d — d good hiding, you shall
have the beer.' `Money down, sir,' says I, `if
you mean honour bright;' but he grumbled some-
thing, and walked away. I saw him soon after,
talking to a Bobby, so I made a short cut home."

At the fairs near London there is a consider-
able sale of these combustibles; and they are
often displayed on large stalls in the fair. They
furnish the means of practical jokes to the people
on their return. "After last Whitsun Greenwich
Fair," said a street-seller to me, I saw a gent in a
white choker, like a parson, look in at a pastry-
cook's shop, as is jist by the Elephant (and Castle),
a-waiting for a 'bus, I s'pose. There was an old
'oman with a red face standing near him; and I
saw a lad, very quick, pin something to one's
coat and the t'other's gown. They turned jist
arter, and bang goes a Waterloo, and they looks
savage one at another; and hup comes that in-
dentical boy, and he says to the red faced 'oman,
a pointing to the white choker, `Marm, I seed
him a twiddling with your gown. He done it for
a lark arter the fair, and ought to stand some-
thing.' So the parson, if he were a parson,
walked away."

There are eight makers, I am told, who supply
the street-sellers and the small shops with these
crackers. The wholesale price is 4d. to 6d. a gross,
the "cracker-balls" being the dearest. The retail
price in the streets is from six to twelve a penny,
according to the appearance and eagerness of the
purchaser. Some street traders carry these com-
modities on trays, and very few are stationary,
except at fairs. I am assured, that for a few
days last November, from 50 to 60 men and
women were selling crackers in the streets, of
course "on the sly." In so irregular and sur-
reptitious a trade, it is not possible even to ap-
proximate to statistics. The most intelligent man
that I met with, acquainted, as he called it,
"with all the ins and outs of the trade," calcu-
lated that in November and Christmas, 100l. at
least was expanded in the streets in these com-
bustibles, and another 100l. in the other parts of
the year. About Tower-hill, Ratcliff-highway (or
"the Highway," as street-sellers often call it), and
in Wapping and Shadwell, the sale of crackers is
the best. The sellers are the ordinary street-
sellers, and no patter is required.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF LUCIFER-MATCHES.

Under this head I shall speak only of those who
sell the matches, apart from those who, in proffer-
ing lucifer boxes, mix up trade with mendicancy.
The latter class I have spoken of, and shall treat
of them more fully under the head of "the Lon-
don Poor."

Until "lucifers" became cheap and in general
use, the matches sold by the street-folks, and there
were numbers in the trade, were usually prepared
by themselves. The manufactures were simple
enough. Wooden splints, twice or thrice the
length of the lucifer matches now in use, were
prepared, and dipped into brimstone, melted in an
iron ladle. The matches were never, as now,
self-igniting, or rather ignitable by rapid friction;
but it was necessary to "strike a light" by the
concussion of a flint and steel, the sparks from
which were communicated to tinder kept in a
"box."

The brimstone match-sellers were of all ages,
but principally, I am told, old people. Many of
them during, and for some years after the war,
wore tattered regimentals, or some remains of
military paraphernalia, and had been, or assumed
to have been, soldiers, but not entitled to a pen-
sion; the same with seamen. I inquired of
some of the present race of match-sellers what
became of the "old brimstones," as I heard them
called, but from them I could gain little infor-
ation. An old groundsel-gatherer told me that
some went into his trade. Others, I learned,
"took to pins," and others to song or tract selling.
Indeed the brimstone match-sellers not unfre-
quently carried a few songs to vend with their
matches. It must be borne in mind that, 15
years ago, those street trades, into which any one
who is master of a few pence can now embark,
were less numerous. Others of the match-sellers,
with rounds, or being known men, displaced their
"brimstones" for "lucifers," and traded on as
usual. I heard of one old man, now dead, who
made a living on brimstone-matches by selling a
good quantity in Hackney, Stoke Newington, and
Islington, and who long refused to sell lucifer-
matches; "they was new-fangled rubbish," he said,
"and would soon have their day." He found his
customers, however, fall off, and in apprehension
of losing them all, he was compelled to move with
the times.

"I believe, sir," said one man, still a street-
seller, but not having sold matches of any kind
for years, — "I believe I was the first who
hawked `Congreves,' or `instantaneous lights;'
they weren't called `lucifers' for a good while
after. I bought them at Mr. Jones's light-house in
the Strand, and if I remember right, for it must
be more than 20 years ago, between 1820 and
1830, Mr. Jones had a patent somehow about
them. I bought them at 7s. a dozen boxes, and
sold them at 1s. a box. I'm not sure how many
matches was in a box, but I think it was 100.
You'll get as much for a farthing now, as you
would for a shilling then. The matches were
lighted by being drawn quickly through sand-
paper. I sold them for a twelvemonth, and had
the trade all to myself. As far as I know, I had;
for I never met with or heard of anybody else in
it all that time. I did decent at it. I suppose I
cleared my 15s. a week. The price kept the same
while I was in the business. I sold them at city
offices. I supplied the Phœnix in Lombard-
street, I remember, and the better sort of shops.

[Description: 915EAF. Page 432.]

People liked them when they wanted to light a
candle in a hurry, in places where there was no
fire to seal a letter, or such like. There was no
envelopes in them days. The penny-postage
brought them in. I was sometimes told not to
carry such things there again, as they didn't want
the house set on fire by keeping such dangerous
things in it. Now, I suppose, lucifers are in every
house, and that there's not a tinder-box used in
all London." Such appears to have been the
beginning of the extensive street-trade in these
chemical preparations now carried on. At the
twelvemonth's end, my informant went into an-
other line of business.

The "German Congreves" were soon after in-
troduced, and were at first sold wholesale at the
"English and German" swag-shops in Hounds-
ditch, at 2s. the dozen boxes, and were retailed
at 3d., 4d., and sometimes as high as 6d. the box.
These matches, I am told, "kept their hold"
about five years, when they ceased to be a portion
of the street trade. The German Congreves were
ignited by being drawn along a slip of sand-
paper, at the bottom of the box, as is done at
present; with some, however, a double piece of
sand-paper was sold for purposes of igniting.

After this time cheaper and cheaper matches
were introduced, and were sold in the streets im-
mediately on their introduction. At first, the
cheaper matches had an unpleasant smell, and
could hardly be kept in a bed-room, but that was
obviated, and the trade progressed to its present
extent.

The lucifer-match boxes, the most frequent in
the street-trade, are bought by the poor persons
selling them in the streets, at the manufacturers,
or at oil-shops, for a number of oilmen buy largely
of the manufacturers, and can "supply the trade"
at the same rate as the manufacturer. The price
is 2¼d. the dozen boxes, each box containing 150
matches. Some of the boxes (German made) are
round, and many used to be of tin, but these are
rarely seen now. The prices are proportionate.
The common price of a lucifer box in the streets
is ½d., but many buyers, I am told, insist upon
and obtain three a penny, which they do generally
of some one who supplies them regularly. The
trade is chiefly itinerant.

One feeble old man gave me the following
account of his customers. He had been in the
employ of market-gardeners, carmen, and others,
whose business necessitated the use of carts and
horses. In his old age he was unable to do any
hard work; he was assisted, however, by his
family, especially by one son living in the
country; he had a room in the house of a daugh-
ter, who was a widow, but his children were
only working people, with families, he said, and so
he sold a few lucifers "as a help," and to have
the comfort of a bit of tobacco, and buy an old
thing in the way of clothing without troubling
any one. Out of his earnings, too, he paid 6d. a
week for the schooling of one of his daughter's
children.

"I sell these lucifers, sir," he said, in answer
to my inquiries, "I never beg with them: I'd
scorn it. My children help me, as I've told you;
I did my best for them when I was able, and so
I have a just sort of claim on them. Well,
indeed, then, sir, as you ask me, if I had only
myself to depend upon, why I couldn't live. I
must beg or go into the house, and I don't know
which I should take to worst at 72. I've been
selling lucifers about five years, for I was worn
out with hard work and rheumatics when I was
65 or 66. I go regular rounds, about 2 miles in a
day, or 2½, or if it's fine 3 miles or more from
where I live, and the same distance back, for I
can sometimes walk middling if I can do nothing
else. I carry my boxes tied up in a handker-
chief, and hold 2 or 3 in my hand. I'm ashamed
to hold them out on any rail where I aint known;
and never do if there isn't a good-humoured
looking person to be seen below, or through the
kitchen window. But my eyesight aint good,
and I make mistakes, and get snapped up very
short at times. Yesterday, now, I was lucky
in my small way. There's a gentleman, that if I
can see him, I can always sell boxes to at 1d. a piece. That's his price, he says, and he takes
no change if I offer it. I saw him yesterday at
his own door, and says he, `Well, old greybeard,
I haven't seen you for a long time. Here's 1s., leave a dozen boxes.' I told him I had only 11
left; but he said, `O, it's all the same,' and he
told a boy that was crossing the hall to take them
into the kitchen, and we soon could hear the
housekeeper grumbling quite loud — perhaps she
didn't know her master could hear — about being
bothered with rubbish that people took in master
with; and the gentleman shouts out, `Some of
you stop that old — mouth, will you? She
wants a profit out of them in her bills.' All was
quiet then, and he says to me quite friendly, `If
she wasn't the best cook in London I'd have
quitted her long since, by G — .' " The old man
chuckled no little as he related this; he then went
on, "He's a swearing man, but a good man, I'm
sure, and I don't know why he's so kind to me.
Perhaps he is to others. I'm ashamed to hold
my boxes to the ary rails, 'cause so many does
that to beg. I sell lucifers both to mistresses and
maids. Some will have 3 for a 1d., and though
it's a poor profit, I do it, for they say, `O, if you
come this way constant, we'll buy of you when-
ever we want. If you won't give 3 a penny,
there's plenty will.' I sell, too, in some small
streets, Lisson-grove way, to women that see me
from their windows, and come down to the door.
They're needle-workers I think. They say some-
times, `I'm glad I've seen you, for it saves me
the trouble of running out.'

"Well, sir, I'm sure I hardly know how many
boxes I sell. On a middling good day I sell
2 dozen, on a good day 3 dozen, on a bad day
not a dozen, sometimes not half-a-dozen, and
sometimes, but not often, not more than a
couple. Then in bad weather I don't go out,
and time hangs very heavy if it isn't a Monday;
for every Monday I buy a threepenny paper
of a newsman for 2d., and read it as well as I
can with my old eyes and glasses, and get my

[Description: 915EAF. Page 433.]

daughter to read a bit to me in the evening, and
next day I send the paper to my son in the
country, and so save him buying one. As well as
I can tell I sell about 9 dozen boxes a week, one
week with another, and clear from 2s. to 2s. 6d.
It's employment for me as well as a help."

It is not easy to estimate the precise number of
persons who really sell lucifer matches as a means
of subsistence, or as a principal means. There
are many, especially girls and women, the ma-
jority being Irishwomen, who do not directly
solicit charity, and do not even say, "Buy a box
of lucifers from a poor creature, to get her a
ha'porth of bread;" or, "please a bit of broken
victuals, if it's only cold potatoes, for a box of the
best lucifers." Yet these match-sellers look so
imploringly down an area, or through a window,
some "shouldering" a young child the while, and
remain there so pertinaciously that a box is bought,
or a halfpenny given, often merely to get rid of
the applicant.

An intelligent man, a street-seller, and familiar
with street-trading generally, whom I questioned
on the subject, said: "It's really hard to tell, sir,
but I should calculate this way. It's the real
sellers you ask about; them as tries to live on
their selling lucifers, or as their main support. I
have worked London and the outside places — yes,
I mean the suburbs — in ten rounds, or districts, but
six is better, for you can then go the same round the
same day next week, and so get known. The real
sellers, in my opinion, is old men and women out
of employ, or past work, and to beg they are
ashamed. I've read the Bible you see, sir, though
I've had too much to do with gay persons even to
go to church. I should say that in each of those
ten rounds, or at any rate, splicing one with
another, was twenty persons really selling luci-
fers. Yes, and depending a good deal upon them,
for they're an easy carriage for an infirm body,
and as ready a sale as most things. I don't
reckon them as begs, or whines, or sticks to a
house for an hour, but them as sells; in my
opinion, they're 200, and no more. All the
others dodges, in one way or other, on pity and
charity. There's one lurk that's getting common
now. A man well dressed, and very clean, and
wearing gloves, knocks at a door, and asks to
speak to the master or mistress. If he succeeds,
he looks about him as if he was ashamed, and
then he pulls out of his coat-pocket a lucifer box
or two, and asks, as a favour, to be allowed to sell
one, as reduced circumstances drive him to do so.
He doesn't beg, but I don't reckon him a seller,
for he has always some story or other to tell,
that's all a fakement." Most dwellers in a
suburb will have met with one of these well-
dressed match-sellers.

Adopting my informant's calculation, and sup-
posing that each of these traders take, on lucifers
alone, but 4s. weekly, selling nine dozen (with a
profit to the seller of from 1s. 9d. to 2s. 6d.), we
find 2080l. expended in this way. The matches
are sold also at stalls, with other articles, in the
street markets, and elsewhere; but this traffic, I
am told, becomes smaller, and only amounts to one-
tenth of the amount I have specified as taken by
itinerants. These street-sellers reside in all parts
of town which I have before specified as the
quarters of the poor.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CIGAR LIGHTS,
OR FUZEES.

This is one of the employments to which boys,
whom neglect, ill-treatment, destitution, or a
vagrant disposition, have driven or lured to a
street life, seem to resort to almost as readily as to
the offers," "Old your'os, sir? "Shall I carry
your passel, marm?"

The trifling capital required to enter into the
business is one cause of its numbering many fol-
lowers. The "fuzees," as I most frequently heard
them called, are sold at the "Congreve shops,"
and are chiefly German made. At one time, in-
deed, they were announced as "German tinder."
The wholesale charge is 4½d. per 1000 "lights."
The 1000 lights are apportioned into fifty rows,
each of twenty self-igniting matches; and these
"rows" are sold in the streets, one or two
for ½d., and two, three, or four 1d. It is com-
mon enough for a juvenile fuzee-seller to buy only
500; so that 2¼d. supplies his stock in trade.

The boys (for the majority of the street-traders
who sell only fuzees, are boys) frequent the ap-
proaches to the steam-boat piers, the omnibus
stands, and whatever places are resorted to by
persons who love to smoke in the open air. Some
of these young traders have neither shoes nor
stockings, more especially the Irish lads, who are
at least half the number, and their apology for a
cap fully displays the large red ears, and flat
features, which seem to distinguish a class of the
Irish children in the streets of London. Some
Irish boys hold out their red-tipped fuzees with
an appealing look, meant to be plaintive, and say,
in a whining tone, "Spend a halfpenny on a
poor boy, your honour." Others offer them,
without any appealing look or tone, either in si-
lence, or saying — "Buy a fuzee to light your
pipe or cigar, sir; a row of lights for a ½d."

I met with one Irish boy, of thirteen or four-
teen years of age, who was offering fuzees to the
persons going to Chalk Farm fair on Easter
Tuesday, but the rain kept away many visitors,
and the lad could hardly find a customer. He
was literally drenched, for his skin, shining with
the rain, could be seen about his arms and knees
through the slits of his thin corduroy jacket and
trowsers, and he wore no shirt.

"It's oranges I sell in ginral, your honour," he
said, "and it's on oranges I hopes to be next
week, plaze God. But mother — it's orange-selling
she is too — wanted to make a grand show for
Aister wake, and tuk the money to do it, and put
me on the fuzees. It's the thruth I'm telling
your honour. She thought I might be after
making a male's mate" (meal's meat) "out of them,
intirely; but the sorra a male I'll make to day
if it cost me a fardin, for I haven't tuk one. I
niver remimber any fader; mother and me lives
together somehow, glory be to God; but it's often
knowin' what it is to be hungry we are. I've

[Description: 915EAF. Page 434.]

sould fuzees before, when ingans, and nuts, and
oranges was dear and not for the poor to buy,
but I niver did so bad as to-day. A gintleman
once said to me: `Here, Pat, yer sowl, you look
hungry. Here's a thirteener for yez; go and get
drunk wid it.' Och, no, your honour, he wasn't
an Irish gintleman; it was afther mocking me he
was, God save him." On my asking the boy if
he felt hurt at this mockery, he answered, slily,
with all his air of simplicity, "Sure, thin, wasn't
there the shillin'? For it was a shillin' he gave
me, glory be to God. No, I niver heard it called
a thirteener before, but mother has. Och, thin,
sir, indeed, and it's could and wet I am. I have
a new shirt, as was giv to mother for me by a
lady, but I wouldn't put it on sich a day as this,
your honour, sir. I'll go to mass in it ivery
Sunday. I've made 6d. a day and sometimes
more a sellin' fuzees, wid luck, God be praised,
but the bad wither's put me out intirely this
time."

The fuzee-sellers frequently offer their wares at
the bars of public-houses in the daytime, and
sometimes dispose of them to those landlords who
sell cigars. From the best information I can com-
mand there are now upwards of 200 persons
selling fuzees in the streets of the metropolis. But
the trade is often collateral. The cigar-seller offers
fuzees, play-bill sellers (boys) do so sometimes at
the doors of the theatres to persons coming out,
the pipe-sellers also carry them; they are some-
times sold along with lucifer matches, and at
miscellaneous stalls. It will, I believe, be accurate
to state that in the streets there are generally
100 persons subsisting, or endeavouring to subsist,
on the sale of fuzees alone. It may be estimated
also that each of these traders averages a receipt
of 10d. a day (with a profit exceeding 6d.), so
that 1300l. is yearly laid out in the streets in this
way.

