LETTER XV
Friday, December 7, 1849
I shall in this letter conclude my remarks on the hucksters
or street-dealers of the metropolis. The classes of whom I have still to treat
include the hucksters of street literature and arts - such as the "flying
stationers" or dealers in last dying speeches and three yards of new and
popular songs, the umbrella print-sellers, the wall-song men, the play-bill
sellers, and the vendors of four sheets of note-paper for a penny. All these are
included under the term "street paper-sellers," and they constitute a
large body of individuals. Those that remain are difficult to classify. They may
be enumerated under the titles of dog-dealers, flower-girls, vendors of corn
salve and compositions for removing grease spots from cloth, sellers of small
coins and jewellery, purchasers of hareskins, hawkers of hearthstones, sand, and
gravel; and lastly, the most degraded of all, viz., the street pickers-up, or
"bone-grubbers," and "mud-larks." These, with a few
exceptions, exhaust the class of hucksters. It is true there are varieties that
are still undescribed - such as the donkey-boys (but these belong to the suburbs
of London itself); then there are the street vendors of gold fish, of cutlery,
of hardware, of tea-trays, of slippers, of wash-leathers and sponges, of
sheeting and table-covers, and of pretended smuggled goods; but these varieties
of the order are far too limited in numbers to be worthy of special description.
When first treating of the class, I gave a statement as to
the criminality of the calling, as compared with other occupations.
According to deductions made from the last census, in 1841, one in every 86
hawkers, hucksters, and pedlars was a prisoner in some gaol, and one in every
100 seamstresses; the average number of prisoners being, for the entire
population, one in 718 individuals. Resorting to this mode of estimating the poverty
of the class, I find that in the same year one in 179 hawkers, hucksters,
and pedlars were paupers or inmates of some parish union; whereas One in every
36 seamsters and seamstresses were in the same condition; the average number of
paupers for the entire population being one in every 159. Hence it is evident
that the class of hucksters, compared with the people generally, are
considerably above the average in crime, and below it in poverty; whereas the
seamstresses are comparatively but little above the average in crime, and
greatly above it in poverty. It may therefore be said of the hucksters
generally, that while they are highly criminal, they are not particularly poor;
and of the seamstresses, that while they are very poor, they are not near so
criminal as their poverty would lead us to expect. These calculations I have
found fully borne out during my investigation into the conditions and habits of
the two classes. The one are toiling day and night to earn 2s. 10½d. a week
(these were the average earnings of the 1,200 individuals who were present at
the British school-room in Shadwell on last Monday evening), while the others
are clearing their 15s. to £1 weekly. The hucksters, we have seen, are
habitually dishonest, whereas we have found the seamstresses working day and
night in the summer to repay the inevitable debts of the winter. From all I have
witnessed, the criminality of the one seems to be a natural result of "the
roving disposition" which the hucksters themselves say is the
characteristic of the class; whereas the errors of the others appear to me to be
the necessary consequence of the wretched price paid for their labour. The wages
of the needlewomen generally are so far below subsistence point, that, in order
to support life, it is almost a physical necessity that they must either steal,
pawn, or prostitute themselves. The amount of goods in pawn among the
needlewomen present at the meeting on Monday night last was stated at £1,200;
and this I am assured is far below the truth, many having mistaken the question,
and believed it to refer to the work given out to them, instead of to their own
property.
The Flying Stationers are
divisible into four classes - the running and the standing patterers, the
long-song sellers, the song-book dealers, and the ballad-singers. Besides these,
there are others who can turn their hands to any one of the different branches
of the calling, and are termed general paper-sellers. The whole class are called
"paper workers." There are several printers at the east and west end
of London who are generally engaged in supplying the paper workers. The
principal of these printers and publishers are Mrs. Ryall (late Jemmy Catnach),
Miss Hodges (late Tommy Pitt, of the toy and marble warehouse), G. Birt, Little
Jack Powell (formerly of Lloyd's), Jim Paul (from Catnach's), and Good, of
Clerkenwell. The leading man in the "paper trade was the late "Jemmy
Catnach," who is said to have amassed upwards of £10,000 in the business.
He is reported to have made the greater part of this sum during the trial of
Queen Caroline, by the sale of whole-sheet "papers," descriptive of
the trial, and embellished with "splendid illustrations." The next to
Catnach stood Pitt, of the noted toy and marble warehouse. These two parties
were the Colburn and Bentley of the "paper" trade. In connection with
these printers and publishers are a certain number of flying stationers, ready
to publish by word of mouth anything that they may produce. These parties are
technically called "the school," and are "at the Dials"
altogether from 80 to 100 in number. The running patterers are those that
describe the contents of their papers as they go. They seldom or ever stand
still, and generally visit a neighbourhood in bands of two or three at a time.
The more noise they make, they say, the better the "papers" sell. They
usually deal in murders, seductions, crim. cons., explosions, alarming
accidents, assassinations, deaths of public characters, duels, and love-letters.
The standing patterers are men who remain in one place - until removed by the
police - and who endeavour to attract attention to their papers, either by means
of a board with pictures daubed upon it, descriptive of the contents of what
they sell, or else by gathering a crowd round about them, and giving a lively or
horrible description of the papers or books they are "working." Some
of this class give street recitations or dialogues. The long-song sellers, who
form another class, are those who parade the streets with three yards of new and
popular songs for a penny. The songs are generally fixed to the top of a long
pole, and the party cries the different titles as he goes. This part of
"the profession" is confined solely to the summer; the hands in winter
usually take to the sale of song-books instead, it being impossible to exhibit
"the three yards" in wet weather. The last class are ballad singers,
who perambulate the streets, singing the songs they sell. Included in these
classes are several well-known London characters. These parties are chiefly what
are called "death-hunters," from whom you may always expect a
"full, true, and particular account" of the last "diabolical
murder." These full, true, and particular accounts are either real or
fictitious tragedies. The fictitious ones are called "cocks," and
usually kept stereotyped. The most popular of these are the murder at
Chigwell-row - "that's a trump," says my informant, "to this
present day. Why, I'd go out now, sir, with a dozen of Chigwell-rows, and earn
my supper in half an hour off of 'em. The murder of Sarah Holmes at Lincoln is
good, too - that there has been worked for the last five year successively every
winter," said my informant. "Poor Sarah Holmes! Bless her, she has
saved me from walking the streets all night many a time! Some of the best of
these have been in work twenty years - the Scarborough murder has full twenty
years. It's called, 'THE SCARBOROUGH TRAGEDY.' I've worked it myself. It's about
a noble and rich young naval officer seducing a poor clergyman's daughter. She
is confined in a ditch, and destroys the child. She is taken up for it, tried,
and executed. This has had a great run. It sells all round the country places,
and would sell now if they had it out. Mostly all our customers is females. They
are the chief dependence we have. The Scarborough Tragedy is very attractive. It
draws tears to the women's eyes, to think that a poor clergyman's daughter, who
is remarkably beautiful, should murder her own child; it's very touching to
every feeling heart. There's a copy of verses with it too. Then there's the
Liverpool Tragedy - that's very attractive. It's a mother murdering her own son,
through gold. He had come from the East Indies, and married a rich planter's
daughter. He came back to England to see his parents after an absence of thirty
years. They kept a lodging-house in Liverpool for sailors; the son went there to
lodge, and meant to tell his parents who he was in the morning. His mother saw
the gold he had got in his boxes, and cut his throat severed his head from his
body; the old man, upwards of seventy years of age holding the candle. They had
put a washing-tub under the bed to catch his blood. The morning after the murder
the old man's daughter calls and inquires for a young man. The old man denies
that they have had any such person in the house. She says he had a mole on his
arm in the shape of a strawberry. The old couple go upstairs to examine the
corpse, and find they have murdered their own son, and then they both put an end
to their existence. This is a deeper tragedy than the Scarborough Murder. That
suits young people better; they like to hear about the young woman being seduced
by the naval officer; but the mothers take more to the Liverpool Tragedy - it
suits them better. Some of the 'cocks' were in existence," he says,
"before ever I was born or thought of." The "Great and important
battle between the two young ladies of fortune" is what he calls a ripper.