Of the fuzee-selling lads, those who are parent-
less, or runaway, sleep in the lodging-houses, in
the better conducted of which the master or deputy
takes charge of the stock of fuzees or lucifer-
matches during the night to avert the risk of fire;
in others these combustibles are stowed anywhere
at the discretion, or indiscretion, of the lodgers.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF GUTTA-PERCHA
HEADS.

There are many articles which, having become
cheap in the shops, find their way to the street-
traders, and after a brief, or comparatively brief,
and prosperous trade has been carried on in them,
gradually disappear. These are usually things
which are grotesque or amusing, but of no utility,
and they are supplanted by some more attractive
novelty — a main attraction being that it is a
novelty.

Among such matters of street-trade are the
elastic toys called "gutta-percha heads;" these,
however, have no gutta-percha in their composition,
but consist solely of a composition made of
glue and treacle — the same as is used for printer's
rollers. The heads are small coloured models of
the human face, usually with projecting nose and
chin, and wide or distorted mouth, which admit
of being squeezed into a different form of fea-
tures, their elasticity causing them to return to
the original caste. The trade carried on in the
streets in these toys was at one time extensive,
but it seems now to be gradually disappearing.
On a fine day a little after noon, last week, there
was not one "head" exposed for sale in any of
the four great street markets of Leather-lane, the
Brill, Tottenham-court-road including the Hamp-
stead-road, and High-street, Camden-town.

The trade became established in the streets up-
wards of two years ago. At first, I am told by a
street-seller, himself one of the first, there were
six "head-sellers," who "worked" the parks and
their vicinity. My informant one day sold a gross
of heads in and about Hyde-park, and a more
fortunate fellow-trader on the same day sold 1½
gross. The heads were recommended, whenever
opportunity offered, by a little patter. "Here,"
one man used to say, "here's the Duke of Wel-
lington's head for 1d. It's modelled from the
statty on horseback, but is a improvement. His
nose speaks for itself. Sir Robert Peel's only 1d.
Anybody you please is 1d.; a free choice and
no favour. The Queen and all the Royal Family
1d. apiece." As the street-seller offered to dis-
pose of the model of any eminent man's head and
face, he held up some one of the most grotesque
of the number. Another man one Saturday
evening sold five or six dozen to costermongers
and others in the street markets "pattering" them
off as the likenesses of any policeman who might
be obnoxious to the street-traders! This was
when the trade was new. The number of sellers
was a dozen in the second week; it was soon
twenty-five, all confining themselves to the sale of
the heads; besides these the heads were offered to
the street-buying public by many of the stationary
street-folk, whose stock partook of a miscellaneous
character. The men carrying on this traffic were
of the class of general street-sellers.

"The trade was spoiled, sir," said an informant,
"by so many going into it, but I've heard that
it's not bad in parts of the country now. The
sale was always best in the parks, I believe, and
Sundays was the best days. I don't pretend to
be learned about religion, but I know that many
a time after I'd earned next to nothing in a wet
week, it came a fine Sunday morning, and I
took as much as got me and my wife and
children a good dinner of meat and potatoes, and
sometimes, when we could depend on it, smoking
hot from the baker's oven; and I then felt I had
something to thank God for. You see, sir, when
a man's been out all the week, and often with
nothing to call half a dinner, and his wife's earn-
ings only a few pence by sewing at home, with
three young children to take care of, you're
nourished and comforted, and your strength keeps
up, by a meat dinner on a Sunday, quietly in
your own room. But them as eats their dinner
without having to earn it, can't understand about
that, and as the Sunday park trade was stopped,
the police drive us about like dogs, not gentle-
men's dogs, but stray or mad dogs. And it

[Description: 915EAF. Page 435.]

seems there's some sort of a new police. I can't
understand a bit of it, and I don't want to, for
the old police is trouble enough."

The gutta-percha heads are mostly bought at the
"English and German" swag-shops. A few are
made by the men who sell them in the streets.
The "swag" price is 1s. the gross; at one time
the swag man demurred to sell less than half a
gross, but now when the demand is diminished, a
dozen is readily supplied for 8d. The street
price retail, is and always was 1d. a head. The
principal purchasers in the street are boys and
young men, with a few tradesmen or working
people, "such as can afford a penny or two," who
buy the "gutta percha" heads for their children.
There used to be a tolerable trade in public
houses, where persons enjoying themselves bought
them "for a lark," but this trade has now
dwindled to a mere nothing. One of the "larks,"
an informant knew to be practised, was to attach
the head to a piece of paper or card, write upon
it some one's name, make it up into a parcel, and
send it to the flattered invividual. The same man
had sold heads to young women, not servant-
maids he thought, but in some not very ill paid
employment, and he believed, from their manner
when buying, for some similar purpose of "larking."
When the heads were a novelty, he sold a good
many to women of the town.

There are now no street-folks who depend upon
the sale of these gutta-percha heads, but they sell
them occasionally. The usual mode is to display
them on a tray, and now, generally with other
things. One man showed me his box, which,
when the lid was raised, he carried as a tray
slung round his neck, and it contained gutta-
percha heads, exhibition medals, and rings and
other penny articles of jewellery.

There are at present, I am informed, 30 persons
selling gutta-percha heads in the streets, some of
them confining their business solely to those articles.
In this number, however, I do not include those
who are both makers and sellers. Their average
receipts, I am assured, do not exceed 5s. a week
each, for, though some may take 15s. a week,
others, and generally the stationary head-sellers,
do not take 1s. The profit to the street retailer
is one third of his receipts. From this calculation
it appears, that if the present rate of sale continue,
390l. is spent yearly in these street toys. At
one time it was far more than twice the amount.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF FLY-PAPERS
AND BEETLE-WAFERS.

Fly-Papers came, generally, into street-traffic, I
am informed, in the summer of 1848.

The fly-papers are sold wholesale at many of
the oil-shops, but the principal shop for the supply
of the street-traders is in Whitechapel. The
wholesale price is 2¼d. a dozen, and the (street)
retail charge ½d. a paper, or three 1d. A young
man, to whom I was referred, and whom I found
selling, or rather bartering, crockery, gave me the
following account of his experience of the fly-
paper trade. He was a rosy-cheeked, strong-built
young fellow, and said he thought he was "getting
on" in his present trade. He spoke merrily of
his troubles, as I have found common among his
class, when they are over.

"My father had a milk-walk," he said, "and
when he died I was without money and had
nothing to do, but I soon got a place with a single
gentleman. He had a small house, and kept only
me and a old housekeeper. I was to make my-
self generally useful, but when I first went, the
most I had to do was to look after a horse that
master had. Master never was on horseback in
his life, but he took Skipjack — that was the horse's
name, he was rising six — for a debt, and kept him
two months, till he could sell him to his mind.
Master took a largeish garden — for he was fond of
growing flowers and vegetables, and made presents
of them — just before poor Skipjack went, and I
was set to work in it, besides do my house-work.
It was a easy place, and I was wery comfable.
But master, who was a good master and a friend
to a poor man, as I know, got into difficulties; he
was something in the City; I never understood
what; and one night, when I'd been above a
year and a-half with him, he told me I must go,
for he couldn't afford to keep me any longer. Next
day he was arrested, quite sudden I believe, and
sent to prison for debt. I had a good character,
but nobody cared for one from a man in prison,
and in a month my money was out, and my last
3s. 6d. went for an advertisement, what was no
good to me. I then took to holding horses or
anything that way, and used to sleep in the parks
or by the road-sides where it was quiet. I did
that for a month and more. I've sometimes never
tasted food all day, and used to quench myself
(so he worded it) with cold water from the
pumps. It took off the hunger for a time. I got
to know other boys that was living as I was, and
when I could afford it I slept at lodging-houses, the
boys took me to or told me about. One evening
a gentleman gave me 1s. for catching his horse
that he'd left standing, but it had got frightened,
and run off. Next morning I went into the fly-
paper trade, — it's nearly two years ago. I think —
because a boy I slept with did tidy in it. We
bought the papers at the first shop as was open,
and then got leave of the deputy of the lodging-
house to catch all the flies we could, and we stuck
them thick on the paper, and fastened the paper
to our hats. I used to think, when I was in ser-
vice, how a smart livery hat, with a cockade to it,
would look, but instead of that I turned out, the
first time in my life that ever I sold anything,
with my hat stuck round with flies. I felt so
ashamed I could have cried. I was miserable, I
felt so awkerd. But I spent my last 2d. in some
gin and milk to give me courage, and that bright-
ened me up a bit, and I set to work. I went
Mile-end way, and got out of the main streets,
and I suppose I'd gone into streets and places
where there hadn't often been fly-papers before,
and I soon had a lot of boys following me, and I
felt, almost, as if I'd picked a pocket, or done
something to be 'shamed of. I could hardly cry
`Catch 'em alive, only a halfpenny!' But I
found I could sell my papers to public-houses and

[Description: 915EAF. Page 436.]

shopkeepers, such as grocers and confectioners,
and that gave me pluck. The boys caught flies,
and then came up to me, and threw them against
my hat, and if they stuck the lads set up a shout.
I stuck to the trade, however, and took 2s. 6d. to
3s. every day that week, more than half of it
profit, and on Saturday I took 5s. 6d. The trade
is all to housekeepers. I called at open shops and
looked up at the windows, or held up my hat at
private houses, and was sometimes beckoned to go
in and sell my papers. Women bought most, I
think. `Nasty things,' they used to say, `there's
no keeping nothing clean for them.' I stuck to the
trade for near two months, and then I was worth
13s. 6d., and had got a pair of good shoes, and a
good second-hand shirt, with one to change it;
and next I did a little in tins and hardware, at
the places where I used to go my fly rounds, and
in the winter I got into the crock-trade, with
another young fellow for a mate, and I'm in it
yet, and getting a tidy connection, I think."

Some of the fly-paper sellers make their stock-in-
trade, but three-fourths of the number buy them
ready-made. The street-sellers make them of old
newspapers or other waste-paper, no matter how
dirty. To the paper they apply turpentine and
common coach varnish, some using resin instead of
varnish, and occasionally they dash a few grains
of sugar over the composition when spread upon
the paper.

Last summer, I was informed, there were fifty
or sixty persons selling fly-papers and beetle
wafers in the streets; some of them boys, and
all of them of the general class of street-sellers,
who "take" to any trade for which 1s. suffices
as capital. Their average earnings may be esti-
mated at 2s. 6d. a day, about one-half being
profit. This gives a street outlay, say for a
"season" of ten weeks, of 375l., calculating fifty
sellers.

A few of these street traders carried a side of a
newspaper, black with flies, attached to a stick,
waving it like a flag. The cries were "Catch 'em
alive! Catch 'em alive for ½d!" "New method
of destroying thousands!"

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF MISCELLANEOUS
MANUFACTURED ARTICLES.

In addition to the more staple wares which form
the street trade in manufactured articles of a
miscellaneous character, are many, as I said before,
which have been popular for a while and are now
entirely disused. In the course of my inquiry it
was remarkable how oblivious I found many of
the street-sellers as to what they had sold at
various periods. "O dear, yes sir, I've sold
all sorts of things in the streets besides what
I'm on now; first one and then another as
promised a few pence," was the substance of a re-
mark I frequently heard; but what was meant by
the one and the other thing thus sold they had a
difficulty to call to mind, but on a hint being
thrown out they could usually give the necessary
details. From the information I acquired I select
the following curious matter.

Six or seven years ago Galvanic Rings were
sold extensively by the street-folk. These were
clumsy lead-coloured things, which were described
by the puffing shop-keepers, and in due course by
the street-sellers, as a perfect amulet; a thing
which by its mere contact with the finger would
not only cure but prevent "fits, rheumatics, and
cramps." On my asking a man who had sold
them if these were all the ailments of which he
and the others proclaimed the galvanic rings an
infallible cure, he answered: "Like the quack
medicines you read about, sir, in 'vertisements, we
said they was good for anything anybody com-
plained of or was afraid was coming on them, but
we went mostly for rheumatics. A sight of tin
some of the shopkeepers must have made, for
what we sold at 1d. they got 6d. a piece for.
Then for gold galvanics — and I've been told they
was gilt — they had 10s. 6d. each. The streets is
nothing to the shops on a dodge. I've been told
by people as I'd sold galvanics to, that they'd had
benefit from them. I suppose that was just su-
perstitious. I think Hyams did the most of any
house in galvanics."

The men selling these rings — for the business
was carried on almost entirely by men — were the
regular street-traders, who sell "first one thing
and then another." They were carried in boxes,
as I have shown medals are now, and they gene-
rally formed a portion of the street-jeweller's stock,
whether he were itinerant or stationary. The
purchasers were labourers in the open air, such as
those employed about buildings, whose exposure
to the alternations of heat and cold render them
desirous of a cure for, or preventive against rheu-
matism. The costermongers were also purchasers,
and in the course of my inquiries among that
numerous body, I occasionally saw a galvanic ring
still worn by a few, and those chiefly, I think,
fish-sellers.

Nor was the street or shop trade in these gal-
vanic rings confined to amulets for the finger. I
heard of one elderly woman, then a prosperous
street-seller in the New Cut, who slept with a
galvanic ring on every toe, she suffered so much
from cramp and rheumatism! There were also
galvanic shields, which were to be tied round the
waist, and warranted "to cure all over." They
were retailed at 6d. each. Galvanic earrings were
likewise a portion of this manufacture. They
were not "drops" from the ear, but filled behind
and around it as regards the back of the skull,
and were to avert rheumatic attacks, and even
aching from the head. The street price was 1s. the pair. Galvanic bracelets, handsomely gilt,
were 2s. 6d. the pair. But the sale of all these
highter-priced charms was a mere nonentity com-
pared to that of the penny rings.

Another trade — if it may be classed under this
head — carried on by great numbers and with
great success for a while, was that of cards with
the Lord's Prayer in the compass of a sixpence.
This was an engraving — now and then offered in
the streets still — strictly fulfilling the announce-
ment as to the compass in which the Prayer was
contained, with the addition of a drawing of the
Bible, as part of the engraving, "within the six-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 437.]

pence." This trade was at first, I am told, chiefly
in the hands of the patterers: "Grand novelty!"
they said; "splendid engraving! The Lord's
Prayer, with a beautiful picture of the Bible, all
legible to the naked eye, in the compass of a six-
pence. Five hundred letters, all clear, on a six-
pence." One man said to me: "I knew very
well there wasn't 500, but it was a neat number
to cry. A schoolmaster said to me once — `Why,
there isn't above half that number of letters.' He
was wrong though; for I believe there's 280."
This card was published six or seven years ago,
and the success attending the sale of the Lord's
Prayer, led to the publication of the Belief in the
same form. "When the trade was new," said
one man, "I could sell a gross in a day without
any very great trouble; but in a little time there
was hundreds in the trade, and one might patter
hard to sell four dozen."

The wholesale price was 8s. the gross, and as
thirteen cards went to the dozen, the day's profit
when a gross was sold was 5s. When the sale
did not extend to beyond four dozen the profit was
1s. 8d. A few cards "in letters of gold" were
vended in the streets at 6d. each. They had
large margins and presented a handsome appear-
ance. The wholesale price was 3s. 6d. the dozen.

When this trade was at its height, there were,
I am told, from 500 to 700 men, women and
children engaged in it; selling the cards both
with and without other articles. The cards had
also a very extensive sale in the country.

Pen-holders with glass or china handles are an-
other commodity which appeared suddenly, about
six months ago, in street commerce, and at once be-
came the staple of a considerable traffic. These pens
are eight or nine inches long, the "body," so to
speak, being of solid round glass, of almost all
colours, green, blue, and black predominating, with
a seal (lacquered white or yellow) at the top, and a
holder of the usual kind, with a steel pen at the
bottom. Some are made of white pot and called
"China pens," and of these some are ornamented
with small paintings of flowers and leaves. These
wares are German, and were first charged 9s. 6d. the gross, without pens, which were an additional
3d. at the swag-shops. The price is now 5s. the
gross, the pens being the same. The street-
sellers who were fortunate enough to "get a good
start" with these articles did exceedingly well.
The pen-holders, when new, are handsome-looking,
and at 1d. each were cheap; some few were at
first retailed at 2d. One man, I am told, sold
two-and-a-half gross in one day in the neighbour-
hood of the Bank, purchasers not seldom taking
a dozen or more. As the demand continued,
some men connected with the supply of goods for
street sale, purchased all the stock in the swag-
shops, expending about 170l., and at once raised
the price to 10s. 6d. the gross. This amount the
poorer street-sellers demurred to give, as they
could rarely obtain a higher price than 1d. each,
and 2d. for the ornamented holders, but the street-
stationers (who bought, however, very sparingly)
and the small shopkeepers gave the advance "as
they found the glass-holders asked for." On the
whole, I am told, this forestalling was not very
profitable to the speculators, as when fresh sup-
plies were received at the "swags," the price fell.

At first this street business was carried on by
men, but it was soon resorted to by numbers of
poor women and children. One gentleman in-
formed me that in consequence of reading "Lon-
don Labour and the London Poor," he usually
had a little talk with the street-sellers of whom he
purchased any trifle; he bought these pen-holders
of ten or twelve different women and girls; all of
them could answer correctly his inquiry as to the
uses of the pens; but only one girl, of fifteen or
sixteen, and she hesitatingly, ventured to assert
that she could write her own name with the pen
she offered for sale. The street-trade still con-
tinues, but instead of being in the hands of 400
individuals — as it was, at the very least, I am
assured, at one period — there are now only about
fifty carrying it on itinerantly, while with the
"pitched" sales-people, the glass-holders are
merely a portion of the stock, and with the itine-
rants ten dozen a week (a receipt of 10s., and a
profit of 4s. 9d.) is now an average sale. The
former glass-holder sellers of the poorer sort are
now vending oranges.

Shirt Buttons form another of the articles —
(generally either "useful things" or with such
recommendation to street-buyers as the galvanic
amulets possessed) — which every now and then
are disposed of in great quantities in the streets.
If an attempt be made by a manufacturer to es-
tablish a cheaper shirt button, for instance, of
horn, or pot, or glass, and if it prove unsuccessful,
or if an improvement be effected and the old stock
becomes a sort of dead stock, the superseded goods
have to be disposed of, and I am informed by a
person familiar with those establishments, that
the swag-shopkeepers can always find customers,
"for anything likely," with the indispensable
proviso that it be cheap. In this way shirt but-
tons have lately been sold in the streets, not only
by the vendors of small wares in their regular
trade, but by men, lads, and girls, some of the
males shirtless themselves, who sell them solely,
with a continuous and monotonous cry of "Half-
penny a dozen; halfpenny a dozen." The whole-
sale price of the last "street lot," was 3d. the
gross, or ¼d. the dozen. To clear 6d. a day in
shirt buttons is "good work;" it is more fre-
quently 4d.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF WALKING-STICKS.

The walking-sticks sold in the streets of London
are principally purchased at wholesale houses in
Mint-street and Union-street, Borough, and their
neighbourhoods. "There's no street-trade," said
an intelligent man, "and I've tried most that's
been, or promised to be, a living in the streets,
that is so tiresome as the walking-stick trade.
There is nothing in which people are so particular.
The stick's sure to be either too short or too long,
or too thick or too thin, or too limp or too stiff.
You would think it was a simple thing for a man
to choose a stick out of a lot, but if you were with

[Description: 915EAF. Page 438.]

me a selling on a fine Sunday at Battersea Fields,
you'd see it wasn't. O, it's a tiresome job."

The trade is a summer and a Sunday trade.
The best localities are the several parks, and the
approaches to them, Greenwich-park included;
Hampstead Heath, Kennington Common, and,
indeed, wherever persons congregate for pedestrian
purposes, Battersea Fields being, perhaps, the
place where the greatest Sunday trade is carried
on. Some of the greater thoroughfares too, such
as Oxford-street and the City-road, are a good
deal frequented by the stick-sellers.

This trade — like others where the article sold
is not of general consumption or primary useful-
ness — affords, what I once heard a street-seller
call, "a good range." There is no generally re-
cognised price or value, so that a smart trader in
sticks can apportion his offers, or his charges, to
what he may think to be the extent of endurance
in a customer. What might be 2d. to a man who
"looked knowing," might be 6d. to a man who
"looked green." The common sticks, which are
the "cripples," I was told, of all the sorts of
sticks (the spoiled or inferior sticks) mixed with
"common pines," are 15d. the dozen. From this
price there is a gradual scale up to 8s. the dozen
for "good polished;" beyond that price the street-
seller rarely ventures, and seldom buys even at
that (for street-trade) high rate, as fourpenny and
sixpenny sticks go off the best; these saleable
sticks are generally polished hazel or pine. "I've
sold to all sorts of people, sir," said a stick-seller.
"I once had some very pretty sticks, very cheap,
only 2d. a piece, and I sold a good many to boys.
They bought them, I suppose, to look like men,
and daren't carry them home; for I once saw a
boy I'd sold a stick to, break it and throw it
away just before he knocked at the door of a re-
spectable house one Sunday evening. I've sold
shilling sticks to gentlemen, sometimes, that had
lost or broken or forgot their own. Canes there's
nothing done in now in the streets; nor in `vines,'
which is the little switchy things that used to be
a sort of a plaything. There's only one stick-
man in the streets, as far as I know — and if there
was, I should be sure to know, I think — that has
what you may call a capital in sticks. Only the
other day I saw him sell a registered stick near
Charing-cross. It was a beauty. A Bath cane,
with a splendid ivory head, and a compass let
into the ivory. The head screwed off, and be-
neath was a map of London and a Guide to the
Great Exhibition. O, but he has a beautiful
stock, and aint he aristocratic! `Ash twigs,'
with the light-coloured bark on them, not polished,
but just trimmed, was a very good sale, but
they're not now. Why, as to what I take, it's
such a uncertain trade that it's hard to say. Some
days I haven't taken 6d., and the most money
I ever took was one Derby day at Epsom — I
wish there was more Derby days, for poor
people's sakes — and then I took 30s. The
most money as ever I took in London was 14s. — one Sunday, in Battersea Fields, when I had
a prime cheap stock of bamboos. When I keep
entirely to the stick trade, and during the sum-
mer, I may take 35s. in a week, with a profit
of 15s.

The street stick-sellers are, I am assured, some-
times about 200 in number, on a fine Sunday in
the summer. Of these, some are dock-labourers,
who thus add to their daily earnings by a seventh
day's labour; others, and a smarter class, are the
"supers" (supernumeraries) of theatres, who also
eke out their pittance by Sunday toil; porters,
irregularly employed, and consequently "hard
pushed to live," also sell walking-sticks on the
Sundays; as do others who "cannot afford" — as
a well-educated man, a patterer on paper, once
said to me — "to lose a day if they were d — d
for it." The usual mode of this street-trade is
to carry the bundle of sticks strapped together,
under the arm, and deposit the ends on the ground
when a sale is to be effected. A few, however,
and principally Jews, have "stands," with the
walking-sticks inclosed in a sort of frame. On
the Mondays there are not above a third of the
number of stick-sellers there are on the Sundays;
and on the other days of the week not above a
seventh, or an eighth. Calculating that for 12
weeks of the year there are every day 35 stick-
sellers, each taking, on an average, 30s. a week
(with a profit, individually, of about 12s.), we find
630l. expended in walking-sticks in the streets.

On clear winter days a stick-seller occasionally
plies his trade, but on frosty days they are occu-
pied in letting out skates in the parks, or wher-
ever ponds are frozen.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF WHIPS, ETC.

These traders are a distinct class from the
stick-sellers, and have a distinct class of customers.
The sale is considerable; for to many the posses-
sion of a whip is a matter of importance. If one
be lost or stolen, for instance, from a butcher's
cart at Newgate-market, the need of a whip to
proceed with the cart and horse to its destination,
prompts the purchase in the quickest manner,
and this is usually effected of the street-seller who
offers his wares to the carters at every established
resort.

The commonest of the whips sold to cart-drivers
is sometimes represented as whalebone covered
with gut; but the whalebone is a stick, and the
flexible part is a piece of leather, while the gut is
a sort of canvas, made to resemble the worked gut
of the better sort of whips, and is pasted to the
stock; the thong — which in the common sort is
called "four strands," or plaits — being attached to
the flexible part. Some of these whips are old
stocks recovered, and many are sad rubbish; but
for any deceit the street-seller can hardly be con-
sidered responsible, as he always purchases at the
shop of a wholesale whipmaker, who is in some
cases a retailer at the same price and under the
same representations as the street-seller. The
retail price is 1s. each; the wholesale, 8s. and 9s. a dozen. Some of the street whip-sellers repre-
sent themselves as the makers, but the whips are
almost all made in Birmingham and Walsall.

Of these traders very few are the ordinary
street-sellers. Most of them have been in some

[Description: 915EAF. Page 439.]

way or other connected with the care of horses,
and some were described to me as "beaten-out
countrymen," who had come up to town in the
hope of obtaining employment, and had failed.
One man, of the last-mentioned class, told me
that he had come to London from a village in
Cambridgeshire, bringing with him testimonials of
good character, and some letters from parties
whose recommendation he expected would be ser-
viceable to him; but he had in vain endeavoured
for some months to obtain work with a carrier,
omnibus proprietor, or job-master, either as driver
or in charge of horses. His prospects thus fail-
ing him, he was now selling whips to earn his
livelihood. A friend advised him to do this, as
better than starving, and as being a trade that he
understood: —

"I often thought I'd be forced to go back home,
sir," he said, "and I'd have been ashamed to do't,
for I would come to try my luck in London, and
would leave a place I had. All my friends — and
they're not badly off — tried to 'suade me to stop
at home another year or two, but come I would,
as if I must and couldn't help it. I brought good
clothes with me, and they're a'most all gone; and
I'd be ashamed to go back so shabby, like the
prodigal's son; you know, sir. I'll have another
try yet, for I get on to a cab next Monday, with
a very respectable cab-master. As I've only my-
self, I know I can do. I was on one, but not
with the same master, after I'd been six weeks
here; but in two days I was forced to give it up,
for I didn't know my way enough, and I didn't
know the distances, and couldn't make the money
I paid for my cab. If I asked another cabman,
he was as likely to tell me wrong as right. Then
the fares used to be shouting out, `I say, cabby,
where the h — are you going? I told you
Mark-lane, and here we are at the Minories.
Drive back, sir.' I know my way now well
enough, sir. I've walked the streets too long not
to know it. I notice them on purpose now, and
know the distances. I've written home for a
few things for my new trade, and I'm sure to get
them. They don't know I'm selling whips. There
would be such a laugh against me among all
t'young fellows if they did. Me as was so sure
to do well in London!

"It's a poor trade. A carman 'll bid me 6d. for such a whip as this, which is 4s. 3d. the half
dozen wholesale. `I have to find my own whips,'
my last customer said, `though I drives for a
stunning grocer, and be d — d to him.' They're
great swearers some of them. I make 7s. or 8s. in
a week, for I can walk all day without tiring. I
one week cleared 14s. Next week I made 3s. I have slept in cheap lodging-houses — but only
in three: one was very decent, though out
of the way; one was middling; and the
t'other was a pig-sty. I've seen very poor places
in the country, but nothing to it. I now pay 2s. a week for a sort of closet, with a bed in it, at
the top of a house, but it's clean and sweet; and
my landlord's a greengrocer and coal-merchant
and firewood-seller; — he's a good man — and I can
always earn a little against the rent with him, by
cleaning his harness, and grooming his pony — he
calls it a pony, but it's over 15 hands — and
greasing his cart-wheels, and mucking out his
stable, and such like. I shall live there when
I'm on my cab."

Other carmen's whips are 1s. 6d., and as high
as 2s. 6d., but hte great sale is of those at 1s. The principal localities for the trade are at the
meat-markets, the "green markets," Smithfield,
the streets leading to Billingsgate when crowded
in the morning, the neighbourhood of the docks
and wharfs, and the thoroughfares generally.

The trade in the other kind of whips is again
in the hands of another class, in that of cabmen
who have lost their licence, who have been
maimed, and the numerous "hands" who job
about stables — especially cab-horse stables — when
without other employment. The price of the
inferior sort of "gig-whips" is 1s. to 1s. 6d., the
wholesale price being from 9s. 6d. to 14s. 6d. the
dozen. Some are lower than 9s. 6d., but the
cabmen, I am told, "will hardly look at them;
they know what they're a-buying of, and is wide
awake, and that's one reason why the profit's so
small." Occasionally, one whip-seller told me, he
had sold gig-whips at 2s. or 2s. 6d. to gentlemen
who had broken their "valuable lance-wood," or
"beautiful thorn," and who made a temporary
purchase until they could buy at their accustomed
shops. "A military gent, with mustachers, once
called to me in Piccadilly," the same man stated,
"and he said, `Here, give me the best you can
for half-a-crown, I've snapped my own. I never
use the whip when I drive, for my horse is
skittish and won't stand it, but I can't drive
without one.' "

In the height of the season, two, and some-
times three men, sell handsome gig-whips at the
fashionable drives or the approaches. "I have
taken as much as 30s. in a day, for three whips,"
said one man, "each 10s.; but they were silver-
mounted thorn, and very cheap indeed; that's
8 or 9 years back; people looks oftener at 10s. now.
I've sold horse-dealers' whips too, with loaded
ends. Oh, all prices. I've bought them, wholesale,
at 8s. a dozen, and 7s. 6d. a piece. Hunting
whips are never sold in the streets now. I have
sold them, but it's a good while ago, as riding
whips for park gentlemen. The stocks were of fine
strong lancewood — such a close grain! with buck
horn handles, and a close-worked thong, fastened
to the stock by an `eye' (loop), which it's slipped
through. You could hear its crack half a mile
off. `Threshing machines,' I called them."

All the whip-sellers in a large way visit the
races, fairs, and large markets within 50 miles
of London. Some go as far as Goodwood at the
race-time, which is between 60 and 70 miles dis-
tant. On a well-thronged race-ground these men
will take 3l. or 4l. in a day, and from a half to
three-fourths as much at a country fair. They
sell riding-whips in the country, but seldom in
town.

An experienced man knew 40 whip-sellers, as
nearly as he could call them to mind, by sight,
and 20 by name. He was certain that on no day

[Description: 915EAF. Page 440.]

were there fewer than 30 in the streets, and some-
times — though rarely — there were 100. The most
prosperous of the body, including their profits at
races, &c., make 1l. a week the year through; the
poorer sort from 5s. to 10s., and the latter are three
times as numerous as the others. Averaging that
only 30 whip-sellers take 25s. each weekly (with
profits of from 5s. to 10s.) in London alone, we
find 2340l. expended in the streets in whips.

Some of the whip-sellers vend whipcord, also,
to those cabmen and carters who "cord" their
own whips. The whipcord is bought wholesale
at 2s. the pound (sometimes lower), and sold at
½d. the knot, there being generally six dozen
knots in a pound.

Another class "mend" cabmen's whips, re-
thonging, or "new-springing" them, but these are
street-artisans.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF PIPES, AND OF
SNUFF AND TOBACCO BOXES.

The pipes now sold in the streets and public-
houses are the "china bowls" and the "comic
heads." The "china-bowl" pipe has a bowl of
white stone china, which unscrews, from a flexible
tube or "stem," as it is sometimes called, about
a foot long, with an imitation-amber mouth-piece.
They are retailed at 6d. each, and cost 4s. a
dozen at the swag-shops. The "comic heads" are
of the clay ordinarily used in the making of pipes,
and cost 16d. the dozen, or 15s. the gross.
They are usually retailed at 2d. Some of the
"comic heads" may be considered as hardly
well described by the name, as among them
are death's-heads and faces of grinning devils.
"The best sale of the comic heads," said one
man, "was when the Duke put the soldiers'
pipes out at the barracks; wouldn't allow them
to smoke there. It was a Wellington's head
with his thumb to his nose, taking a sight, you
know, sir. They went off capital. Lots of
people that liked their pipe bought 'em, in the
public-houses especial, 'cause, as I heerd one man
— he was a boot-closer — say, `it made the old boy
a-ridiculing of hisself.' At that time — well, really,
then, I can't say how long it's since — I sold little
bone `tobacco-stoppers' — they're seldom asked for
now, stoppers is quite out of fashion — and one of
them was a figure of `old Nosey,' the Duke you
know — it was intended as a joke, you see, sir;
a tobacco-stopper."

There are now nine men selling pipes, which they
frequently raffle at the public-houses; it is not un-
usual for four persons to raffle at ½d. each, for a
"comic head." The most costly pipes are not now
offered in the streets, but a few are sold on race-
courses. I am informed that none of the pipe-
sellers depend entirely upon their traffic in those
wares, but occasionally sell (and raffle) such things
as china ornaments or table-covers, or tobacco or
snuff-boxes. If, therefore, we calculate that four
persons sell pipes daily the year through, taking
each 25s. (and clearing 10s.), we find 260l. yearly
expended upon the hawkers' pipes.

The snuff and tobacco-boxes disposed of by
street-traders, for they are usually sold by the
same individual, are bought at the swag-shops. In
a matter of traffic, such as snuff-boxes, in which
the "fancy" (or taste) of the purchaser is freely
exercised, there are of course many varieties.
The exterior of some presents a series of trans-
verse lines, coloured, and looking neat enough.
Others have a staring portrait of the Queen, or of
"a young lady," or a brigand, or a man inhaling
the pungent dust with evident delight; occasion-
ally the adornment is a ruin, a farm-house, or a
hunting scene. The retail price is from 4d. to 1s., and the wholesale 3s. to 7s. 6d. the dozen. The
Scotch boxes, called "Holyroods" in the trade,
are also sold in the streets and public-houses.
These are generally the "self-colour" of the wood;
the better sort are lined with horn, and are, or
should be, remarkable for the closeness and nice
adjustment of the hinges or joints. They are sold
— some I was told being German-made — at the
swag-shops at 3s. the dozen, or 4d. each, to 6s. the
dozen, or 8d. each. "Why, I calc'lated," said
one box-seller, "that one week when I was short
of tin, and had to buy single boxes, or twos, at a
time, to keep up a fair show of stock, the swags
got 2s. more out of me than if I could have gone
and bought by the dozen. I once ventured to buy
a very fine Holyrood; it 'll take a man three
hours to find out the way to open it, if he doesn't
know the trick, the joints is so contrived. But I
have it yet. I never could get an offer for what
it cost me, 5s."

The tobacco-boxes are of brass and iron (though
often called "steel"). There are three sizes: the
"quarter-ounce," costing 3s. the dozen; the "half-
ounce," 4s. 3d.; and "the ounce," 5s. 6d. the do-
zen, or 6½d. each. These are the prices of the
brass. The iron, which are "sized" in the same
way, are from 2s. to 3s. 6d. the dozen, wholesale.
They are retailed at from 3d. to 6d. each, the brass
being retailed at from 4d. to 1s. All these boxes
are opened and shut by pressure on a spring; they
are partly flat (but rounded), so as to fit in any
pocket. The cigar-cases are of the same quality as
the snuff-boxes (not the Holyroods), and cost, at
the German swag-shops, 3s. 6d. the dozen, or 4½d. each. They are usually retailed, or raffled for on
Saturday and Monday nights, at 6d. each, but the
trade is a small one.