"I should like to have that there put down correct," he says, "
cause I've taken a tidy lot of money out of it." My informant, who had been
upwards of twenty years in the running patter line, tells me that he commenced
his career with the "Last Dying Speech and Full Confession of William
Corder." He was sixteen years of age, and had run away from his parents.
"I worked that there," he says, "down in the very town (at Bury)
where he was executed. I got a whole hatful of halfpence at that. Why, I
wouldn't even give 'em seven for sixpence - no, that I wouldn't. A gentleman's
servant come out, and wanted half a dozen for his master, and one for himself
in, and I wouldn't let him have no such thing. We often sells more than that at
once. Why, I sold six at one go to the railway clerks at Norwich, about the
Manning affair, only a fortnight back. But Steinburgh's little job - you know,
he murdered his wife and family, and committed suicide after - that sold as well
as any 'die.' Pegsworth was an out-an-out lot. I did tremendous with him,
because it happened in London, down Ratcliff-highway - that's a splendid quarter
for working - there's plenty of feelings; but, bless you, some places you go to
you can't move no how - they've hearts like paving-stones. They wouldn't have
the papers if you'd give them to 'em - especially when they knows you. Greenacre
didn't sell so well as might have been expected, for such a diabolical
out-and-out crime as he committed; but you see, he came close after Pegsworth,
and that took the beauty off him. Two murderers together is never no good to
nobody. Why, there was Wilson Gleeson, as great a villain as ever lived - went
and murdered a whole family at noon-day; but Rush coopered him - and likewise
that girl at Bristol - made it no draw to anyone. Dan'el Good, though, was a
firstrater; and would have been much better if it hadn't been for that there
Madame Toosow. You see. she went down to Roehampton, and guv £2 for the werry
clogs as he used to wash his master's carriage in; so, in course, when the
harrystocracy could go and see the real things - the werry identical clogs - in
the Chamber of Orrors, why, the people wouldn't look at our authentic portraits
of the fiend in human form. Hocker wasn't any particular great shakes. There was
a deal expected from him, but he didn't turn out well. Courvoisier was much
better - he sold werry well; but nothing to Blakesley. Why, I worked him for six
weeks. The wife of the murdered man kept the King's Head that he was landlord on
open on the morning of the execution, and the place was like a fair. I even went
and sold papers outside the door myself. I thought if she war'nt ashamed, why
should I be? After that we had a fine 'fake' - that was the fire of the Tower of
London - it sold rattling. Why, we had about forty apprehended for that - first
we said two soldiers was taken ip that couldn't obtain their discharge; and then
we declared it was a well-known sporting nobleman who did it for a spree. The
boy Jones in the Palace wasn't much more of an affair for the running patterer;
the ballad-singers - or street screamers, as we calls 'em - had the pull out of
that. The patter wouldn't take; they had read it all in the newspapers before.
Oxford, and Francis and Bean were a little better, but nothing to crack about.
The people doesn't care about such things as them. There's nothing beats a
stunning good murder after all. Why, there was Rush - lived on him for a month
or more. When I commenced with Rush I was 14s. in debt for rent, and in less
than ten days I astonished the wise men in the East by paying my landlord all 1
owed him. Since Dan'el Good there had been little or nothing doing in the murder
line - no one could cap him - till Rush turned up a regular trump for us. Why, I
went down to Norwich expressly to work the execution. 1 worked my way down there
with 'a sorrowful lamentation' of his own composing, which I'd got
written by the blind man, expressly for the occasion. On the morning of the
execution we beat all the regular newspapers out of the field; for we had the
full, true, and particular account down, you see. by our own express, and that
can beat anything that ever they can publish; for we gets it printed several
days afore it comes off, and goes and stands with it right under the drop; and
many's the penny I've turned away when I've been asked for an account of the
whole business before it happened. So you see, for herly and correct
hinformation, we can beat the Sun - aye, or the Moon either, for the
matter of that. Irish Jem, the Ambassador, never goes to bed but he blesses
Rush, the farmer; and many's the time he's told me we should never have such
another windfall as that. But I told him not to despair; 'there's a good time
coming, boys,' says 1; and sure enough, up comes the Bermondsey tragedy. We
might have done very well, indeed, out of the Mannings, but there was too many
examinations for it to be any great account to us. I've been away with the
Mannings in the country ever since. I've been through Hertfordshire,
Cambridgeshire, and Suffolk, along with George Frederick Manning and his wife -
travelled from 800 to 1,000 miles with 'em; but I could have done much better if
I had stopped in London. Every day I was anxiously looking for a confession from
Mrs. Manning. All I wanted was for her to clear her conscience afore she left
this here whale of tears (that's what I always calls it in the patter); and when
I read in the papers (mind, they was none of my own) that her last words on the
brink of eternity was, 'I've nothing to say to you, Mr. Rowe, but to thank you
for your kindness,' I guv her up entirely - had completely done with her. In
course the public looks to us for the last words of all monsters in human form;
and as for Mrs. Manning's, they were not worth the printing. The papers are paid
for," continued the man, "according to their size. The quarter-sheets
are 3d. a quire of twenty-six, half-sheets are 6d., whole sheets 1s. Those that
are illustrated are 2d. more per quire than those that are plain. The books -
which never exceed eight pages (unless ordered) - are 4s. a gross. The
long-songs are 1s. per quire, and they are so arranged that a single sheet may
be cut into three. The song-books are all prices, from 3d. a dozen up to 8d. a
dozen, and the latter price alone is demanded for Henry Russell's pieces. The
papers and books are sold at ½d. or ld. each, according to the locality. The
average earnings of the class are, taking dull and brisk, about 10s. The best
hand can make 12s. a week through the whole year, but to do this he must be a
"general man," ready to turn his hands to the whole of the branches.
If a murder is up, he must work either a "cock" or a conundrum book,
or almanacs, according to the season; and when the time for these is past, he
must take either to "Sarah Simple" ("she that lived upon the raw
potato peelings," says my informant), or the highly amusing legend of the
"Fish and the Ring at Stepney;" or else he must work "Anselmo; or
the Accursed Hand."
I then sought out a Standing Patterer, and found one
in a low threepenny lodging-house in Mint-street, in the Borough. Some standing
patterers are brought up to the business from childhood. Some take to it through
loss of character, or through their inability to obtain a situation from
intemperate habits. "It was distress that first drove me to it," said
my informant. "I had learnt to make willow bonnets, and that branch of
trade went entirely out. So, having a wife and children, I was drove to write
out a paper that I called 'The People's Address to the King on the Present State
of the Nation.' I got it printed, and took it into the streets and sold it. I
did very well with this, and made about 5s. a day at it while it lasted.
I never was brought up to any mechanical trade. My father was a clergyman [here
the man burst out crying]. It breaks my heart when I think of it. I have as good
a wife as ever lived, and I would give the world to get out of my present life.
It would be Heaven to get away from the place where I am. I am obliged to cheer
up my spirits. If I was to give way to it, I shouldn't live long. It's like a
little hell to be in the place where we live [crying], associated with the
ruffians that we are. If I had a friend to help me out of my present situation,
I should be a new man, and lead a new life. My distress of mind is awful, but it
won't do to show it at my lodgings; they'd only laugh to see me down-hearted; so
I keep my trouble all to myself. Oh, I am heartily sick of this street work -
the insults I have to put up with - the drunken men swearing at me. Yes, indeed,
I am heartily sick of it."
The standing patterers are generally a very drunken and
disorderly set. Their earnings are quite uncertain. It depends all upon their
gift, I am told: to attract attention is half the business. "The more lies
they tell, the more cheek they have got, the better they do." A good day's
work is about 1s. "I have taken my 5s. (said my informant); but
'paper' selling now isn't half so good as it used to be. People haven't got the
money to lay out; for it all depends with the working man. The least we make in
a day is upon an average sixpence; but taking the good and bad together, I
should say we take about 2s. a day, or 10s. a week. I know there's some get more
than that, but then there's many take less. Lately, I know, I haven't taken 9s.
a week myself, and people reckon me one of the best patterers in the trade. I'm
reckoned to have the gift - that is, the gift of the gab. I never works a last
dying speech on any other than the day of the execution - all the edge is taken
off of it after that. The last dying speeches and executions are all printed the
day before. They're always done on the Sunday, if the murderers are to be hung
on the Monday. I've been and got them myself on the Sunday night, over and over
again. The flying stationers goes with the papers in their pockets, and stand
under the drop, and as soon as ever it falls, and long before the breath is out
of the body, they begin bawling out, 'Here is printed and published the last
dying speech and confession of George Frederick Manning, who was executed this
morning at Horsemonger-lane Gaol, for the murder of Mr. Patrick O'Connor, at
Minver-place, Bermondsey,' and they dress it up just as they think will tell
best - tell the biggest lies," says my informant, "that they think of
- say the man made a full confession, when may be he never said a word; and
there is not a syllable in the paper. 'Here you have also an exact likeness,'
they say, of the murderer, 'taken at the bar of the Old Bailey!' when all the
time it is an old wood-cut that's been used for every criminal for the last
forty years. I know the likeness that was given of Hocker was the one that was
given for Fauntleroy; and the woodcut of Tawell was one that was given for the
Quaker that had been hanged for forgery twenty years before. Thurtell's likeness
was done expressly for the 'papers;' and the Mannings' and Rush's likeness too.
The murders are bought by men, women, and children. Many of the tradespeople
bought a great many of this last affair of the Mannings. I went down to Deptford
with mine, and did uncommonly well with 'em. I sold all off. Gentlefolks won't
have anything to do with murders sold in the street; they've got other ways of
seeing all about it. We lay on the horrors, and picture them in the highest
colours we can. We don't care what's in the 'papers' in our hands. All we want
to do is to sell 'em; and the more horrible we make the affairs, the more sale
we have. We do very well with 'love-letters.' They are 'cocks;' that is, they
are all fictitious. We give it out that they are from a tradesman in the
neighbourhood, not a hundred yards from where we are a-standing. Sometimes we
say it's a well-known sporting butcher; sometimes it's a highly respectable
publican - just as it will suit the tastes of the neighbourhood. I got my living
round Cornwall for one twelvemonth with nothing else than a love-letter. It was
headed, 'A curious and laughable love-letter and puzzle, sent by a sporting
gentleman to Miss H-s-m, in this neighbourhood;' that suits any place
that I may chance to be in; but I always patter the name of the street or
village where I may be. This letter, I say, is so worded, that had it fallen
into the hands of her mamma or papa, they could not have told what it meant; but
the young lady, having so much wit, found out its true meaning, and sent him an
answer in the same manner. You have here, we say, the number of the house, the
name of the place where she lives (there is nothing of the kind, of course), and
the initials of all the parties concerned. We dare not give the real names in
full, we tell them; indeed, we do all we can to get up the people's curiosity. I
did very well with the 'Burning of the House of Commons.' I happened by accident
to put my pipe into my pocket amongst some of my papers, and burnt them. Then,
not knowing how to get rid of them, I got a few straws. I told the people that
my burnt papers were parliamentary documents that had been rescued from the
flames, and that, as I dare not sell them, I would let them have a straw for a
penny, and give them one of the papers. By this trick I got rid of my stock
twice as fast, and got double the price that I should have done. The papers had
nothing at all to do with the House of Commons. Some was 'Death and the Lady,'
and 'Death and the Gentleman,' and others were the 'Political Catechism,' and
365 lies, Scotch, English, and Irish, and each lie as big round as St. Paul's.
We don't care what there is in the papers, so long as we can sell them. I
remember a party named Jack Straw, who laid a wager, for half a gallon of beer,
that he'd bring home the money for two dozen blank papers in one hour's time. He
went out into the Old-street-road, and began a patter about the political
affairs of the nation, and Sir Robert Peel, and the Duke of Wellington, telling
the public that he dared not sell his papers, they were treasonable; so he gave
them with a straw - that he sold for one penny. In less than the hour he was
sold clean out, and returned and drank the beer. The chief things that I work
are quarter-sheets of recitations and dialogues. One is 'Good Advice to Young
Men on Choosing their Wives.' I have done exceedingly well with that - it's a
good moral thing. Another is the 'Drunkard's Catechism;' another is 'The
Rent-day, or the Landlord gathering his Rents.' This is a dialogue between the
landlord and his tenant, beginning with 'Good morning, Mrs. Longface; have you
got my rent ready ma'am?' The next one is 'The Adventures of Larry O'Flinn.'