One branch of this trade, concerning which I
heard many street-sellers very freely express their
opinions, is the sale of "indecent snuff-boxes."
Most of these traders insisted, with a not unnatu-
ral bitterness, that it would be as easy to stop
the traffic as it was to stop Sunday selling in the
park, but then "gentlemen was accommodated
by it," they added. These boxes and cigar-cases
are, for the most part, I am told, French, the
lowest price being 2s. 6d. a box. One man, whose
information was confirmed to me by others, gave
me the following account of what had come within
his own knowledge: —

"There's eight and sometimes nine persons carry-
ing on the indecent trade in snuff-boxes and cigar-
cases. They make a good bit of money, but
they're drunken characters, and often hard up.
They 've neither shame nor decency; they'll

[Description: 915EAF. Page 441.]

tempt lads or anybody. They go to public-houses
which they know is used by fast gents that has
money to spare. And they watch old and very
young gents in the streets, or any gents indeed,
and when they see them loitering and looking
after the girls, they take an opportunity to offer a
`spicy snuff-box, very cheap.' It's a trade only
among rich people, for I believe the indecent sellers
can't afford to sell at all under 2s. 6d., and they ask
high prices when they get hold of a green 'un; per-
haps one up on a spree from Oxford or Cambridge.
Well, I can't say where they get their goods,
nor at what price. That's their secret. They
carry them in a box, with proper snuff-boxes to be
seen when its opened, and the others in a secret
drawer beneath; or in their pockets. You may
have seen a stylish shop in Oxford-street, and in
the big window is large pipe heads of a fine
quality, and on them is painted, quite beautiful,
naked figures of women, and there's snuff-boxes
and cigar-cases of much the same sort, but they're
nothing to what these men sell. I must know, for
it's not very long since I was forced, through
distress, to colour a lot of the figures. I could
colour 50 a day. I hadn't a week's work at it.
I don't know what they make; perhaps twice as
much in a day, as in the regular trade can be
made in a week. I was told by one of them that
one race day he took 15l. It's not every day
they do a good business, for sometimes they may
hawk without ever showing their boxes; but gen-
tlemen will have them if they pay ever so much
for them. There's a risk in the trade, certainly.
Sometimes the police gets hold of them, but very
very seldom, and it's 3 months. Or if the Vice
Society takes it up, it may be 12 months. The
two as does best in the trade are women; they
carry great lots. They've never been apprehended,
and they've been in the trade for years. No, I
should say they was not women of the town.
They're both living with men, but the men's not
in the same trade, and I think is in no trade;
just fancy men. So I've understood."

I may observe that the generality of the haw-
kers of indecent prints and cards are women.

There are about 35 persons selling snuff and
tobacco-boxes — the greatest sale being of tobacco-
boxes — and cigar-cases, generally with the other
things I have mentioned. Of these 35, however,
not one-half sell snuff-boxes constantly, but resort
to any traffic of temporary interest in the public
or street-public estimation. Some sell only in the
evenings. Reckoning that 15 persons on snuff
and tobacco and cigar boxes alone take 18s. weekly (clearing 7s. or 8s.), we find 692l. thus
expended.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF CIGARS.

Cigars, I am informed, have constituted a por-
tion of the street-trade for upwards of 20 years,
having been introduced not long after the re-
moval of the prohibition on their importation
from Cuba. It was not, however, until five or six
years later that they were at all extensively sold
in the streets; but the street-trade in cigars is
no longer extensive, and in some respects has
ceased to exist altogether.

I am told by experienced persons that the cigars
first vended in the streets and public-houses were
really smuggled. I say "really" smuggled, as
many now vended under that pretence never came
from the smuggler's hands. "Well, now, sir," said
one man, "the last time I sold Pickwicks and
Cubers a penny apiece with lights for nothing,
was at Greenwich Fair, on the sly rather, and
them as I could make believe was buying a
smuggled thing, bought far freer. Everybody likes
a smuggled thing." [This remark is only in con-
sonance with what I have heard from others of
the same class.] "In my time I've sold what was
smuggled, or made to appear as sich, but far more
in the country than town, to all sorts — to gentle-
men, and ladies, and shopkeepers, and parsons, and
doctors, and lawyers. Why no, sir, I can't say
as how I ever sold anything in that way to an
exciseman. But smuggling'll always be liked;
it's sich a satisfaction to any man to think he's
done the tax-gatherer."

The price of a cigar, in the earlier stages of the
street-traffic, was 2d. and 3d. One of the boxes
in which these wares are ordinarily packed was
divided by a partition, the one side containing the
higher, and the other the lower priced article.
The division was often a mere trick of trade — in
justification of which any street-seller would be
sure to cite the precedent of shopkeeper's prac-
tices — for the cigars might be the same price
(wholesale) but the bigger and better-looking were
selected as "threepennies," the "werry choicest
and realest Hawanners, as mild as milk, and as
strong as gunpowder," for such, I am told, was
the cry of a then well-known street-trader. The
great sale was of the "twopennies." As the
fuzees, now so common, were unknown, and lucifer
matches were higher-priced, and much inferior
to what they are at present, the cigar seller in
most instances carried tow with him, a portion of
which he kept ignited in a sort of tinder-box, and
at this the smokers lighted their cigars; or the
vender twisted together a little tow and handed
it, ignited, to a customer, that if he were walking
on he might renew his "light," if the cigar
"wouldn't draw."

A cheaper cigar soon found its way into street
commerce, "only a penny apiece, prime cigars;"
and on its first introduction, a straw was fitted
into it, as a mouth-piece. "Cigar tubes" were
also sold in the streets; they were generally of
bone, and charged from 2d. to 1s. each. The cigar
was fitted into the tube, and they were strongly
recommended on the score of economy, as "by
means of this tube, any gen'l'man can smoke his
cigar to half a quarter of an inch, instead of being
forced to throw it away with an inch and a half
left." These tubes have not for a long time been
vended in the streets. I am told by a person,
who himself was then engaged in the sale, that
the greatest number of penny cigars ever sold in
the streets in one day was on that of her Majesty's
coronation (June 28, 1838). Of this he was quite

[Description: 915EAF. Page 442.]

positive from what he had experienced, seen, and
heard.

"In my opinion," said another street-seller,
"the greatest injury the street-trade in such things
had was when the publicans took to selling cigars.
They didn't at first, at least not generally; I've
sold cigars myself, at the bars of respectable houses,
to gentlemen that was having their glass of ale
with a friend, and one has said to another, `Come,
we'll have a smoke,' and has bought a couple.
O, no; I never was admitted to offer them in a
parlour or tap-room; that would have interfered
with the order for `screws' (penny papers of
tobacco), which is a rattling good profit, I can tell
you. Indeed, I was looked shy at, from behind
the bar; but if customers chose to buy, a landlord
could hardly interfere. Now, it's no go at all
in such places."

One common practice among the smarter street-
seller, when "on cigars," was, until of late years,
and still is, occasionally at races and fairs, to
possess themselves of a few really choice "weeds,"
as like as they could procure them to their stock-
in-trade, and to smoke one of them, as they urged
their traffic.

The aroma was full and delicate, and this was
appealed to if necessary, or, as one man worded
it, the smell was "left to speak for itself." The
street-folk who prefer the sale of what is more or
less a luxury, become, by the mere necessities of
their calling, physiognomists and quick observers,
and I have no reason to doubt the assertion of one
cigar-vendor, when he declared that in the earlier
stages of this traffic he could always, and most
unerringly in the country, pick out the man
on whose judgment others seemed to rely, and by
selling him one of his choice reserve, procure a
really impartial opinion as to its excellence, and
so influence other purchasers. When the town
trade "grew stale" — the usual term for its falling-
off — the cigar-sellers had a remunerative field in
many parts of the country.

In London, before railways became the sole
means of locomotion to a distance, the cigar-sellers
frequented the coaching-yards; and the "outsides"
frequently "bought a cigar to warm their noses of a
cold night," and sometimes filled their cases, if
the cigar-seller chanced to have the good word of
the coachman or guard.

The cigar street-trade was started by two Jews,
brothers, named Benasses, who were "licensed to
deal in tobacco," and vended good articles. When
they relinquished the open-air business, they sup-
plied the other street-sellers, whose numbers in-
creased very rapidly. The itinerant cigar-ven-
ding was always principally in the hands of the
Jews, but the general street-traders resorted to the
traffic on all occasions of public resort, — "sich
times," observed one, "as fairs and races, and
crownations, and Queen's weddings; I wish they
came a bit oftener for the sake of trade." The
manufacture of the cigars sold at the lowest rates,
is now almost entirely in the hands of the Jews,
and I am informed by a distinguished member of
that ancient faith, that when I treat of the He-
brew children, employed in making cigars, there
will be much to be detailed of which the public
have little cognisance and little suspicion.

The cigars in question are bought (wholesale)
in Petticoat-lane, Rosemary-lane, Ailie-street,
Tenter-ground, in Goodman's-fields, and similar
localities. The kinds in chief demand are Pick-
wicks, 7s. and 8s. per lb.; Cubas, 8s. 6d.; common
Havannahs and Bengal Cheroots, the same price;
but the Bengal Cheroots are not uncommonly
smuggled.

"The best places for cigar-selling," one man
stated, "I've always found to be out of town;
about Greenwich and Shooter's Hill, and to the
gents going to Kensington Gardens, and such like
places. About the Eagle Tavern was good, too, as
well as the streets leading to the Surrey Zoological
— one could whisper, `cheap cigar, sir, half what
they'll charge you inside.' I've known young
women treat their young men to cigars as they
were going to Cremorne, or other public places;
but there's next to no trade that way now, and
hasn't been these five or six years. I don't know
what stopped it exactly. I've heard it was shop-
keepers that had licences, complaining of street
people as hadn't, and so the police stopped the
trade as much as they could."

At all the neighbouring races and fairs, and at
any great gathering of people in town, cigars are
sold, more with the affectation than the reality of
its being done, "quite on the sky." The retail
price is 1d. each, and three for 2d. Some of the
cheap cigars are made to run 200, and even as
high as 230 to the pound. A fuzee is often given
into the bargain.

I am told that, on all favourable opportunities,
there are still 100 persons who vend cigars in the
streets of London, while a greater number of
"London hands" carry on the trade at Epsom
and Ascot races. At other periods the business
is all but a nonentity. To clear 1l. a week is
considered "good work." At one period, on
every fine Sunday, there were not, I am assured,
fewer than 500 persons selling cigars in the open
air in London and its suburbs.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF SPONGE.

This is one of the street-trades which has been
long in the hands of the Jews, and, unlike the
traffic in pencils, sealing-wax, and other articles
of which I have treated, it remains so principally
still.

In perhaps no article which is a regular branch
of the street-trade, is there a greater diversity in
the price and quality than in sponge. The street-
sellers buy it at 1s. (occasionally 6d.), and as high
as 21s. the pound. At one time, I believe about
20 years back, when fine sponge in large pieces
was scarce and dear, some street-sellers gave 28s. the pound, or, in buying a smaller quantity, 2s. an ounce.

"I have sold sponge of all sorts," said an ex-
perienced street-seller, "both `fine toilet,' fit for
any lady or gentleman, and coarse stuff not fit to
groom a ass with. That very common sponge is
mostly 1s. the lb. wholesale, but it's no manner of
use, it's so sandy and gritty. It weighs heavy,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 443.]

or there might be a better profit on it. It has to
be trimmed up and damped for showing it, and
then it always feels hask (harsh) to the hand.
It rubs to bits in no time. There was a old gent
what I served with sponges, and he was very
perticler, and the best customer I ever had, for
his housekeeper bought her leathers of me. Like
a deal of old coves that has nothing to do and
doesn't often stir out, but hidles away time in
reading or pottering about a garden, he was fond
of a talk, and he'd give me a glass of something
short, as if to make me listen to him, for I used to
get fidgety, and he'd talk away stunning. He's
dead now. He's told me, and more nor once,
that sponges was more of a animal than a wege-
table," continued the incredulous street-seller,
"I do believe people reads theirselves silly. Such
— nonsense! Does it look like a animal?
Where's its head and its nose? He'd better
have said it was a fish. And it's not a wege-
table neither. But I'll tell you what it is, sir,
and from them as has seen it where its got with
their own eyes. I have some relations as is sea-
farin'-men, and I went a woyage once myself when
a lad — one of my relations has seen it gathered by
divers, I forget where, from the rocks at the bot-
tom and shores of the sea, and he says it's just sea-
moss — stuff as grows there, as moss does to old
walls in England. That's what it is, sir. As
it's grown in the water, it holds water you see.
I've made 15s. on sponge alone, in a good week,
when I had a good stock; but oftener I've made
only 10s., and sometimes not 5s. My best trade
is at private houses a little ways out of town.
I've heard gents say, `A good sponging's as good
as a bath,' and when I could get good things cheap
they'd be sure to sell. No, I never did much
at the mews."

Another man told me that he once bought a
large quantity of sponge at 6d. the lb., trimmed
it up as well as he could, and got a man to help
him, and the two "worked it off" in barrows;
there was six barrows full, and as one was
empted it was replenished. It was sold at 1d. and 2d. a lump; about twenty lumps, or pieces,
going to a pound, so that there was 14d. profit
on what cost 6d., even on the penny
lumps. He had forgotten the exact amount he
cleared, and he and his mate sold it all in one
summer's evening, but it was somewhere about 10s.
This happened some years ago, when the common
sponge, which I heard called also "honeycomb"
sponge, was not so "blown upon," as my infor-
mant expressed it, as it is now. On my asking
this man as to the proportion of Jews in this
trade, he answered: "Well, many a day I'm
satisfied there's 100 people selling sponge, and I
should say that for every ten or twelve Jews is one
Christian, and half of them, or more, has been in
some sort of service, I mean the Christians has,
most likely stable-helpers, and they supplies the
mews and the job and livery stables, such of them
as requires men to find their own sponges, but
that's only a few; sponges is mostly bought for
such places at the saddlers' and other shops. In
my opinion, sir, Jews is better Christians than
Christians themselves, for they help one another,
and we don't. I've been helped by a Jew my-
self, without any connection with them. They're
terrible keen hands at a bargain, though."

The sponge in the street-trade is purchased,
wholesale, chiefly in Houndsditch. The wholesale
trade in sponge, I may add, is also in the hands
of the Jews. The great mart is Smyrna, the
best qualities being gathered in the islands of the
Greek Archipelago. The sponge is carried by
the street-traders in baskets, the bearer holding a
specimen piece or two in his hand. Smaller
pieces are sometimes carried in nets, and nets
were more frequently in use for this purpose than
at present. It is nearly all sold by itinerants, in
the business parts as well as the suburbs, the
purchasers being "shopkeepers, innkeepers, gen-
tlemen, and gentlemen's servants." Sometimes
low-priced sponge is offered in a street-market on
a Saturday or Monday night, but very rarely, as
it is a thing little used by the poor. A little is
sold to the cabmen at their stands. The sponge-
sellers, I may add, when going a regular round,
offer their wares to any passer-by. A little is
done by the Jews in bartering sponge for old
clothes. There are five or six women in the
trade.

I have reason to believe that the estimate of my
informant, as to the number of sponge-sellers, is
correct. But some sell sponge only occasionally,
some make it only a portion of their business, and
others vend it only when they "have it a bargain."
Calculating, then, that only fifty persons (so al-
lowing for the irregularities in the trade) vend
sponge daily, and that each takes 15s. weekly, —
some taking 25s., and others but 5s. — with about
half profit on the whole (the common sponge
is often from 200 to 300 per cent. profit), we find
the outlay to be 1850l.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF WASH-LEATHERS.

The wash-leathers, sometimes called "shammys"
(chamois), now sold extensively in the streets, are
for the most part the half of a sheep-skin, or of
a larger lamb-skin. The skin is "split" by ma-
chinery, and to a perfect nicety, into two portions.
That known as the "grain" (the part to which
the fleece of the animal is attached) is very thin,
and is dressed into a "skiver," a kind of leather
used in the commoner requirements of book-
binding, and for such purposes as the lining of
hats. The other portion, the "flesh," is dressed
as wash-leather. These skins are bought at the
leather-sellers and the leather-dressers, at from
2s. to 20s. the dozen. The higher priced, or
those from 12s. are often entire, and not "split"
skins. The great majority of the street-sellers
of wash-leathers are women, and principally
Irishwomen. They offer their wash-leathers in
all parts of town, calling at shops and inns;
and at private houses offering them through
the area rails, or knocking at the door when
it is accessible. Many of these street-sellers
are the wives of Irish labourers, employed by
bricklayers and others, who are either childless,
or able to leave their younger children under

[Description: 915EAF. Page 444.]

the care of an older brother or sister, or when the
poverty of the parents, or their culpable neglect,
is extreme, allow them to run at large in the
court or street, untended. The wives by this
street-trade add to the husbands' earnings. In
the respects of honesty and chastity, these women
bear good characters.

The wash-leathers are sold for the cleaning of
windows, and of plate and metal goods. Six-
pence is a common price for a leather, the higher
priced being sold at the mews and at gentlemen's
houses. The "chamois" sold at the mews,
however, are not often sold by the Irishwomen,
but by the class I have described as selling scis-
sors, &c., there. The leathers are also cut into
pennyworths, and these pennyworths are some-
times sold on Saturday evenings in the street-
markets.