This is a comic story, and a very good got-up thing. Another is 'A Hint to
Husbands and Wives;' and 'a pack of cards turned into a Bible, a Prayer-book,
and an almanac.' These cards belonged to Richard Middleton, of the 60th regiment
of foot, who was taken a prisoner for playing at cards in church during divine
service. But the best I do is the 'remarkable dream of a young man of loose
character, who had made an agreement to break into a gentleman's house at twelve
at night on Whitsun Monday, but, owing to a little drink that he took, he had a
remarkable dream, and dreamt he was in hell. The dream had such influence on his
mind that he refused to meet his comrade. His comrade was taken up for the
burglary, found guilty, and executed for it. This made such an impression on the
young man's mind that he became a reformed character.' There is a very beautiful
description of hell in this paper," said my informant, "that makes it
sell very well among the old women and the apprentice lads, for the young man
was an apprentice himself. It's all in very pretty poetry, and a regular 'cock.'
The papers that I work chiefly are what are called the 'standing patters;'
they're all of 'em stereotype, and some of them a hundred years old. We consider
the 'death hunters' are the lowest grade in the trade. We can make most money of
the murders while they last, but they don't last, and they merely want a good
pair of lungs to get them off. But it's not everyone can work the standing
patters. I believe there's only another man in London can do 'em beside me. It's
too much for the common sort of flying stationers - it requires the gift of the
gab. Many persons I've seen try at it and fail. One old man I knew tried the
'Drunkard's Catechism' and the 'Soldier's Prayer-book and Bible.' He could
manage to patter these because they'll almost work themselves; but 'Old Mother
Clifton' he broke down in. I heard him do it in Sun-street and in the
Blackfriars-road; but it was such a dreadful failure - he couldn't humour it a
bit - that, thinks I to myself, you'll soon have to give up, and sure enough
he's never been to the printer's since. He'd a very poor audience, chiefly boys
and girls, and they were laughing at him because he made so many blunders in it.
A man that's never been to school an hour can go and patter a dying speech or a
battle between two ladies of fortune - they're what we call running-patters -
you're obliged to keep moving on with them. They require no scholarship at all.
All you want is to stick a picture on your hat to attract attention, and to make
all the noise you can. It's all the same when they does an 'Assassination of
Louis Philippe' or a 'Diabolical Attempt on the Life of the Queen' - a good
stout pair of lungs and plenty of impudence is all that is required. But to
patter 'Bounce, the workhouse beadle, and the examination of the paupers before
the Poor-law Commissioners,' takes a good head-piece and great gift of the gab,
let me tell you. It's just the same as a play-actor. I can assure you I often
feel very nervous. I begin it, and walk miles before I can get confidence in
myself to make the attempt. Without confidence, you know, you can't do anything.
We buy the papers at 3d. a quire of 26 the quarter-sheets, and 6d. a quire the
half-sheets. Those we sell in the streets at ld. the half-sheets and ½d. the,
quarter-ones. I got rid of two quire last night. I was up among the gentlemen's
servants in Crawford-street, Baker-street, and I had a very good haul out of the
grown-up people. Boys won't buy anything but 'Mother Clifton,' and all comical
things. But the 'Good Advice to Young Men and Young Women in Choosing Husbands
and Wives' tickles the grown-up folks. I cleared 1s. 8d. altogether. I did that
from seven o'clock till nine in the evening. It's all chance-work. If it's fine,
and I can get a crowd of grown-up people round me, I can do very well, but I
can't do anything amongst the boys. There's very little to be done in the
daytime. I begin at ten in the day, and stop out till one. After that I starts
off again at five, and leaves off about ten at night. Marylebone, Paddington,
and Westminster I find the best places. The West-end is very good the early part
of the week for anything that's genteel, such as the 'Rich Man and his Wife
quarrelling because they have no family.' Our customers there are principally
the footmen, the grooms, and the maid-servants. The east end of the town is the
best on Friday and Saturday evenings. I very often go to Limehouse on Friday
evening. Most part of the dock-men are paid then, and anything comic goes off
well among them. On Saturdays I go to the New-cut, Ratcliff-highway, the Brill,
and such places. I make mostly 2s. clear on a Saturday night. After nineteen
years' experience of the patter and paper line in the streets, I find that a
foolish nonsensical thing will sell twice as fast as a good moral sentimental
one; and, while it lasts, a good exciting murder will cut out the whole of them.
It's the best selling thing of any. I used at one time to patter religious
tracts in the street, but I found no encouragement. I did the 'Infidel
Blacksmith' - that would not sell. 'What is Happiness? a Dialogue between Ellen
and Mary' - that was no go. No more was the 'Sorrows of Seduction.' So I was
driven into the comic standing patters.
The Sellers of Play-bills require a few more words in
the way of description than might be thought necessary. The sellers of
play-bills purchase their stock of the wholesale dealers, at 3s. 4d. the
hundred. They are the poorest of the poor: after they have had one meal, they do
not know how to get another. They reside in the lowest localities. There are as
many as 400 engaged in this calling on this side of the water alone. They
consist of boys, girls, men, and women. Taking the average of this class, they
are the most abandoned and profligate in character. They get, upon the average,
cent. per cent. They reckon it a good night to earn 1s. clear. They can earn,
upon an average, 3s. per week. They lose sometimes by not selling out their
nightly stock. What they have left, they sell for waste paper at 2d. per pound.
Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide are generally their best times - they will
then make 9d. per night clear. Their customers are the pit and box gentry. The
printer of the play-bills prints but a certain number, the demand being pretty
closely ascertained week by week. These are all sold (by the printer or some
person appointed) to the regular customers. If, however, by any contrivance, any
"new hand" venture upon the sale of play-bills, he is scouted by the
fraternity as an intruder; he is not "free of the company." A lame
woman of sixty-eight, who for twelve years has sold play-bills, gave me the
following information:-
She commenced selling play-bills at Astley's, and then
realised a profit of 4s. per week. When the old Amphitheatre was burnt down, she
went to the Victoria, but "business was not what it was." The Victoria
is considered one of the most profitable stations for the play-bill seller, the
box-keeper there seldom selling any bill in the theatre. "The boxes"
more frequently buy them outside. Another reason why "business" is
better at the Victoria than elsewhere was represented to me, by a person
familiar with the theatres, to be this: Many go to the Victoria who cannot read,
or who can read but imperfectly, and they love to parade the consulting of a
play-bill! The bills cost the vendors 6d. for 13, the general decline in prices
having affected them, for they used to be but 12 for 6d. The profits of
play-bill selling, according to concurrent testimony, are 3s. a week now that
the theatres are open generally. When some are closed, these dealers are driven
to other theatres, and as the demand is necessarily limited, a super-flux of
sellers affects the profits, and 2s. 6d. is then considered a good week's work.
At the Victoria, the sellers are two old women (each a widow for many years),
two young men, and from two to four and sometimes six children. The old women
"fell into the business" - to use the words of one of them - as
successors by virtue of their predecessors' leave, who had to relinquish their
post from sickness. The children are generally connected with the older dealers.
The young men had been in this business from boyhood; some sticking to the
practice of their childhood unto manhood, or towards old age. The number at the
Victoria is about the average at the other theatres. The youths who have been in
the trade from childhood are generally those who run recklessly by the side of
cabs and carriages. One of these youths said to me, when I spoke of the danger
incurred, "The cabman knows how to do it, sir, when I runs and patters; and
so does his hoss." I did not bear of one person who had been in any
way connected with the stage. even as a supernumerary, resorting to play-bill
selling when he did not earn a shilling a week within the walls of a theatre.
These bill sellers confine themselves, as far as I could ascertain, to that
particular trade. The youths say that they sometimes get a job in errand-going
in the daytime, and the old men and women generally say they can do nothing
else. As a body, these people know and care little or nothing of the contents of
the bill they sell. Not one of all I talked to was familiar with the names of
actors or authors, and many could not read. I have spoken hitherto of the
dealers on the Surrey side of the water. I found their statements, however,
fully confirmed by the Middlesex play-bill sellers, but they complained more of
encroachments by people "who had no business there." Sometimes even,
if the demand seemed to justify it, an unauthorised bill has been printed, and
sold by newcomers; but this happens rarely.
The Wall Song-sellers (displaying their stock against
any dead wall, but attached to boards, and sometimes on a sort of stall) so far
form a class that they are not migratory. Some continue many years on the same
spot, and as they are diminishing - for the alterations in the streets sweep
away many of the old stands, and new ones are rarely allowed - these people may
be classed among the disappearing street-aborigines. I should rank the average
earnings of those at the best stands, who unite the sale of a few old books,
etc., with their ballads, at 10s. weekly; some inferior stations earn no more
than 5s. Among the best-accustomed stands are some in
Tottenham-court-road, the New-road, the City-road near the Vinegar-works,
Oxford-street, the Westminster-road, Shoreditch, near the Eastern Counties
station, and other places. I give the information as closely as possible, which
was supplied to me by one of the most communicative I met with: - "I'm 49.
I've no children, thank God, but a daughter, who is 18, and no incumbrance to
me, as she is in a 'house of business;' and as she has been there nine years,
her character can't be so very bad. (This was said heartily.) I worked 22 years
with a great sculptor as a marble polisher, and besides that I used to run
errands for him, and was a sort of porter, like, to him. I couldn't get any more
work, because he hadn't no more marble work to do, so I went in this line. It
cost me £2 10s. to stock my stall, and get all together comfortable. I got
leave to stand here (against the wall) from the landlord. The policemen can't
touch us if we don't hawk things about the streets. I sell ballads and
manuscript music (beautifully done these music sheets were), which is
'transposed' (so he worded it) from the nigger songs. There's two does them for
me. They're transposed for the violin. One that does them is a musicianer, who
plays outside public-houses, and makes half his living by this; but I think his
daughter does most of it. I don't know what she is, nor what she can make a week
by it. I buy my ballads for 2d. a dozen; but them that buys them by the dozen
quires gets 'em for l½d. - and, yes, as low as ld. a dozen; that's 2d. a quire.
I don't buy 'em all of one man. I has to go sometimes of a morning from
Clerkenwell to Hoxton, and from Hoxton to Holywell-street. Then to 'The Dials.'
Most of the printers live there. Business is not good. I don't make sometimes
9d. or 10d. all day. The most I have ever taken of a day was 5s.; of
this, perhaps, half was profit. I sell my ballads at a halfpenny, and, when I
can get it, a penny a piece. But then I sell books when I pick 'em up cheap, and
prints - not in an umbrella, to be sure not. The best time for my trade is a
month before and a month after Christmas. I sometimes get a job in my own line -
that's the marble polishing - but that's very seldom. But I've got a good karacter,
thank God; and if there was work to do I should get employment; but there
ain't no marble work done now. Do I yarn a pound a week? Lor' bless you, no. Nor
15s. nor 12s. I don't yarn, one week with another, nor 10s. My wife don't yarn
nothing. She used to go out charring, but she can't now. I am at my stall at
nine in the morning, and sometimes I have walked five or six miles to buy my
'pubs' before it. I stop till ten at night. But the wet days is the ruin of us.
Such a day as yesterday I didn't take (not make) as much as would pay for a pint
of beer and a mouthful of bread and cheese. My rent's 2s. 3d. a week for one
room, and I've got my own bits of sticks there. I've always kept them, thank
God!" "Do you know anything about those who sing their songs as well
as sell them?" I asked. "No, sir, not I. I ain't got nothing to do
with that lot. They're travellers, or anythink. Those are the ones that cry the
murders about, and sing the flash songs in the 'publics.' They're all
travellers. You may see a many of 'em in the Dials a-selling onions, and some
goes in Tottenham-court-road on a Saturday night - but they're all
travellers." For "travellers" he seemed to entertain a thorough
scorn. Generally, they know nothing of the character of the songs they sell,
taking the printer's word, when they lay in a new stock, as to "what was
going." These wall song- sellers consider that they have a property in
their stands, to be sold or bequeathed. A few have sold ballads all their lives.
Some, like my informant, have adopted the business on the failure of others.
None could tell me of any especial ballad having had a very great and continued
sale. The most popular comic songs are not sold so abundantly as some others,
because, as I was told, boys soon picked them up by heart, hearing them so
often; and so don't buy them. Neither was the best demand for nigger songs, nor
for what they called "flash ditties," but for ballads, such as "A
Life on the Ocean Wave," "I'm Afloat," "There's a Good Time
Coming," "Farewell to the Mountain," etc., etc. Three- fourths of
the customers of the man whose statements I have given were, he told me, boys,
who cut them out, stick them with paste into books, and sing them at sing-songs.
As a rule, the ballads are wretchedly printed, and some of them are adorned with
head or tail pieces, which are, with the rarest exception, singularly
inappropriate. One old man calculated that there were not fifty of those street
stores of songs now in London. He could remember three times as many.
The Hare and Rabbit
Skin Buyers are the class who go round purchasing the skins of
those animals from the servants of the wealthy, and - but to a small extent -
from the wives of little tradesmen or artisans. With some of these tradesmen or
artisans, rabbits, I am told, have become a more frequent fare than they were;
but they are generally bought skinned, or, if bought whole, the shopkeeper will
skin the animal, receiving the skin for his trouble. These tradesmen of course
dispose of the skins wholesale, and were described to me by a very old man, who
hobbles about buying hare-skins, as "spoiling business - it was different
in his time." I will now give the narrative of a woman upwards of fifty,
who has been from her childhood in this trade, as was her mother. Her husband -
who seemed uncertain about his age, except that he was rather older than his
wife - had been all his life a street seller of hearthstones, and a field
catcher of birds. They have been married thirty-one years, and reside in the
garret of a house in a street off Drury-lane - a small room, not by any means to
be called filthy, but with a close smell about it. The room cannot be described
as unfurnished - it is, in fact, crowded. There are birdcages, with and without
birds (the birds looked brisk and healthy), over what was a bed; but the
bed had been sold to pay the rent, and a month's rent was again in arrear; and
there were bird-cages on the wall by the door, and bird-cages over the
mantelshelf. There was furniture, too, and crockery; and a vile oil painting of
"still life;" but an eye used to the furniture in the rooms of the
poor could at once perceive that there was not one article which could be
sold to a broker or marine-store dealer, or pledged at a pawnshop. I will, in
her own words, give the account I received from the wife: -
"I've sold hare-skins all my life, sir, and was born in London; but when
hare-skins isn't in, I sells flowers. I goes about now for my skins every
day, wet or dry, and all day long - that is, till it's dark. Today (Wednesday)
I've not laid out a penny. but then it's such a day for rain. I reckon that if I
gets hold of eighteen hare and rabbit skins in a day, that is my greatest day's
work. I gives 2d. for good hare's, what's not riddled much, and sells them all
for 2½d. I sells them to a Jew, sir. Oh, yes, Jews gives us better prices than
Christians, and buys readier. Last week I sold all I bought for 3s. 6d. I have
taken some weeks as much as 8s. for what I picked up, and if I could get that
every week I should think myself a lady. The profit left me a clear half-crown.