There are, I am assured, 100 individuals
selling little or nothing else but wash-leathers
(for these traders are found in all the suburbs) in
London, and that they take 10s. weekly, with a
profit of from 4s. to 5s. There are, also, 100
other persons selling them occasionally, along with
other goods, and as they vend the higher-priced
articles, they probably receive nearly an equal
amount. Hence it would appear that upwards of
5000l. is annually expended in the streets in
this purchase.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF SPECTACLES AND
EYE-GLASSES.

Twenty-five years ago the street-trade in spec-
tacles was almost entirely in the hands of the
Jews, who hawked them in their boxes of jewel-
lery, and sold them in the streets and public-
houses, carrying them in their hands, as is done
still. The trade was then far more remunerative
that it is at the present time to the street-folk
carrying it on. "People had more money then,"
one old spectacle-seller, now vending sponges, said,
"and there wasn't so many forced to take to the
streets, Irish particularly, and opticians' charges
were higher than they are now, and those who
wanted glasses thought they were a take-in if
they wasn't charged a fair price. O, times was
very different then."

The spectacles in the street-trade are bought at
swag-shops in Houndsditch. The "common metal
frames," with or without slides, are 2s. 6d. to
3s. 6d. the dozen wholesale, and are retailed from
4d. to 1s. The "horn frames" are 6s. to 7s. 6d. the dozen, and are retailed from 9d. to 18d., and
even 2s. The "thin steel" are from 10s. 6d. to
21s. the dozen, and are retailed from 1s. 6d. to 3s.
There are higher and lower prices, but those I
have cited are what are usually paid by the street-
traders. The inequality of the retail prices is
accounted for by there being some difference in
the spectacles in a dozen, some being of a better-
looking material in horn or metal; others better
finished. Then there is the chance of which
street-sellers are not slow to avail themselves —
("no more nor is shopkeepers," one man said)
— I mean, the chance of obtaining an enhanced
price for an article, with whose precise value the
buyer is unacquainted.

"The patter," said the street-trader I have
before quoted, "is nothing now, to what I've
known it. You call it patter, but I don't. I
think it's more in the way of persuasion, and
is mostly said in public-houses, and not in
the streets. Why, I've persuaded people, when
I was in the trade and doing well at it — for that
always gives you spirits — I've persuaded them
in spite of their eyes that they wanted glasses. I
knew a man who used to brag that he could talk
people blind, and then they bought! It wasn't
old people I so much sold to as young and middle-
aged. I think perhaps I sold as many because
people thought they looked better, or more know-
ing in them, than to help their eyesight. I've
known my customers try my glasses, one pair
after another, in the chimney glass of a public-
house parlour. `They're real Scotch pebbles,' I
used to say sometimes — and I always had a fair
article, — `and was intended for a solid silver frame
but the frame was made too small for them, and
so I got them and put them into this frame myself,
for I'm an optician, out of work, by trade.
They're worth 15s., but you may have them,
framed and all, for 7s. 6d.' I got 5s. for one pair
once that way but they were a superior thing; I
had them a particular bargain." One man told
me that not long ago he asked 10d. for a pair
of spectacles, and a journeyman slop-tailor said
to him, "Why I only gave 1s. for this pair I'm
wearing a few years back, and they ought to be
less than 10d. now, for the duty's off glass."

The eye-glasses sold in the streets are "framed"
in horn. They are bought at the same places as
the spectacles, and cost, wholesale, for "single
eyes" 4s. 6d. to 7s. 6d. the dozen. The retail
price is from 6d. to 1s. The "double eyes," which
are jointed in the middle so that the frame can be
fitted to the bridge of the nose, are 10s. 6d. to
15s. the dozen, and are retailed by the street-folk
from 1s. 3d. to 2s. each.

The spectacles are sold principally to working
men, and are rarely hawked in the suburbs. The
chief sale is in public-houses, but they are offered
in all the busier thoroughfares and wherever a
crowd is assembled. "The eye-glasses," said a
man who vended them, "is sold to what I calls
counter-hoppers and black-legs. You'll see most
of the young swells that's mixed up with gaming
concerns at races — for there's gaming still, though
the booths is put down in many places — sport
their eye-glasses; and so did them as used to be
concerned in getting up Derby and St. Leger
`sweeps' at public-houses; least-ways I've sold
to them, where sweeps was held, and they was
busy about them, and offered me a chance, some-
times, for a handsome eye-glass. But they're going
out of fashion, is eye-glasses, I think. The other
day I stood and offered them for nearly five hours
at the foot of London-bridge, which used to be a
tidy pitch for them, and I couldn't sell one. All
that day I didn't take a halfpenny."

There are sometimes 100 men, the half of
whom are Jews and Irishmen in equal propor-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 445.]

tions, now selling spectacles and eye-glasses. Some
of these traders are feeble from age, accident,
continued sickness, or constitution, and represent
that they must carry on a "light trade," being
incapable of hard work, even if they could get it.
Two women sell spectacles along with Dutch
drops. As in other "light trades," the spectacle
sellers do not, as a body, confine themselves to
those wares, but resort, as one told me, "to any-
thing that's up at the time and promises better,"
for a love of change is common among those who
pursue a street life. It may be estimated, I am
assured, that there are thirty-five men (so allowing
for the breaks in regular spectacle selling) who
vend them daily, taking 15s. a week (with a
profit of 10s.), the yearly expenditure being thus
1365l.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF DOLLS.

The making of dolls, like that of many a thing
required for a mere recreation, a toy, a pastime, is
often carried on amidst squalor, wretchedness, or
privation, or — to use the word I have frequently
heard among the poor — "pinching." Of this matter,
however, I shall have to treat when I proceed to
consider the manufacture of and trade in dolls
generally, not merely as respects street-sale.

Dolls are now so cheap, and so generally sold
by open-air traders whose wares are of a miscel-
laneous character, as among the "swag-barrow"
or "penny-a-piece" men of whom I have treated
separately, that the sale of what are among the
most ancient of all toys, as a "business of itself,"
is far smaller, numerically, than it was.

The dolls are most usually carried in baskets
by street-sellers (who are not makers) and gene-
rally by women who are very poor. Here and
there in the streets most frequented by the patrons
of the open-air trade may be seen a handsome
stall of dolls of all sizes and fashions, but these
are generally the property of makers, although
those makers may buy a portion of their stock.
There are also smaller stalls which may present
the stock of the mere seller.

The dolls for street traffic may be bought at
the swag-shops or of the makers. For the little
armless 1d. dolls the maker charges the street-seller
8s., and to the swag-shop keeper who may buy
largely, 7s. 6d. the dozen. Some little stalls are
composed entirely of penny dolls; on others the
prices run from 1d. to 6d. The chief trade, how-
ever, among the class I now describe, is carried on
by the display of dolls in baskets. If the vendor
can only attract the notice of children — and more
especially in a private suburban residence, where
children are not used to the sight of dolls on stalls
or barrows, or in shops — and can shower a few
blessings and compliments, "God be wid your
bhutiful faces thin — and yours too, my lady,
ma'am (with a curtsey to mistress or maid). Buy
one of these dolls of a poor woman: shure they're
bhutiful dolls and shuted for them angels o' the
worruld;" under such circumstances, I say, a sale
is almost certain. I may add that the words I
have given I myself heard a poor Irishwoman,
whom I had seen before selling large pincushions
in the same neighbourhood (that of the Regent's
Park), address to a lady who was walking round
her garden accompanied by two children.

A vendor of dolls expresses an opinion that as
long as ever there are children from two years old
to ten, there will always be purchasers of dolls;
"but for all that," said he, "somehow or another
't is nothing of a trade to what it used to be. I've
seen the time when I could turn out in the morn-
ing and earn a pound afore night; but it's dif-
ferent now there's so many bazaars, and so many
toy shops that the doll hawker hasn't half the
chance he used to have. Sartinly we gets a
chance now and then — fine days is the best — and
if we can get into the squares or where the
children walks with their nurses, we can do tidy;
but the police are so very particular there's not
much of a livelihood to be got. Spoiled children
are our best customers. Whenever we sees a
likely customer approaching — we, that is, those
who know their business — always throw ourselves
in the way, and spread out our dolls to the best
advantage. If we hears young miss say she will have one, and cries for it, we are almost sure of a
customer, and if we see her kick and fight a bit
with the nuss-maid we are sure of a good price.
If a child cries well we never baits our price.
Most of the doll-sellers are the manufacturers of
the dolls — that is, I mean, they puts 'em together.
The heads are made in Hamburgh; the principal
places for buying them in London are at Alfred
Davis's, in Houndsditch; White's, in Houndsditch;
and Joseph's, in Leadenhall-street. They are sold
as thus: — The heads that we sell for 3d. each,
when made up, cost us 7s. 6d. per gross, or 7½d. per dozen; these are called 1 — O's. No. 2 —
O's., are 8s. 6d. per gross, and No. 3 — O's. 10s. per gross. One yard and half of calico will make
a dozen bodies, small size. These we get sewn
for three halfpence, and we stuffs and finishes
them ourselves.

"When our 3d. dolls are made up, they cost
about 1s. per dozen — so there is 2d. profit on every
doll, which I thinks is little enough; but we
often sells 'em at 2d.; we lays 'em out to the
best advantage in a deep basket, all standing up,
as it were, or leaning against the sides of the
basket. The legs and bodies is carefully wrapped
in tissue paper, not exactly to preserve the lower
part of the doll, for that isn't so very valuable,
but in reality to conceal the legs and body, which
is rather the reverse of symmetrical; for, to tell
the truth, every doll looks as if it were labouring
under an attack of the gout. There are, however,
some very neat articles exported from Germany,
especially the jointed dolls, but they are too dear
for the street-hawker, and would not show to such
advantage. There is also the plaster dolls, with
the match legs. I wonder how they keep their
stand, for they are very old-fashioned; but they
sell, for you never see a chandler's shop window
without seeing one of these sticking in it, and a falling
down as if it was drunk. Then there's the wax
dolls. Some of 'em are made of wax, and others
of `pappy mashy,' and afterwards dipped in wax.
The cheapest and best mart for these is in Barbi-

[Description: 915EAF. Page 446.]

can; it would astonish many if they knew
exactly what was laid out in the course of a year
in dolls. It would be impossible, I think, to ascer-
tain exactly; but I think I could guess something
near the mark. There are, at least, at this time
of year, when the fairs are coming on, fifty doll-
hawkers, who sell nothing else. Say each of these
sells one dozen dolls per day, and that their average
price is 4d. each. That is just 10l. a day, and 60l. per week. In the winter time so many are not
sold; but I have no doubt that 50l.'s worth of dolls
are sold each week throughout the year by Lon-
don hawkers alone, or just upon 3000l. per annum.
The shops sell as many as the hawkers, and the
stalls attending fairs half the amount; and you
may safely say that the sum taken for dolls in and
around London in one year amounts to 7500l.
A doll-merchant can begin business with a trifle,"
continued my informant; "a shilling will obtain
a dozen 3d. dolls. If you have no basket, carry
them in your arms, although they don't show off
to such advantage there as they do when nicely
basketed; however, if you've luck, you may soon
raise a basket; for 3s. 6d. you can get a very
nice one; and although the doll trade is not what
it used to be, there are," said my informant,
"worse games than that yet, I know. One man,
who is now in a very respectable way of business
— `a regular gentleman' — was a very few years
ago only a doll-hawker. Another man, who had
two hands and only one arm — poor fellow! he
was born with one arm, and had two hands, one
appended to his arm in the usual way, and the
other attached to his shoulder — a freak of nature,
I think, they called it. However, my one-armed
friend keeps now a very respectable little swag-
shop at North Shields, in Northumberland."

I inquired of my informant whether he ob-
jected to relate a little of his history? He replied,
"not the least," and recounted as follows: —

"They call me Dick the Dollman. I was, I
believe, the first as ever cried dolls three a shilling
in the streets. Afore I began they al'ays stood
still with 'em; but I cried 'em out same as they
do mackrel; that is twenty years ago. I wasn't
originally a doll-seller. My father was a pensioner
in Greenwich College. My mother used to hawk,
and had a licence. I was put to school in St.
Patrick's-school, Lanark's-passage, where I re-
mained six years, but I didn't learn much. At
thirteen years of age I was apprenticed to a brush
and broom maker's, corner of C — Street, Spit-
alfields. My master was not the honestest chap
in the world, for he bought hair illegal, was found
out, and got transported for seven years. A man
who worked for my master took me to finish my
apprenticeship; this man and his wife was very
old people. I used to work four days in the
week, two for them and two for myself; the
other two days I went out hawking brooms and
brushes, and very often would earn 7s. or 8s. on a
Saturday, but times was better then than they are
now. Arter that, for sake of gain, I left the old
people, I was offered 20s. to make and hawk; and in
course I took it. I remained with this master five
months; he was afflicted with rheumatic fever —
went into the hospital — and I was left to shift for
myself. When my master went to the hospital I
had 7s. 6d. in my pocket; I knew I must do something, and, to tell you the truth, I
didn't like the brush-making; I would rather
have hawked something without the trouble of
making it. I think now I was a little afflicted
with laziness. I was passing London-bridge and
saw a man selling Marshall's pocket-books; I
knowed him afore; I thought I should like to try
the pocket-book selling, and communicated my
wishes to the man; he told me they cost eight
shillings a dozen, if I liked we would purchase a
dozen a'twixt us; we did so; I received half a
dozen, but I afterwards learned that my friend
obtained seven for his share, as they were sold
thirteen to the dozen. I went to Chancery-lane
with my lot and was very lucky; I sold the six
books to one gentleman for six shillings: in course
I soon obtained another supply; that day I sold four
dozen, and earned 20s. I was such a good seller that
Marshall let me have 3l. or 4l.'s worth on credit — and
I never paid him. I know that was wrong now;
but I was such a foolish chap, and used to spend
my money as fast as I got it. I would have
given Marshall a shilling the other day if I had
had one, for I see him selling penny books in the
street. I thought it was hard lines, and had been
such a gentleman too. Somerset-house corner
was a capital stand for selling pocket-books. The
way I took to the dolls was this; I met a girl
with a doll basket one day as I was standing at
Somerset-house corner; she and I got a talking.
`Will you go to the' Delphy to night?' says I; she
consented. They was a playing Tom and Jerry
at this time, all the street-sellers went to see it,
and other people; and nice and crabbed some on
'em was. Well, we goes to the 'Delphy — and I
sees her often arter that, and at last gets married.
She used to buy her dolls ready made; I soon
finds out where to get the heads — and the profits
when we made them ourselves was much greater.
We began to serve hawkers and shops; went to
Bristol — saved 47l. — comes to London and spends
it all; walks back to Bristol, and by the time we
got there we had cleared more than 20l. We
were about a month on the journey, and visited
Cheltenham and other towns. We used to spend
our money very foolishly; we were too fond of
what was called getting on the spree. You see
we might have done well if we had liked, but we
hadn't the sense. My wife got very clever at the
dolls and so did I. Then I tried my hand at the
wax dolls, and got to make them very well. I
paid a guinea to learn.

"I was selling wax-dolls one day in London,
and a gentleman asked me if I could mend a wax
figure whose face was broken. I replied yes, for
I had made a few wax heads, large size, for some
showmen. I had made some murderers who was
hung; lately I made Rush and Mr. and Mrs.
Manning; but the showmen can't afford to get
new heads now-a-days, so they generally makes
one head do for all; sometimes they changes the
dress. Well, as I was telling you, I went with
this gentleman, and proposed that he should have

[Description: 915EAF. Page 447.]

a new head cast, for the face of the figure was so
much broken. It was Androcles pulling the
thorn out of the lion's foot, and was to be ex-
hibited. I got 20s. for making the new head.
The gentleman asked me if I knew the story
about Androcles. Now I had never heard on him
afore, but I didn't like to confess my ignorance,
so I says `yes;' then he offers me 30s. a week to
describe it in the Flora Gardens, where it was to
be exhibited. I at once accepted the engagement;
but I was in a bit of a fix, for I didn't know
what to say. I inquired of a good many people,
but none on 'em could tell me; at last I was
advised to go to Mr. Charles Sloman — you know
who I mean — him as makes a song and sings it
directly; I was told he writes things for people.
I went, and he wrote me out a patter. I asked
him how much he charged; he said, `Nothing my
man.' Sartinly he wasn't long a-doing it, but it
was very kind of him. I got what Mr. Sloman
wrote out for me printed, and this I stuck inside
my hat; the people couldn't see it, though I dare
say they wondered what I was looking in my hat
about. However, in a week or so, I got it by
heart, and could speak it well enough. After ex-
hibiting Androcles I got an engagement with
another waxwork show — named Biancis — and
afterwards at other shows. I was considered a
very good doorsman in time, but there's very little
to be got by that now; so we keeps to the dolly
business, and finds we can get a better living at
that than anything else. Me and the old woman
can earn 1l. a week, bad and all as things are;
but we're obliged to hawk."

OF THE "SWAG-BARROWMEN," AND "LOT-
SELLERS."

The "swag" (miscellaneous) barrow is one of
the objects in the streets which attracts, perhaps
more readily than any other, the regards of the
passer-by. There are so many articles and of such
various uses; they are often so closely packed, so
new and clean looking; and every here and there
so tastefully arranged, that this street-trader's
barrow really repays an examination. Here are
spread on the flat part of the barrow, pepper-
cruets or boxes, tea-caddies, nutmeg-graters,
vinegar-cruets, pen-cases, glass or china-handled
pens, pot ornaments, beads, ear-rings, finger-rings
(plain or with "stones"), cases of scent-bottles,
dolls, needle-cases, pincushions, Exhibition medals
and "frames" (framed pictures), watches, shawl-
pins, extinguishers, trumpets and other toys,
kaleidoscopes, seals, combs, lockets, thimbles, bone
tooth-picks, small playing-cards, teetotums, shut-
tle-cocks, key-rings, shirt-studs or buttons, hooks
and eyes, coat-studs, money-boxes, spoons, boxes
of toys, earthenware-mugs, and glass articles, such
as salt-cellars and smelling-bottles. On one barrow
were 225 articles.