There's no difference in any perticler year - only that things gets worse. The
game laws hasn't made no difference in my trade. Indeed, I can't say I know
anything about the game laws, or hears anything consarning 'em. I goes along the
squares and streets. I buys most at gentlemen's houses. We never calls at
hotels. The servants, and the women that chars, and washes, and jobs, manages it
there. Hare-skins is in - leastways I c'lects them - from September to the end
of March, when hares, they says, goes mad. I can't say what I makes one week
with another - perhaps eighteen-pence may be clear. In the summer I sells
flowers. My customers knows good flowers, and so I doesn't buy them at
Common-garden, but goes and gets them fresh from the gardens they're grown in.
On my best days I takes 12s. I have taken 15s.; that (15s) leaves
a profit of 5s. I sells them in the squares; goes only two days a week, and has
a connection. The summer helps the winter. The flowers is made up in 6d. and 1s.
posies. I dares say they're taken to the theatre by the ladies. I've heard so;
but I never was in the theatre in my life myself. My flowers is wiolets - no,
sir, not primroses, them's reckoned wulgar - hellitrops, carnations, pinks, and
roses. After flowers, I goes a-hopping: can then earn 1s. or 1s. 6d. a day,
according to crops and times; but that only for a short time; and there's goings
and comings back to pay. Thank God, I've no children - only a nephew what
strives as we strives.
The Flower Girls are not a
very numerous class. It is supposed that they do not exceed 200. They are
generally young girls from 14 to 20 years old. Some of them are orphans, and
some are the children of poor parents, who send them out into the streets to
earn a few pence by the sale of flowers. The flower season is principally in the
spring and summer time. it commences mostly with wall-flowers, and ends with
lavender. Some few of the street vendors continue the business through the
winter, when they sell violets and dry flowers. The flowers are purchased
principally at Covent-garden market. The girls visit the market about six
o'clock, and buy generally from 6d. to 1s. worth of whatever may be in season.
On Saturday they frequently lay out 2s. 6d. if they have so much. Sometimes the
"stock-money" is given to them by their parents; and those who cannot
obtain it in this way borrow "a trifle" of some friend. One girl whom
I saw told me that whenever her father was unable to give her any money to buy
her flowers with, she got her stock-money of a washerwoman, who lived next door
to her parents; but the woman never expected anything for the loan of the sum,
which was generally either nine-pence or a shilling. This money she used to
return when she came home from her day's work, and if the woman had as much
still in her possession she used to re-lend it to her the next morning. The
fathers of the flower girls are mostly labouring men, frequently porters in the
market, and the mothers take in needlework. They are in general persons of large
families. The parents of my informant, who was a young girl 18 years of age, had
as many as seven children, five being younger than herself. The flowers are
bought in large bunches, or else (as in the case of dry flowers) by the ounce.
For wall-flowers, heartsease, and violets they usually pay ld. the bunch; for
sweet peas, l½d.; For forget-me-nots the cost price is from 1½d. to 2½d. the
bunch; dahlias are 2d. and 2½d.; pinks are 3d.; China roses from ld. to 2d.;
and moss roses from 2½d. to 4d.; while lavender costs 3d. and 4d. Dry flowers
are 2d. the ounce. The bunches, after they are bought by the girls, are by some
taken home, and, being untied, are made up into smaller lots. One market bunch
they usually convert into six of such a size as they sell in the streets at ld.
or ½d. each. They generally regulate the size of the bunches so that they can
clear about 9d. out of every shilling they take. Many girls sit on the step of a
door, and tie up their bunches in the street. They generally go towards the
West-end to sell them. A few go to the City, but not many. Their customers are
mostly ladies and gentlemen passing by in the Street. The working classes seldom
or never buy of them; nor do the girls frequently dispose of their flowers to
the inmates of houses. The best places for the sale of flowers are the public
fashionable thoroughfares, such as Regent-street, Portland-place, Oxford-street,
Piccadilly, Bond-street, and Pall-mall. A few are sold in the Strand, and some
through the other parts of London. The flower girl commences business about ten
o'clock in the morning. The bunches having been tied up, and occasionally done
round with paper, are placed in an arm-basket, and carried into some public
thoroughfare, the girl crying as she goes, "Handsome flowers, a penny a
paper!" or "Two bunches a penny, sweet wall-flowers!" or
"Four bunches a penny, blooming lavender!" or "Handsome moss
roses, ½d. each! " according to the description of flower in season. They
return home about three in the afternoon. If the girls have any of their stock
remaining, they go out again in the evening about six, and come back at ten, and
occasionally as late as twelve o'clock at night. The best business days are
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, these being market-days. On these occasions
the flower girls will earn sometimes as much as 2s. and 2s. 6d. clear, and
sometimes only 9d. On a wet day, I am told, they seldom earn more than 6d. On
the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays they take scarcely any money at all.
Occasionally they clear from 7d. to 8d., and sometimes only 3d. or 4d. But
Saturday, they say, is the best day of all; then they frequently gain from 3s.
to 4s., and sometimes their profit is as much as 5s. But they get thus
much only in the summer-time. in the winter they can earn scarcely anything by
the sale of the dry flowers. They do a little better, I am told, with their
violets, but even these will not afford them a subsistence. Most of the flower
girls take to selling other articles after the summer. Some deal in apples and
oranges, and others in combs, or stay-laces, or cedar pencils. Upon an average
the earnings of the girls appear to be about 5s. a week in the summer and
2s. 6d. a week in the winter time from the sale of flowers.
The girls are generally of
an immoral character. Several of them are sent out by their parents to make out
a livelihood by prostitution: indeed from all I can learn, the sale of flowers
in the streets is frequently, if not generally, resorted to merely as a cover
for purposes of the vilest kind. One of this class, whom I saw, had lately come
out of prison. She is not nineteen years old, and was sentenced about a
twelvemonth ago to three months' imprisonment with hard labour, "for
heaving her shoe," as she says, "at the Lord Mayor." This she
did, she tells me, to get a comfortable lodging, for she was tired of being
about the streets. After this she was locked up for breaking the lamps in the
street. Her motive for this was a belief that by committing some such act she
might be able to get into an asylum for females. She was sent out into the
streets by her father and mother, at the age of nine, to sell flowers. Her
father used to supply her with the money to buy the flowers, and she used to
take the proceeds of the day's work home to her parents. She used to be out in
the streets frequently till past midnight, and seldom or never got home before
nine at night. She used to associate only with flower-girls of loose character.
The result may be imagined. At length she made a regular habit of always
remaining from home till twelve at night, and giving the money that she got by
prostitution to her mother, and occasionally to her father. She cannot state
positively that her parents were aware of the manner in which she got the money
that she took home to them. She supposes that they must have imagined what her
practices were, because the sums she used to give them every night were much
larger than she could possibly have got by the sale of flowers. "When I was
thirteen years of age," she says, "a young girl that used to keep
company with me told my father what I was in the habit of doing. He scolded me
for it a little, but he did not take me away from the streets. He sent me out
the next day as usual, and didn't say anything to me about coming home
early." A few months after this he used to tell her to go into the streets
at night and meet with gentlemen, and sent her out regularly every evening at
dusk to do so. He used to give her no supper if she didn't bring home a good bit
of money. Her father and mother used to do little or no work all this while.
They lived on what she brought home. At 13 years old she was sent to orison for
selling combs in the street (it was winter, and there were no flowers to be
had). She was incarcerated fourteen days, and when liberated she returned to her
former practices. The very night that she came home from gaol her father sent
her out in the streets again. She continued in this state, her father and mother
living upon her prostitution, until about nine months ago, when her father
turned her out of his house because she couldn't bring home money enough to him.
She then went into Kent, hop-picking, and there she fell in with a beggar, who
accosted her while she was sitting under a tree. He said, "You have got a
very bad pair of shoes on; come with me, and you shall have some better
ones." She consented, and walked with him into the village close by, where
they stood out in the middle of the streets, and the man began addressing the
people, saying, "My kind good Christians, me and my poor wife here is
ashamed to appear before you in the state we are." She remained with this
person all the winter, and travelled with him through the country, begging their
way. He was a regular beggar by trade. In the spring she returned to the
flower-selling, but scarcely got any money either by that or other means. At
last she grew desperate, and wanted to get back to prison. She broke the lamps
outside the Mansion-house, and was sentenced to fourteen days' imprisonment. She
has been out of prison nearly three weeks, and is now in training to go into an
asylum. She is sick and tired, she says, of her life.
The Rag-Gatherers and Bone-Pickers,
and "Pure" Collectors. are different names for one and the
same class. Of bone-pickers, rag-gatherers, and pure collectors, it is
considered that there are 800 to 1,000 resident in London. My informant judges,
he says, from the number he sees about the streets every morning. One-half of
the above number he thinks are to be found in the low lodging- houses of London,
and the rest dwell in wretched, half-furnished rooms. In no case has a
bone-grubber ever been known to rent even the smallest house for himself. Upon
an average, he thinks there must be at least two of the class living at each of
the low lodging-houses. This would give 442 as the number there located (the
Government returns estimate the number of mendicants' lodging-houses in London
at 221); so that, doubling this, we have 884 as the gross number of individuals
engaged in this calling - a conclusion which agrees closely with my informant's
previous statement. The "pure" collectors have generally been country
labourers that have come up to London in the winter time to avail themselves of
the shelter of the night asylums or refuges for the destitute (these places are
usually called "straw-yards" by the poor). They walk up to London, not
to look for work, but because they hear that they can have a nightly lodging,
and bread night and morning, for nothing, during the winter months; and they
know that if they remain in the country they must go from one union to another;
and so travel from ten to fifteen miles per day, for they cannot sleep in the
casual wards more than one night at a time. There is scarcely any work to
be obtained in the country during the winter by the labourers who have gone
there to get employment in the summer, so that as soon as the harvest and
potato-getting is over, the country labourers make their way back to the
metropolis. The country labourers here alluded to belong especially to the class
called "trampers." They have no fixed place of residence, and are
wandering about the whole of the summer, in small bands of two or three, through
the country. They start off, I am told, as soon as the "straw-yards"
close, which is generally at the beginning of April, and either beg or work
their way through the villages, sleeping in the casual wards of the unions on
their way. The bone-pickers belong mostly to this class. The "pure"
pickers, however (or those who make a living by collecting dogs' dung in the
streets), are generally to be found in London all the year round, with the
exception of the hay season. the corn harvest, and hop-picking time, when a very
large portion leave London. The bone-pickers who do not belong to the class of
country labourers have been either navvies, or men that have not been able to
obtain employment, and have been driven to it by necessity, like myself (said my
informant), merely as a means of obtaining a little bread for the time being,
without any intention of pursuing the calling regularly. When they once begin it
they cannot leave it, for at least they can make certain of getting a few
halfpence by it, and they cannot afford the time to look after other employment.
There is no class of men getting their living in the streets that work half so
hard as the bone-pickers. They walk from twenty to thirty miles each day, with a
quarter to a half hundred-weight on their backs. A few of the bone-pickers and
rag- gatherers are old men and women, or very young children, who have no other
means of living. In the summer time the bone- pickers rise at two in the
morning, and sometimes earlier. It is not quite light at this hour, but bones
and rags they can discover before daybreak. They go to different parts of
London. In the neighbourhood of Petticoat-lane and Rag-fair they are more
numerous than elsewhere, the Jews having so many rags to throw out. But they
abound in every part of London and the suburbs. The bone-picker, immediately on
quitting the lodging-house, starts off to his particular district. This will
sometimes be from four to five miles distant. Some districts will lie as far as
Peckham, Clapham, Hammersmith, Hampstead, Bow, Stratford, and indeed all parts
within about five miles of London. The bone-grubber strives to reach his
district, wherever it may lie, before any others of the same class can go over
the ground. It is important that he should be first of all on the spot.
Here he generally seeks out the narrow back streets, where dust and refuse are
thrown, or where any dustbins are accessible. The bone-picker has generally a
bag on his back, and a stick in his hand. With this stick he turns over the
different heaps of ashes or dust that are thrown out of the houses, and rakes
among the dustbins to see if they contain anything that is saleable to the rag
and bone shop, or marine-store dealer. The articles for which he chiefly
searches are rags and bones - rags he prefers of the two; but waste metal, such
as bits of lead, pewter, copper, brass, or old iron, he prizes above all.
Whatever he meets with that he knows to be any way saleable, he puts into the
bag at his back. He often finds large lumps of bread, which have been thrown out
as waste by the servants. These constitute the morning meal of most of the
class. Occasionally the housekeepers on their way will give them a few bones,
upon which there is a little meat remaining. My informant a few days ago had a
large rump-of-beef bone given to him, upon which there was not less than one
pound of good meat. Sometimes they will pick up a stray sixpence or a shilling
that has been dropped in the street. "The handkerchief I have round my
neck," said my informant, "I picked up, with a shilling in the corner.