At the back and sides of the swag-barrow are
generally articles which are best displayed in an
erect position. These are children's wooden
swords, whips, climbing monkeys, and tumblers,
jointed snakes twisting to the wind from the top
of a stick, kites, and such things as tin egg-
holders.

Perhaps on very few barrows or stalls are to be
seen all the articles I have enumerated, but they
are all "in the trade," and, if not found in this
man's stock, may be found in his neighbour's.
Things which attain only a temporary sale, such
as galvanic rings, the Lord's Prayer in the com-
pass of a sixpence, gutta-percha heads, &c., are
also to be found, during the popular demand, in
the miscellaneous trader's stock.

Each of the articles enumerated is retailed at
1d. "Only a penny!" is the cry, "pick 'em out
anywhere; wherever your taste lies; only a
penny, a penny, a penny!" But on a few other
barrows are goods, mixed with the "penny"
wares, of a higher price; such as knives and
forks, mustard pots, sham beer glasses (the glasses
which appear to hold beer frothing to the brim),
higher-priced articles of jewellery, skipping-ropes,
drums, china ornaments, &c. At these barrows
the prices run from 1d. to 1s.

The practice of selling by commission, the
same as I have shown to prevail among the
costers, exists among the miscellaneous dealers of
whom I am treating, who are known among street-
folk as "swag-barrowmen," or, in the popular
ellipsis, "penny swags;" the word "swag" mean-
ing, as I before showed, a collection — a lot.

The "swag-men" are often confounded with
the "lot-sellers"; so that I proceed to show the
difference.

The Lot-Sellers proper, are those who vend a
variety of small articles, or "a lot," all for 1d.
A "lot" frequently consists of a sheet of songs, a
Chinese puzzle, a 5l. note (Bank of Elegance),
an Exhibition snuff-box (containing 6 spoons),
a half jack (half sovereign), a gold ring, a silver
ring, and a chased keeper with rose, thistle, and
shamrock on it. The lots are diversified with
packs of a few cards, little pewter ornaments,
boxes of small wooden toys, shirt-buttons, baby
thimbles, beads, tiny scent bottles, and such like.

The "penny apiece" or "swag" trade, as con-
tradistinguished from the "penny lots" vended by
the lot-sellers, was originated by a man who, some
19 years ago, sold a variety of trifles from a tea-
tray in Petticoat-lane. My informant had heard
him say — for the original "penny apiece" died
four years ago — that he did it to get rid of the odds
and ends of his stock. The system, however, at
once attracted popularity, and the fortunate street-
seller prospered and "died worth money." At
that period penny goods (excepting such things as
sweet-stuffs, pastry, &c.) were far less numerous
in the streets, and yet I have never met with an
old street-trader (a statement fully borne out by
old and intelligent mechanics) who did not pro-
nounce spare pennies to be far more abundant in
those days among the poorer and even middle
classes. There were, moreover, far fewer street
chapmen, so that this novel mode of business had
every chance to thrive.

The origin of "lot-selling," or selling "penny
lots" instead of penny articles, was more curious.
It was commenced by an ingenious Swiss (?)

[Description: 915EAF. Page 448.]

(about a year after the "penny apiece" trade),
known in the street circles as "Swede." He was
a refugee, a Roman Catholic, and a hot poli-
tician. He spoke and understood English well,
but had no sympathy with the liberal parties in
this country. "He was a republican," he would
say, "and the Chartists were only milk and
water." When he established his lot-selling he
used to place to his mouth an instrument, which
was described to me as "like a doubled card,"
and play upon it very finely. This would attract
a crowd, and he would then address them in good
English, but with a slight foreign accent: "My
frents; come to me, and I will show you my
musical instruments, which will play Italian, Swiss,
French, Scotch, Irish, or any tunes. And here
you see beautiful cheap lots of useful tings, and
elegant tings. A penny a lot, a penny a lot!"
The arrangement of the "lots" was similar to
what it is at present, but the components of the
pennyworth were far less numerous. This man
carried on a good trade in London for two or
three years, and then applied his industry to a
country more than a town career. He died about
five or six years ago, at his abode in Fashion-street,
Spitalfields, "worth money." At the time of his
decease he was the proprietor of two lodging-houses;
one in Spitalfields, the other in Birmingham, both
I am told, well conducted; the charge was 4d. a
night. He did not reside in either, but employed
"deputies." I may observe that he sold his "mu-
sical instruments," also, at 1d. each, but the sale
was insignificant. "Only himself seemed master
of 'em," said one man; "with other people they
were no better nor a Jew's-harp."

Of the "penny apiece" street-vendors, there
are about 300 in London; 250 having barrows,
and 50 stalls or pitches on the ground. Some
even sell at "a halfpenny apiece," but chiefly to
get rid of inferior wares, or when "cracked up,"
and unable to "spring" a better stock. The bar-
rows are 7 feet by 3; are well built in general,
and cost 50s. each. These barrows, when fully
stocked, are very heavy (about 4 cwt.), so that it
requires a strong man to propel one any distance,
and though occasionally the man's wife officiates
as the saleswoman, there is always a man con-
nected with the business. In my description of
a stock of penny goods, I have mentioned that
there were 225 articles; these were counted on a
barrow in a street near the Brill — but probably on
another occasion (when there appeared a better
chance of selling) there might be 500 articles, such
things as rings and the like admitting of being
stowed by the hundred in very small compass.
The great display, however, is only on the occa-
sion of holidays, or "when a man starts and wants
to stun you with a show." At Maidstone Fair
the other day, a London street-seller, rather well
to do, sold his entire stock of penny articles to a
shopkeeper of the town, and when counted there
were exactly fifteen gross, or 2160 "pieces" as
they are sometimes called. These, vended at 1d. each, would realize just 9l., and would cost,
wholesale, about 6l., or for ready money, at the
swag-shops, where they may be bought, from 10s. to 20s. less, according to the bargaining powers of
the buyer. The man's reason for selling was that
the Fair was "no good;" that is to say, the far-
mers had no money, and their labourers received
only 7s. a week, so there was no demand; the
swag-seller, therefore, rather than incur the
trouble and expense of having to carry his wares
back to London, sold at a loss to a shopkeeper in
Maidstone, who wanted a stock.

The swag-barrowmen selling on commission
have 3s. in every 20s. worth of goods that they
sell. The commission may average from 9s. to 12s. a week in tolerable weather, but as in bad, and
especially in foggy weather, the trade cannot be
prosecuted at all, 7s. 6d. may be the highest aver-
age, or 10s. the year through.

The character of the penny swag-men belongs
more to that of the costermongers than to any
other class of street-folk. Many of them drink as
freely as their means will permit. I was told of a
match between a teetotaller and a beer-drinker,
about nine years ago. It was for 5s. a side, and
the "Championship." Each man started with an
equal stock, alike in all respects, but my informant
had forgotten the precise number of articles.
They pattered, twenty-five yards apart one from
another, three hours in James-street, Covent-
garden; three hours in the Blackfriars-road; and
three hours in Deptford. The teetotaller was
"sold out" in seven-and-a-half hours; while his
opponent — and the contest seems to have been
carried on very good-humouredly — at the nine
hours' end, had four dozen articles left, and was
rather exhausted, or, as it was described to me,
"told out." The result, albeit, was not looked
upon, I was assured, as anything very decisive of
the relative merits of beer or water, as the source
of strength or inspiration of "patter." The tee-
totaller was the smarter, though he did not appear
the stronger, man; he abandoned the champion-
ship, and went into another trade four years ago.
The patter of the swag-men has nothing of the
humour of the paper-workers; it is merely de-
claratory that the extensive stock offered on such
liberal terms to the public would furnish a whole-
sale shop; that such another opportunity for cheap
pennyworths could never by any possibility occur
again, and that it was a duty on all who heard the
patterer to buy at once.

The men having their own barrows or stalls
(but the stall-trade is small) buy their goods as
they find their stock needs replenishment at the
swag-shops. "It was a good trade at first, sir,"
said one man, "and for its not being a good
trade now, we may partly blame one another.
There was a cutting down trade among us.
Black earrings were bought at 14d. the dozen,
and sold at a loss at 1d. each. So were children's
trap-bats, and monkeys up sticks, but they are
now 9d. a dozen. Sometimes, sir, as I know,
the master of a swag-barrow gets served out. You
see, a man may once on a time have a good day,
and take as much as 2l. Well, next day he'll
use part of that money, and go as a penny swag
on his own account; or else he'll buy things he is
sold out of, and work them on his own account on

[Description: 915EAF. Page 449.]

his master's barrow. All right, sir; his master
makes him a convenience for his own pocket, and
so his master may be made a convenience for the
man's. When he takes the barrow back at the
week's end, if he's been doing a little on his own
dodge, there's the stock, and there's the money.
It's all right between a rich man and a poor
man that way; turn and turn about's fair play."

The lot-sellers are, when the whole body are
in London, about 200 in number; but they are
three times as itinerant into the country as are
the traders in the heavier and little portable swag-
barrows. The lot-sellers nearly all vend their
goods from trays slung from their shoulders. The
best localities for the lot-sellers are Ratcliffe-high-
way, Commercial-road, Whitechapel, Minories,
Tower-hill, Tooley-street, Newington-causeway,
Walworth, Blackfriars and Westminster-roads,
Long-acre, Holborn, and Oxford-street. To this
list may be added the Brill, Tottenham-court-road,
and the other street-markets, on Saturday even-
ings, when some of these places are almost impas-
sable. The best places for the swag-barrow trade
are also those I have specified. Their customers,
alike for the useful and fancy articles, are the
working-classes, and the chief sale is on Saturdays
and Mondays. One swag-man told me that he
thought he could sell better if he had a less
crowded barrow, but his master was so keen of
money that he would make him try everything.
It made selling more tiresome, too, he said, for a
poor couple who had a penny or two to lay out
would fix on half the things they saw, and change
them for others, before they parted with their
money.

Of the penny-a-piece sellers trading on their
own account, the receipts may be smaller than
those of the men who work the huge swag-barrows
on commission, but their profits are greater. Cal-
culating that 100 of these traders are, the year
round, in London (some are absent all the summer
at country fairs, and on any favourable opportu-
nity, while a number of swag-barrowmen leave
that employment for costermongering on their own
account), and that each takes 2l. weekly, we find
no less than 10,400l. thus expended in the streets
of London in a year.

The lot-sellers also resort largely to the country,
and frequently try other callings, such as the sale
of fruit, medals, &c. Some also sell lots only
on Saturday and Monday nights. Taking these
deductions into consideration, it may be estimated
that only fifty men (there is but one female lot-
seller on her own account) carry on the trade,
presuming it to be spread over the six days of
the week. Each of them may take 13s. weekly
(with a profit of 7s. 6d.), so showing the street
outlay to be 1190l. The "lots" are bought at the
German and English swag-shops; the principal
supply, however, is procured from Black Tom in
Clerkenwell.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF ROULETTE BOXES.

In my account of the street-trade in "China
ornaments" I had occasion to mention a use to
which a roulette box, or portable roulette table,
was put. I need only repeat in this place that
the box (usually of mahogany) contains a board,
with numbered partitions, which is set spinning,
by means of a central knob, on a pivot; the lid
is then placed on the box, a pea is slipped
through a hole in the lid, and on the number of
the partition in which the pea is found deposited,
when the motion has ceased, depends the result. The
table, or board, is thus adapted for the determination
of that mode of raising money, popular among coster-
mongers and other street-folk, who in their very
charities crave some excitement; I mean a "raffle;"
or it may be used for play, by one or more persons,
the highest number "spun" determining the
winner. These street-sold tables may still be
put to another use: In the smaller sort, "going no
higher than fourteen" one division is blank. Thus
any one may play against another, or several others
spinning in turns, the "blank" being a chance in
the "banker's" favour. Some of the tables, how-
ever, are numbered as high as 36, or as a seller of
them described it, "single and double zero, bang;
a French game."

This curious street-trade has been carried on for
seven years, but with frequent interruptions, by
one man, who, until within these few weeks, was
the sole trader in the article. There are now but
two selling roulette-boxes at all regularly. The
long-established salesman wears mustachios, and
has a good deal the look of a foreigner. During
his seven years' experience he has sold, he calcu-
lates, 12,000 roulette-boxes, at a profit of from
175l. to 200l. The prices (retail) are from 1s. to
2l., at which high amount my informant once
disposed of "a roulette" in the street. He has
sold, however, more at 1s. than at all other rates
together. The "shilling roulette" is about three
inches in diameter; the others proportionately
larger. These wares are German made, bought at
a swag-shop, and retailed at a profit of from 15 to
33 per cent. They are carried in a basket, one
being held for public examination in the vendor's
hand.

"My best customers," said the experienced
man in the business, "are stock-brokers, travel-
lers, and parsons; people that have spare time on
their hands. O, I mean by `travellers,' gentle-
men going on a railway who pass the time away
at roulette. Now and then a regular `leg,' when
he's travelling to Chester, York, or Doncaster, to
the races, may draw other passengers into play,
and make a trifle, or not a trifle, by it; or he will
play with other legs; but it's generally for
amusement, I've reason to believe. Friends tra-
velling together play for a trifle to pass away
time, or who shall pay for breakfasts for two, or
such like. I supplied one gaming-house with a
large roulette-table made of a substance that if you
throw it into water — and there's always a pail of
`tepid' ready — would dissolve very quickly. When
it's not used it's hung against the wall and is so
made that it looks to be an oil-painting framed.
It cost them 10l. I suppose I have the `knock'
of almost every gaming-house in London. There's
plenty of them still. The police can drive such
as me about in the streets or out of the streets to

[Description: 915EAF. Page 450.]

starve, but lords, and gentlemen, and some par-
sons, I know, go to the gaming-houses, and when
one's broke into by the officers — it's really funny
— John Smith, and Thomas Jones, and William
Brown are pulled up, but as no gaming imple-
ments are found, there's nothing against them.
Some of these houses are never noticed for a long
time. The `Great Nick' hasn't been, nor the `Little
Nick.' I don't know why they're called `Nicks,'
those two; but so they are. Perhaps after Old
Nick. At the Great Nick I dare say there's often
1000l. depending. But the Little Nick is what
we call only `brown papermen,' low gamblers —
playing for pence, and 1s. being a great go. I
wonder the police allow that."

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF POISON FOR RATS.

The number of Vermin-Destroyers and Rat-
Catchers who ply their avocation in London
has of late years become greatly diminished.
One cause which I heard assigned for this
was that many ruinous old buildings and old
streets had been removed, and whole colonies of
rats had been thereby extirpated. Another was
that the race of rat-catchers had become distrusted,
and had either sought some other mode of sub-
sistence, or had resorted to other fields for the
exercise of their professional labours.

The rat-catcher's dress is usually a velveteen
jacket, strong corduroy trowsers, and laced boots.
Round his shoulder he wears an oil-skin belt, on
which are painted the figures of huge rats, with
fierce-looking eyes and formidable whiskers. His
hat is usually glazed and sometimes painted after
the manner of his belt. Occasionally — and in the
country far more than in town — he carries in his
hand an iron cage in which are ferrets, while two
or three crop-eared rough terriers dog his footsteps.
Sometimes a tamed rat runs about his shoulders
and arms, or nestles in his bosom or in the large
pockets of his coat. When a rat-catcher is thus
accompanied, there is generally a strong aromatic
odour about him, far from agreeable; this is owing
to his clothes being rubbed with oil of thyme and
oil of aniseed, mixed together. This composition
is said to be so attractive to the sense of the rats
(when used by a man who understands its due ap-
portionment and proper application) that the vermin
have left their holes and crawled to the master of
the powerful spell. I heard of one man (not a rat-
catcher professionally) who had in this way tamed
a rat so effectually that the animal would eat out
of his mouth, crawl upon his shoulder to be fed,
and then "smuggle into his bosom" (the words of
my informant) "and sleep there for hours." The
rat-catchers have many wonderful stories of the
sagacity of the rat, and though in reciting their
own feats, these men may not be the most trust-
worthy of narrators, any work on natural history
will avouch that rats are sagacious, may be trained
to be very docile, and are naturally animals of
great resources in all straits and difficulties.

One great source of the rat-catcher's employment
and emolument thirty years ago, or even to a later
period, is now comparatively a nonentity. At that
time the rat-catcher or killer sometimes received a
yearly or quarterly stipend to keep a London
granary clear of rats. I was told by a man who
has for twenty-eight years been employed about
London granaries, that he had never known a rat-
catcher employed in one except about twenty or
twenty-two years ago, and that was in a granary by
the river-side. The professional man, he told me,
certainly poisoned many rats, "which stunk so,"
continued my informant — but then all evil odours
in old buildings are attributed to dead rats — "that
it was enough to infect the corn. He poisoned
two fine cats as well. But I believe he was a
young hand and a bungler." The rats, after these
measures had been taken, seem to have deserted
the place for three weeks or a month, when they
returned in as great numbers as ever; nor were
their ravages and annoyances checked until the
drains were altered and rebuilt. It is in the
better disposition of the drains of a corn-maga-
zine, I am assured, that the great check upon the
inroads of these "varmint" is attained — by strong
mason work and by such a series and arrangement
of grates, as defy even the perseverance of a rat.
Otherwise the hordes which prey upon the garbage
in the common sewers, are certain to find their
way into the granary along the drains and chan-
nels communicating with those sewers, and will
increase rapidly despite the measures of the rat-
catcher.