The greatest prize I ever picked up was the brass cap of the nave of a
coach-wheel, and I did once find a quarter of a pound of tobacco in
Sun-street, Bishopsgate. The best bit of luck of all that I ever had was finding
a cheque for £12 15s., lying in the gateway of the mourning-coachyard in
Titchborne-street, Haymarket. I was going to light my pipe with it; indeed I
picked it up for that purpose, and then saw it was a cheque. It was on the
London and County Bank, 21 Lombard-street. I took it there, and got 10s. for
finding it. I went there in my rags, as I am now, and the cashier stared a bit
at me. The cheque was drawn by a Mr. Knill, and payable to a Mr. Cox. I did think
I should have got the odd 15s." It generally takes the bone-picker
from seven to nine hours to go over his rounds. In the summer he gets home about
eleven in the day, and in the winter about one or two. On his return home he
proceeds to sort the contents of his bag. He separates the rags from the bones,
and these again from the old metal (if he is lucky enough to have found any). He
divides the rags into various lots, according as they are white or coloured; and
if he has picked up any pieces of canvas or sacking, this he makes up into a
separate parcel. When he has done this, he takes them all to the marine-store
shop, and realises upon them whatever they may be worth. For the white rags he
gets from 2d. to 3d. per pound, according as they are clean or soiled. The white
rags are very difficult to be found; they are mostly very dirty, and are sold
with the coloured ones, at the rate of about five pounds for 2d. The bones are
usually sold with the coloured rags at one and the same price. For fragments of
canvas or sacking he gets about ¾d. a pound, and old brass, copper, and pewter
about 4d., and old iron ¾d. per pound. The bone-grubber thinks he has done an
excellent day's work if he can earn 8d., and some of them, especially the very
old and very young, do not get more than 2d. to 4d. a day. To get 10d. in the
day, at the present price of rags and bones, he must be remarkably active - and
lucky too - adds my informant. He must be out two hours at least before broad
daylight, and not return till two in the afternoon. The average amount of
earnings, I am told. varies from about 4d. to 6d. per day, or from 2s. 6d. to
3s. a week. The highest price that a man, the most active and persevering at the
business, can earn in one week is about 5s. But this could only be done
with great good fortune and industry, and the usual amount is about half that
sum. In bad weather they cannot do so well, because the rags are wet, and then
they can't sell them. Some take them home and wash and dry them, but the
generality pick up only bones in wet weather. The state of the shoes of the rag
and bone-picker is most important to the pursuit of his calling. If he is well
shod, he can get quickly over the ground; but he is frequently lamed and unable
to make any progress from the blisters or gashes on his feet, occasioned by the
want of proper shoes.
Some of the class above described collect only bones and
rags, but others pick up bones, rags, and what is called "pure" - or
dogs' dung - as well. Their habits and mode of proceeding are nearly similar to
the rag and bone-pickers proper, with the exception that the latter is a regular
trade. The parties following it pick up but few rags or bones, and only such as
are of the best quality. What they look for most is the "pure." Some
of the regular collectors of this article have been mechanics, and others small
tradesmen. They are a superior class of persons to the mere rag and bonepickers,
and those who have a good connection and the right of cleansing certain kennels
obtain a very fair living at it, earning from 10s. to l5s. a week. These,
however, are very few. The majority have to seek the article solely in the
streets, and by such means they can obtain only from 6s. to 10s. a week. The
average weekly earnings of this class are thought to be between 7s. and 8s. The
"pure" gatherer, after he has been his rounds, makes the best of his
way to some tanner in Bermondsey, to whom he is in the habit of selling the
article. He sells it to the tanner by the stable bucketful, and gets from 8d. to
10d. per bucket for it. It is used for the purpose of cleansing sheep and calf
skins after they are taken out of the "lime-pits." A man generally
picks up about a bucketful in the course of the day. My informant earned last
week 5s. 2d., and the week before about 6s.; and these he believes to be
a fair sample of the earnings of the class. He has been at the calling about
four years. He was originally in the Manchester cotton trade, and held a
lucrative situation in a large country establishment. His salary one year
exceeded £250, and his regular income was £150. This, he says,
he lost through drink and neglect. His master was exceedingly kind to him, and
has even assisted him since he left his employ. He bore with him patiently for
many years; but the love of drink was so strong upon him that it was impossible
for his master to keep him any longer. He has often been drunk for three months
together, and he is now so reduced that he is ashamed to be seen. When at his
master's, he tells me that it was his duty to carve and help the other
assistants belonging to the establishment, and that his hand used to shake so
violently that he has been ashamed to lift the gravy spoon. At breakfast he has
frequently waited till all the young men had left the table, before he ventured
to taste his tea; and immediately, when he was alone, he has bent his head down
to his cup to drink, being utterly incapable of raising it to his lips. He says
he is a living example of the degrading influence of drink. All his friends have
deserted him. He has suffered enough, he tells me, to make him give it up.
Mudlarks are boys who roam
about the sides of the river at low tide, to pick up coals, bits of iron, rope,
bones, and copper nails that fall while a ship is being repaired. They are at
work sometimes early in the morning, and sometimes late in the afternoon,
according to tide. They usually work from six to seven hours per day. My
informant, a quick intelligent little fellow, who has been at the business three
years, tells me the reason they take to mudlarking, is that their clothes are
too bad to look for anything better, and that they are nearly all fatherless,
and their mothers are too poor to keep them; so they take to it because they
have nothing else to do. This boy works with about twenty to thirty mudlarks
every day, and they may be seen, he tell me, at daybreak, very often, with their
trousers tucked up, groping about, and picking out the pieces of coal from the
mud. They go into the river up to their knees, and in searching the mud they
very often run pieces of glass and long nails into their feet. When this is the
case, they go home and dress the wounds, and return directly, for, should the
tide come up without their finding anything, they must starve that day· At
first it is a difficult matter to stand in the mud, and he has known many young
beginners fall in. The coals the mudlark finds he sells to the poor people in
the neighbourhood at a penny the "pot," the weight of which is 14 lb.
The iron, bones, rope, and copper nails he sells to the rag shops. They
sell the iron 5 lb. for a penny, the bones 3 lb. for one penny, rope a
halfpenny per pound wet, and three farthings dry. The copper nails fetch
four-pence per pounds but they are very difficult to find, for the mudlark is
not allowed to go near a vessel that is being coppered (for fear of their
stealing the copper), and it is only when a ship has left the docks that the
nails are to be had. They often pick up tools - such as saws, hammers, etc. - in
the mud; these they either give to the seamen for biscuits and beef, or sell to
the shops for a few halfpence. They earn from 2½d. to 8d. per day, but 8d. they
consider a very good day's work, and they seldom make it; their average earnings
are three-pence a day. After they leave the river they go home and scrape their
trousers, and make themselves as tidy as possible they then go into the streets
and make a little by holding gentlemen's horses, or opening cab-doors. In the
evening they mostly go to the ragged schools. My informant and his sister keep
their mother - the boy by mudlarking, the girl by selling fish. The poor little
fellow owes 5s. rent; he has a suit of clothes and a pair of boots in
pawn for 4s.; if he could get them out he would be enabled to find something
better to do.