The same man told me that he had been five or
six times applied to by rat-catchers, and with
liberal offers of beer, to allow them to try and cap-
ture the black rats in the granary. One of these
traders declared that he wanted them "for a gent
as vas curous in them there hinteresting warmint;"
But from the representations of the other applicants,
my informant was convinced that they were
wanted for rat-hunts, the Dog Billy being backed
for 100l. to kill so many rats in so many
minutes. "You see, sir," the corn merchant's man
continued, "ours is an old concern, and there's
black rats in it, great big fellows; some of 'em
must be old, for they 're as white about the muzzle
as is the Duke of Wellington, and they have the
character of being very strong and very fierce. One
of the catchers asked me if I knew what a stun-
ning big black rat would weigh, as if I weighed
rats! I always told them that I cared nothing
about rat-hunts and that I knew our people
wouldn't like to be bothered; and they was gen-
tlemen that didn't admire sporting characters."

The black rat, I may observe, or the English
rat, is now comparatively scarce, while the brown,
or Hanoverian, rat is abundant. This brown rat
seems to have become largely domiciled in England
about the period of the establishment of the Hano-
verian dynasty; whence its name. "A Hanover
rat" was a term of reproach applied by the Ja-
cobites to the successful party.

The rat-catchers are also rat-killers. They
destroy the animals sometimes by giving them
what is called in the trade "an alluring poison."
Every professional destroyer, or capturer, of rats
will pretend that as to poison he has his own par-
ticular method — his secret — his discovery. But

[Description: 915EAF. Page 451.]

there is no doubt that arsenic is the basis of all
their poisons. Its being inodorous, and easily
reducible to a soft fine powder, renders it the best
adapted for mixing with anything of which rats
are fond — toasted cheese, or bacon, or fried liver,
or tallow, or oatmeal. Much as the poisoner may
be able to tempt the animal's appetite, he must,
and does, proceed cautiously. If the bait be placed
in an unwonted spot, it is often untouched. If it
be placed where rats have been accustomed to find
their food, it is often devoured. But even then it
is frequently accounted best to leave the bait un-
poisoned for the first night; so that a hungry
animal may attack it greedily the second. With
oatmeal it is usual to mix for the first and even
second nights a portion of pounded white sugar.
If this be eaten it accustoms the jealous pest to
the degree of sweetness communicated by arsenic.
The "oatmeal poison" is, I am told, the most
effectual; but even when mixed only with sugar
it is often refused; as "rats is often better up to a
dodge nor Kirstians" (Christians).

Another mode of killing rats is for the pro-
fessional destroyer to slip a ferret into the rats'
haunts wherever it is practicable. The ferret
soon dislodges them, and as they emerge for
safety they are seized by terriers, who, after
watching the holes often a long time, and very
patiently, and almost breathlessly, throttle them
silently, excepting the short squeak, or half-squeak,
of the rat, who, by a "good dog," is seized un-
erringly by the part of the back where the
terrier's gripe and shake is speedy death; if the
rat still move, or shows signs of life, the well-
trained rat-killer's dog cracks the vermin's skull
between his teeth.

If the rats have to be taken alive, they are
either trapped, so as not to injure them for a rat-
hunt (or the procedure in the pit would be ac-
counted "foul"), or if driven out of their holes by
ferrets, they can only run into some cask, or other
contrivance, where they can be secured for the
"sportsman's" purposes. Although any visible
injury to the body of the rat will prevent its re-
ception into a pit, the creatures' teeth are often
drawn, and with all the cruelty of a rough
awkwardness, by means of pinchers, so that they
may be unable to bite the puppies being trained
for the pit on the rats. If the vermin be not
truly seized by the dog, the victim will twist
round and inflict a tremendous bite on his worrier,
generally on the lip. This often causes the
terrier to drop his prey with a yell, and if a puppy
he may not forget the lesson from the sharp nip
of the rat. To prevent this it is that the rat-
catchers play the dentist on their unfortunate cap-
tives.

I heard many accounts of the "dodges" prac-
tised by, or imputed to, the rat-catchers: that it
was not a very unusual thing to deposit here and
there a dead rat, when those vermin were to be
poisoned on any premises; it is then concluded
that the good poison has done its good work, and
the dead animal supplies an ocular demonstration
of professional skill. These men, also, I am in-
formed, let loose live rats in buildings adapted for
the purpose, and afterwards apply for employment
to destroy them.

I am informed that the principal scene of the
rat-catcher's labours in London is at the mews,
and in private stables, coach-houses, and out-
buildings. It is probable that the gentlemen's
servants connected with such places like the ex-
citement of rat-hunting, and so encourage the
profession which supplies them with that gratifica-
tion. In these places such labours are often
necessary as well as popular; for I was informed
by a coachman, then living with his family in a
West End mews, and long acquainted with the
mews in different parts of town, that the drainage
was often very defective, and sanitary regulations
— except, perhaps, as regarded the horses — little
cared for. Hence rats abounded, and were with
difficulty dislodged from their secure retreats in
the ill-constructed drains and kennels.

The great sale of the rat-catchers is to the
shops supplying "private parties" with rats for
the amusement of seeing them killed by dogs.
With some "fast" men, one of these shopkeepers
told me, it was a favourite pastime in their own
rooms on the Sunday mornings. It is, however,
somewhat costly if carried on extensively, as the
retail charge from the shops is 6d. per rat. The
price from the catcher to the dealer is from 2s. 6d. to 7s. the dozen. Rats, it appears, are sometimes
scarce, and then the shopkeeper must buy, "to
keep up his connection," at enhanced cost. One
large bird-seller, who sold also plain and fancy
rats, white mice, and live hedgehogs, told me
that he had, last winter, been compelled to give
7s. a dozen for his vermin and sell them at 6d. each.

The grand consumption of rats, however, is in
Bunhill-row, at a public-house kept by a pugilist.
A rat-seller told me that from 200 to 500 rats
were killed there weekly, the weekly average
being, however, only the former number; while
at Easter and other holidays, it is not uncommon
to see bills posted announcing the destruction of
500 rats on the same day and in a given time,
admittance 6d. Dogs are matched at these and
similar places, as to which kills the greatest
number of these animals in the shortest time.
I am told that there are forty such places in Lon-
don, but in some only the holiday times are cele-
brated in this small imitation of the beast combats
of the ancients. There is, too, a frequent aban-
donment of the trade in consequence of its "not
paying," and perhaps it may be fair to estimate
that the average consumption of this vermin-game
does not exceed, in each of these places, 20 a
week, or 1040 in a year; giving an aggregate —
over and above those consumed in private sport
— of 52,000 rats in a year, or 1000 a week in
public amusement alone.

To show the nature of the sport of rat-catching,
I print the following bill, of which I procured two
copies. The words and type are precisely the
same in each, but one bill is printed on good and
the other on very indifferent paper, as if for dis-
tribution among distinct classes. The concluding
announcement, as to the precise moment at which

[Description: 915EAF. Page 452.]

killing will commence, reads supremely business-
like: —

A dealer in live animals told me that there
were several men who brought a few dozens of
rats, or even a single dozen, from the country;
men who were not professionally rat-catchers, but
worked in gardens, or on farms, and at their
leisure caught rats. Even some of the London
professional rat-catchers work sometimes as country
labourers, and their business is far greater, in
merely rat-catching or killing, in the country than
in town. From the best information I could com-
mand, there are not fewer than 2000 rats killed,
for sport, in London weekly, or 104,000 a year,
including private and public sport, for private
sport in this pursuit goes on uninterruptedly; the
public delectation therein is but periodical.

This calculation is of course exclusive of the
number of rats killed by the profession, "on the
premises," when these men are employed to "clear
the premises of vermin."

There are, I am told, 100 rat-catchers resorting,
at intervals, to London, but only a fourth of that
number can be estimated as carrying on their
labours regularly in town, and their average
earnings, I am assured, do not exceed 15s. a
week; being 975l. a year for London merely.

These men have about them much of the affected
mystery of men who are engaged on the turf.
They have their "secrets," make or pretend to
"make their books" on rat fights and other sport-
ing events; are not averse to drinking, and lead
in general irregular lives. They are usually on
intimate terms with the street dog-sellers (who
are much of the same class). Many of the rat-
catchers have been brought up in stables, and
there is little education among them. When in
London, they are chiefly to be found in White-
chapel, Westminster, and Kent-street, Borough;
the more established having their own rooms; the
others living in the low lodging-houses. None of
them remain in London the entire year.

These men also sell rat-poison (baked flour or
oatmeal sometimes) in cakes, arsenic being the
ingredient. The charge is from 2d. to 1s., "ac-
cording to the circumstances of the customer." In
like manner the charge for "clearing a house of
vermin" varies from 2s. to 1l.: a very frequent
charge is 2s. 6d.

OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF RHUBARB
AND SPICE.

From the street-seller whose portrait has already
been given I received the following history. He
appeared to be a very truthful and kindly-disposed
old man: —

"I am one native of Mogadore in Morocco. I am
an Arab. I left my countree when I was sixteen or
eighteen year of age. I forget, sir. I don't know
which, about eighteen, I tink it was. My fader was
like market man, make de people pay de toll — he
rent de whole market, you see, from de governemen,
and make de people pay so much for deir stands.
I can't tell you what dey call dem dere. I couldn't
recollect what my fader pay for de market; but
I know some of de people pay him a penny, some
a ha'penny, for de stands. Dere everything sheap, not
what dey are here in England. Dey may stop all
day for de toll or go when de market is over.
My fader was not very rish — not very poor — he
keep a family. We have bread, meat, shicken,
apples, grapes, all de good tings to eat, not like
here — tis de sheapest countree in de world. My
fader have two wifes, not at once you know, he
bury de first and marry anoder. I was by
second wife. He have seven shildren by her, four
sons and tree daughters. By de first I tink dere
was five, two sons and tree daughters. Bless
you, by de time I was born dere was great many
of 'em married and away in de world. I don't
know where dey are now. Only one broder I got
live for what I know, wheder de oders are dead or
where dey are I can't tell. De one broder I speak
of is in Algiers now; he is dealer dere. What led
me to come away, you say? Like good many I
was young and foolish; like all de rest of young
people, I like to see foreign countries, but you see
in my countree de governemen don't like de
people to come away, not widout you pay so mush,
so Gibraltar was de only port I could go to, it was
only one twenty miles across de water — close to
us. You see you go to Gibraltar like smuggling
— you smuggle yourself — you talk wid de Captain
and he do it for you.

"My fader been dead years and years before I
come away, I suppose I was about ten year old
when he die. I had been at school till time I
was grown up, and after dat I was shoemaker.
I make de slippers. Oh yes! my moder was alive
den — she was dead when I was here in England.
I get about one penny a pair for de slippers in
my countree; penny dere as good as shilling here
amost. I could make tree, four, five pair in one
day. I could live on my gains den better dan
what I could do here wid twelve times as mush —

[Description: 915EAF. Page 453.]

dat time I could. I don't know what it is now.
Yes, my moder give me leave to go where I like.
She never see me since" (sighing). "Oh yes, I
love her very mush. I am old man now, but I never
forgot her yet;" here the old man burst into tears
and buried his face in his handkerchief for several
minutes. "No, no! she don't know when I come
away dat she never see me again, nor me neider.
I tell I go Gibraltar, and den I tell her I go to
Lisbon to see my broder, who was spirit merchant
dere. I didn't say noting not at all about coming
back to her, but I tought I should come back
soon. If I had tought I never see no more, not
all de gold in de world take me from her. She
was good moder to me. I was de youngest but
one. My broders kept my moder, you see. Where
I came from it is not like here, if only one in de
family well off, de oders never want for noting.
In my country, you see, de law is you must main-
tain your fader and moder before you maintain
your own family. You must keep dem in de
house." Here he repeated the law in Hebrew.
"De people were Mahomedans in Mogadore, but
we were Jews, just like here, you see. De first
ting de Jews teesh de shildren is deir duty to deir
faders and deir moders. And dey love one anoder
more than de gold; but dey love de gold more
dan most people, for you see gold is more to dem.
In my countree de governemen treat de Jews very
badly, so de money all de Jews have to help dem.
Often de government in my country take all deir
money from de Jews, and kill dem after, so de
Jews all keep deir money in secret places, put de
gold in jars and dig dem in de ground, and de
men worths hundreds go about wid no better
clothes dan mine.

"Well, you see I leave my poor moder, we kissed
one anoder, and cry for half an hour, and come
away to Gibraltar. When I get dere, my broder
come away from Lisbon to Gibraltar; dat time it
was war time, and de French was coming to Lis-
bon, so everybody run. When I come away
from Mogadore, I have about one hundred dollars
— some my moder give me, and some I had save.
When I got to Gibraltar, I begin to have a little
stand in de street wid silk handkershiefs, cotton
handkershiefs, shop goods you know. I do
very well wid dat, so after I get licence to hawk
de town, and after dat I keep shop. Altogeder,
I stop in Gibraltar about six year. I had den
about five or six hundred dollars. I live very
well all de time I dere. I was wid my broder
all de time. After I am six year in Gibraltar,
I begin to tink I do better in England. I tink,
like good many people, if I go to anoder part dat
is risher — 't is de rishest countree in de world
— I do better still. So I start off, and get I
here I tink in 1811, when de tree shilling pieces
first come out. I have about one hundred and
tirty pound at dat time. I stop in London a
good bit, and eat my money; it was most done
before I start to look for my living. I try to
look what I could do, but I was quite stranger
you see. I am about fourteen or fifteen month
before I begin to do anything. I go to de play
house; I see never such tings as I see here before
I come. When I come here, I tink I am in heaven
altogether — God a'mighty forgive me — such sops
(shops) and such beautiful tings. I live in Mary
Axe Parish when I first come; same parish where
I live now. Well, you see some of my countree-
men den getting good living by selling de
rhubarb and spices in de street. I get to know
dem all; and dat time you see was de good
time, money was plenty, like de dirt here.
Dat time dere was about six or seven Arabians in
de street selling rhubarb and spices, five of 'em
was from Mogadore, and two from not far off;
and dere is about five more going troo de country.
Dey all sell de same tings, merely rhubarb and
spice, dat time; before den was good for tem tings —
after dat dey get de silks and tings beside. I can't
tell what first make dem sell de rhubarb and de
spice; but I tink it is because people like to buy
de Turkey rhubarb of de men in de turbans.
When I was little shild, I hear talk in Mogadore
of de people of my country sell de rhubarb in
de streets of London, and make plenty money
by it.

"Dere was one very old Arabian in de streets
wen I first come; dey call him Sole; he been
forty year at de same business. He wear de long
beard and Turkish dress. He used to stand by
Bow Shursh, Sheapside. Everybody in de street
know him. He was de old establish one. He
been dead now, let me see — how long he been
dead — oh, dis six or seven and twenty year. He
die in Gibraltar very poor and very old — most
ninety year of age. All de rhubarb-sellers was
Jews. Dere was anoder called Ben Aforiat, and
two broders; and anoder, his name was Azuli.
One of Aforiat's broders use to stand in St. Paul's
Shurshyard. He was very well know; all de
oders hawk about de town like I do myself. Now
dey all gone dead, and dere only four of us now
in England; dey all in London, and none in de
country. Two of us live in Mary Axe, anoder
live in, what dey call dat — Spitalfield, and de
oder in Petticoat-lane. De one wat live in
Spitalfield is old man, I dare say going for 70.
De one in Petticoat-lane not mush above 30. I
am little better dan 73, and de oder wat live in
Mary Axe about 40. I been de longest of all in
de streets, about tirty-eight or tirty-nine year.
All dat was here when I first come, die in
London, except dat old man Sole wat I was
telling you of, dat die in Gibraltar. About
tirteen or fourteen die since I come to England;
some die in de Hospital of de Jews at Mile End;
some die at home — not one of dem die worth
no money. Six of dem was very old people,
between 60 and 70; dere was some tirty, some
forty. Some of dem die by inshes. Dere was
one fine fellow, he was six foot two, and strong
man, he take to his bed and fall away so; at last
you see troo his hand; he was noting but de car-
case; oders die of what you call de yellow jaun-
dice; some have de fever, but deir time was come;
de death we must be.

"When I first come to dis countree me make
plenty of money by selling de rhubarb in de street.
Five-and-twenty year ago I make a pound a day

[Description: 915EAF. Page 454.]

some time. Take one week wid another, I dare
say I clear, after I pay all de cost of my living,
tirty shillings; and now, God help me, I don't
make not twelve shilling a week, and all my
food to pay out of dat. One week wid anoder,
when I go out I clear about twelve shilling.
Everyting is so sheep now, and dere is so
many sops (shops), people has no money to
buy tings with. I could do better when everyting
was dear. I could live better, get more money,
and have more for it. I have better food, better
lodging, and better clothes. I don't know wat
is de cause, as you say. I only know dat I am
worse, and everybody is worse; dat is all I know.
Bread is sheeper, but when it was one and nine-
pence de loaf I could get plenty to buy it wid, but
now it is five pence, I can't no five pence to have
it. If de cow is de penny in de market what is de
use of dat, if you can't get no penny to buy him?
After I been selling my rhubarb for two years,
when I fust come here, I save about a hundred
and fifty pound, and den you see I agree wid tree
oder of my countrymen to take a sop (shop) in
Exeter. De oder tree was rhubarb-sellers, like
myself, and have save good bit of money as well.
One have seven hundred pound; but he have brought
tree or four hundred pound wid him to dis coun-
tree. Anoder of de tree have about two hundred,
and de oder about one hundred; dey have all save
deir money out of de rhubarb. We keep our sop,
you see, about five year, and den we fall in pieces
altogeder. We take and trust, and lose all our
money. T'oders never keep a sop before, and not
one of us was English scholar; we was forced to
keep a man, and dat way we lose all our money,
so we was force to part, and every one go look for
hisself. Den we all go selling rhubarb again
about de country, and in London; and I never
able to hold up my head since. When I come
back to de rhubarb times is getting bad, and I
not able to save no more money. All I am worth
in de world is all I got in my box, and dat alto-
gether is not more dan ten shilling. Last week
I havn't a pound of meat in de house, and I am
obliged to pawn my waistcoat and handkerchief
to get me some stock. It easy to put dem in,
but very hard to get dem out.

"I had two wives. After two or tree year when
I come I marry my first. I had two shildren by
my first, but both of dem die very young; one
was about five year old and de oder about tree.
When I travel the countree, my first wife she go
wid me everywhere. I been to all parts — to
Scotland, to Wales, but not Ireland. I see enough
of dem Irish in dis countree, I do no want no
more of dem dere. Not one of my countree I
tink ever been to Ireland, and only one beside
myself been to Scotland; but dat no use, de
Scotsh don't know wat de spice is. All de time I
am in Scotland I can't get no bread, only barley
and pea meal, and dat as sour as de winegar — and
I can't get no flour to make none too — so I
begin to say, by God I come to wrong countree
here. When I go across de countree of England
I never live in no lodging-house — always in de
public — because you see I do business dere; de
missus perhaps dere buy my spices of me. I
lodge once in Taunton, at a house where a woman
keep a lodging-house for de Jewish people wat go
about wid de gold tings — de jewellery. At oder
towns I stop at de public, for dere is de company,
and I sell my tings.

"I buy my rhubarb and my spice of de large
warehouse for de drugs; sometime I buy it of my
countreemen. We all of us know de good spice
from de bad. You look! I will show you how
to tell de good nutmeg from de bad. Here is
some in de shell: you see, I put de strong pin in
one and de oil run out; dat is because dey has
not been put in de spirit to take away de oil for
to make de extract. Now, in de bad nutmeg all
de oil been took out by de spirit, and den dere is
no flavour, like dose you buy in de sheep sops
(cheap shops). I sell de Rhubarb, East Indy and
Turkey, de Cloves, Cinnamons, Mace, Cayenne
Pepper, White Pepper — a little of all sorts when
I get de money to buy it wid. I take my solemn
oat I never sheat in scales nor weight; because
de law is, `take weight and give weight,' dat is
judge and justice. Dere is no luck in de sort
weight — no luck at all. Never in my life I put no
tings wid my goods. I tell you de troot, I grind
my white pepper wid my own hands, but I buy me
ginger ground, and dat is mixed I know. I tink
it is pea flour dey put wid it, dere is no smell in dat,
but it is de same colour — two ounces of ginger will
give de smell to one pound of pea flour. De public-
houses will have de sheap ginger and dat I buy.
I tell you de troot. How am I tell what will
become of me. Dat is de Almighty's work" (here
he pointed to Heaven). "De Jews is very good to
deir old people. If it was not for my old woman
I be like a gentleman now in de hospital at Mile
End; but you see, I marry de Christian woman,
and dat is against our people — and I would never
leave her — no not for all de good in de world to
come to myself. If I am poor, I not de only one.
In de holiday times I send a petition, and perhaps
dere is five shillings for me from de hospital. In
de Jews' Hospital dere is only ten — what you call
de Portuguese Jews. We have hospital to our
ownselves. Dere de old people — dey are all
above sixty — are all like noblemen, wid good
clothes, plenty to eat, go where you like, and pipe
of tobacco when you want. But I wont go in no
hospital away from my old woman. I will get a
bit of crust for her as long as I can stand — but I
can hardly do that now. Every one got his feel-
ing, and I will feel for her as long as I live.
When dere is de weather I have de rheumatis —
oh! very bad — sometime I can scarcely stand or
walk. I am seventy-tree, and it is a sad time for
me now. I am merry sometime tho'. Everyting
wid de pocket. When de pocket is merry, den I
am merry too. Sometime I go home wid one
shilling, and den I tink all gets worse and worse,
and what will become of me I say — but dat is
de Almighty's work, and I trust in him. Can I
trust any better one? Sometime I say I wish I
was back in my countree — and I tink of my poor
moder wat is dead now, and den I am very sad.
Oh yes, bless your heart, very sad indeed!"

The old man appears to sell excellent articles,
and to be a very truthful, fair-dealing man.

OF THE HAWKING OF TEA.

"Persons hawking tea without a licence" (see Chitty's Edition of "Burn's Justice," vol. ii.
p. 1113) "are liable to a penalty, under 50 Geo.
III., cap. 41.; and, even though they had a
licence, they would be liable to a penalty for
selling tea in an unentered place." The penalty
under this act is 10l., but the prohibition in ques-
tion has long been commonly, if not very directly,
evaded.

The hawking of tea in London cannot be con-
sidered as immediately a street-trade, but it is
in some respects blended with street callings
and street traffic, so that a brief account is neces-
sary.

I will first give a short history of what is, or
was, more intimately a portion of the street-
trade.

Until about eight or ten years ago, tea was ex-
tensively hawked — from house to house almost —
"on tally." The tally system is, that wherein
"weekly payments" are taken in liquidation of
the cost of the article purchased, and the trade is
one embodying much of evil and much of trickery.
At the present time the tallymen are very nu-
merous in London, and in the tally trade there
are now not less than 1000 hawkers of, or tra-
vellers in, tea; but they carry on their business
principally in the suburbs. When I come to treat
of the class whom I have called "distributors," I
shall devote an especial inquiry to the tally trade,
including, of course, the tea trade. Mr. M`Culloch
mentions that a Scotchman's "tally-walk" — and
the majority of the tallymen are Scotchmen — is
worth 15 per cent. more than an Englishman's.

The branch of the tea trade closely connected
with the street business is that in tea-leaves. The
exhausted leaves of the tea-pot are purchased of
servants or of poor women, and they are made
into "new" tea. One gentleman — to whose in-
formation, and to the care he took to test the
accuracy of his every statement, I am bound to
express my acknowledgments — told me that it
would be fair to reckon that in London 1500 lbs.
of tea-leaves were weekly converted into new tea,
or 78,000 lbs. in the year! One house is known
to be very extensively and profitably concerned in
this trade, or rather manufacture, and on my
asking the gentleman who gave me the informa-
tion if the house in question (he told me the
name) was accounted respectable by their fellow-
citizens, the answer was at once, "Highly re-
spectable."

The old tea-leaves, to be converted into new, are placed by the manufacturers on hot plates, and
are re-dried and re-dyed. To give the "green"
hue, a preparation of copper is used. For the
"black" no dye is necessary in the generality of
cases. This tea-manufacture is sold to "cheap"
or "slop" shopkeepers, both in town and country,
and especially for hawking in the country, and is
almost always sold ready mixed.

The admixture of sloe-leaves, &c., which used
to be gathered for the adulteration of tea, is now
unknown, and has been unknown since tea be-
came cheaper, but the old tea-leaf trade is, I am
assured, carried on so quietly and cleverly, that
the most vigilant excise-officers are completely in
the dark; a smaller "tea-maker" was, however,
fined for tea-leaf conversion last year.

Into this curious question, concerning the
purposes for which the old tea-leaves are now
purchased by parties in the street, I shall enter
searchingly when I treat of the street-buyers. The
information I have already received is of great
curiosity and importance, nor shall I suppress the
names of those dishonest traders who purchase the
old dried tea-leaves, as a means of cheating their
customers.

Into the statistics of this strange trade I will
not now enter, but I am informed that great
quantities of tea-leaves are sent from the country
to London. Perhaps of the 1500 lbs. weekly
manufactured, three quarters may be collected in
the metropolis.

I may here add, that the great bulk of the tea
now hawked throughout the metropolis is sup-
plied from the handsome cars, or vans, of well-
known grocers and tea-dealers. Of these — it
was computed for me — there are, on no day,
fewer than 100 in the streets of London, and of
its contiguous and its more remote suburbs, such
as Woolwich, and even Barnet. One tradesman
has six such cars. The tea is put up in bags of 7,
14, and 21 lbs., duly apportioned in quarter, half,
and whole pounds; a quarter of a pound being
the smallest quantity vended in this manner. The
van and its contents are then entrusted to a
driver, who has his regular round, and very often
his regular customers. The customers purchase
the tea from their faith in the respectability of the
firm — generally well known through extensive
advertising. The teas are supplied by the house
which is pronounced to supply them; for the
tradesman is the capitalist in the matter, his car-
man is the labourer, and the house is responsible
for the quality of the article. When a new con-
nection has to be formed, or an "old connection"
to be extended, circulars (bonâ fide) are sent
round, and the carman afterwards calls; and, "in
some genteel streets," I was told, "calls, oft
enough, at every house, and, in many districts, at
every decent-looking house in every street." So
far, then, even this part of the traffic may be con-
sidered one of the streets. The remuneration of
the street-traveller in, or hawker of, tea, is usually
1d. per lb. on the lower-priced kinds, 2d. on the
higher (but more often 1d.) and, very rarely in-
deed, 3d. on the highest. The trade is one pecu-
culiar to great cities — and most peculiar, I am as-
sured, to London — for the tradesman does not
know so much as the name of his customer; nor,
perhaps, does the carman, but merely as "Number
such-an-one." The supply is for ready money, or,
if credit be given, it is at the risk of the carman,
who has a weekly wage in addition to his per-
quisites. Every evening, when the vehicle is
driven back to the premises of its owner, "stock
is taken," and the money taken by the carman —

[Description: 915EAF. Page 456.]

minus what may be called the "poundage" — is
paid over to the proper party.

A man who had driven, or, as he called it,
"managed," one of these vans, told me that he
made this way, 2s. to 2s 6d. a day; "but," he
added, "if you make a good thing of it that way,
you have all the less salary." These carmen are
men of good character and good address, and were
described to me, by a gentleman familiar with the
trade, as "of the very best class of porters."

As this vehicular-itinerant business has now
become an integral part of the general tea-trade,
I need not further dwell upon it, but reserve it
until I come to treat of the shopmen of grocers
and tea-dealers, and thence of the tea-trade in
general. I may add, however, that the tea thus
hawked is, as regards, perhaps, three-fourths of
the quantity sold, known as "mixed," and sold at
4s. per lb. — costing, at a tea-broker's, from 2s. 11d. to 3s. 3d. It is announced, as to its staple
or entire compound, to be "congou," but is in
reality a tea known as "pouchong." Some old
ladies are still anxious, I was told, for a cup of
good strong bohea; and though bohea has been
unknown to the tea-trade since the expiration of the
East India Company's Charter in 1834, the ac-
commodating street-traveller will undertake to sup-
ply the genuine leaf to which the old lady had
been so long accustomed. The green teas thus sold
(and they are not above a fiftieth part of the
other) are common twankays and common young
hysons, neither of them — I can state on excellent
authority — accounted in the trade to be "true
teas," but, as in the case of some other green
teas, "Canton made." The "green" is sold from
the vans generally at 4s. 6d.; sometimes, but
rarely, as high as 5s. 6d. What is sold at 4s. 6d. may cost, on the average, 3s. 5d. I may add,
also, that when a good article is supplied, such
profits in the tea-trade are not accounted at all
excessive.

But the more usual mode of tea hawking is by
itinerant dealers who have a less direct connection
with the shop whereat they purchase their goods.
To this mode of obtaining a livelihood, the haw-
kers are invited by all the persuasive powers of
advertising eloquence: "To persons in want of a
genteel and lucrative employment" — "To Gentle-
men of good address and business habits," &c., &c.
The genteel and lucrative employment is to hawk
tea under the auspices of this "company" or the
other. The nature of this business, and of the
street tea-trade generally, is shown in the follow-
ing statement: — "About twelve years ago I came
to London in expectation of a situation as tide-
waiter; I did not succeed, however, and not being
able to obtain any other employment, and trusting
to the promises of gentlemen M.P.s for too long
a time, my means were exhausted, and I was
at length induced to embark in the tea business.
To this I was persuaded by a few friends who
advanced me some money, considering that it
would suit me well, while my friends would
endeavour to get me a connection, that is, procure
me customers. I accordingly went to a well-
known Tea Company in the City, a firm bear-
ing a great name. Their advertisements put
forth extraordinary statements, of so many persons
realizing independencies from selling their teas,
and in very short spaces of time. I was quite
pleased at the prospect presented to me in such
glowing terms, and, depending not a little on my
own industry and perseverance, I embraced the
opportunity and introduced myself forthwith to
the Company. They advised me in the first
place to take out a licence for selling teas, to se-
cure me against any risk of fines or forfeitures.
The cost of a licence, after payment of 2s. 11½d. preliminary expenses, is 11s. per annum, to be
paid quarterly, as it becomes due, and it is paid
by the Company for their agents. The licence is
granted for the place of abode of the `traveller,'
and strictly prohibits him from hawking or ex-
posing his wares for sale at places other than at
such place of abode, but he may of course supply
his customers where he will, and serve them at
their places of abode respectively. Everything
thus prepared, I commenced operations, but soon
found that this tea dealing was not so advan-
tageous as I had anticipated. I found that the
commission allowed by the Company on cheap
teas was very low. For those generally used by
the working people, `4s. tea,' for instance, or
that at 4s. per pound, I had to pay to the Com-
pany 3s. 6d. per pound, thus allowing the travel-
ling dealer or agent for commission only 6d. in
the pound, or 1½d. per quarter. Now 80 or
100 customers is considered a fair connection
for a dealer, and allowing each customer to take a
quarter of a pound at an average, 80 good cus-
tomers at that rate would bring him in 10s., or 100 customers 12s. 6d. clear profit weekly.
But many customers do not require so much as a
quarter of a pound weekly, while others require
more, so that I find it rather awkward to sub-
divide it in portions to suit each customer, as the
smallest quantity made at the warehouse is a
quarter of a pound, and every quarter is done up
in a labelled wrapper, with the price marked on it.
So that to break or disturb the package in any
way might cause some customers to suspect that
it had been meddled with unfairly.

"Another disadvantage was in dealing with the
`Tea Company.' No sugars are supplied by
them, which makes it more inconvenient for the
travelling dealer, as his customers find it difficult
to get sugars, most retail grocers having an objec-
tion to sell sugars to any but those who are pur-
chasers of teas as well. However, I was not
confined to deal with this Company, and so I tried
other places, and found a City house, whose terms
were preferable. Here I could get tea for 3s. 3d., as good as that for which the Company charged
3s. 6d., besides getting it done up to order in plain
paper, and in quantities to suit every variety of
customer. There were also sugars, which must be
had to accommodate the customers, at whatever
trouble or inconvenience to the traveller; for it is
very lumbersome to carry about, and leaves
scarcely any profit at all.

"The trade is anything but agreeable, and the
customers are often exacting. They seem to fancy,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 457.]

however cheaply and well they may be supplied,
that the tea-seller is under obligations to them;
that their custom will be the making of him, and,
therefore, they expect some compliment in return.
The consequence is, that very often, unless he be
willing to be accounted a `shabby man,' the tea-
dealer is obliged, of a Saturday night, to treat his
customers, to ensure a continuance of their cus-
tom. Other customers take care to be absent at
the time he calls. Those who are anxious to run
up bills, perhaps, keep out of the way purposely
for two or more successive nights of the dealer's
calling, who, notwithstanding, cannot very well
avoid serving such customers. This is another evil,
and if the tea-man's capital be not sufficient to enable
him to carry on the business in this manner,
giving credit (for it is unavoidable), he is very
soon insolvent, and compelled to give up the
business. I had to give it up at last, after having
carried it on for four years, leaving 8l. or 9l. due
to me, in small sums, varying from 1s. to 10s., one
shilling of which I never expect to be paid. I could
not have continued it so long, for my means would
not allow me to give credit; but getting partial
employment at the last-mentioned house, where I
dealt, enabled me to do so. When, however, I
got permanently employed, I grew tired of tea-
dealing, and gave it up.

"In my opinion the business would best suit
persons casually employed, such as dockmen and
others, who might have leisure to go about; those
also who get other commissions and hawk about
other commodities, such as soft wares, might do
very well by it; otherwise, in most cases, 't is only
resorted to as a make-shift where no other em-
ployment can be obtained.

"I do not know how many persons are in the
trade. I have, however, heard it asserted, that
there were between 4000 and 5000 persons in
London engaged in the business, who are, with
but few exceptions, Scotchmen; they, of all others,
manage to do the best in this line.

"A man, to undertake the tea business, requires
a double capital, because in the first place, he has
to purchase the tea, then he must give credit, and
be able to support himself till such time as he can
get in his money. Some of the tea-dealers manage
to eke out their profits by mixing tea-leaves,
which have been used, with the genuine com-
modity. They spread the old tea-leaves on tins
which they have for the purpose, and, by exposing
them either to the action of the air or the heat of
the fire, the leaves crisp up as they had been
before they were used, and are not distinguishable
from the rest. I never vended such an article,
and that may be one reason why I could not suc-
ceed in the business."

I believe the career thus detailed is a common
one among the hawkers of tea, or rather the
"travellers" in the tea trade. Many sell it on
tally.