Part 68
“It is quite correct, as he states, that his wife is my daughter. They lived together several years in London; but eventually, notwithstanding her efforts in the millinery and straw-work, they became so reduced that their circumstances obliged my daughter to take her two little girls with herself to us.
“This was in the summer, 1845. His wife and children have been of no expense to Mr. N. since that time. The sole cause of their separation was poverty.
“I consider him to have acted imprudently in giving up his situation to depend on an income arising from a small capital; whereas, if he had kept in a place, whilst she attended to her own business, they might have gone on comfortably; and should they, through the interposition of a kind Providence, gain that position again, it is to be hoped that they will improve the circumstance to the honour and glory of the Author of all our mercies, and with gratitude to the instrument who may be raised up for their good.
“I am, dear Sir, respectfully yours,
“J. D.”
Other vouchers have been received, and all equally satisfactory.
OF THE STREET-SALE OF MEMORANDUM-BOOKS AND ALMANACKS.
The memorandum-books in demand in street-sale are used for weekly “rent-books.” The payment of the rent is entered by the landlord, and the production of one of these books, showing a punctuality of payment, perhaps for years, is one of the best “references” that can be given by any one in search of a new lodging. They are bought also for the entrance of orders, and then of prices, in the trade at chandler’s shops, &c., where weekly or monthly accounts are run. All, or nearly all, the street-stationers sell memorandum-books, and in addition to them, there may be, I am told, sometimes as many as fifty poor persons, including women and children, who sell memorandum-books with other trifling articles, not necessarily stationery, but such things as stay-laces or tapes. If a man sell memorandum-books alone it is because his means limit him to that stock, he being at the time, what I heard a patterer describe as, a “dry-bread cove.” The price is 6_d._ the dozen, or 9_d._ (with almanacks pasted inside the cover), and thirteen to the dozen. No more than 1_d._ is obtained in the streets for any kind of memorandum-books.
The almanack street trade, I heard on all hands, had become a mere nothing. “What else can you expect, sir,” said one street-seller, “when so many publicans sends almanacks round, or gives them away to their customers; and when the slop tailors’ shilling-a-day men thrust one into people’s hands at every corner? It was a capital trade once, before the duty was taken off--capital! The duty wasn’t in our way so much as in the shop-keepers’, though _they_ did a good deal on the sly in unstamped almanacks. Why of a night in October I’ve many a time cleared 5_s._ and more by selling in the public-houses almanacks at 2_d._ and 3_d._ a-piece (they cost me 1_s._ and 1_s._ 2_d._ a dozen at that time). Anything that way, when Government’s done, has a ready sale; people enjoys it; and I suppose no man, as ever was, thinks it much harm to do a tax-gatherer! I don’t pay the income-tax myself (laughing). One evening I sold, just by Blackfriars-bridge, fourteen dozen of diamond almanacks to fit into hat-crowns. I was liable, in course, and ran a risk. I sold them mostly at 1_d._ a piece, but sometimes got 6_d._ for three. I cleared between 6_s._ and 7_s._ The ‘diamonds’ cost me 8_d._ a dozen.”
The street almanack trade is now carried on by the same parties as I have specified in my account of memorandum-books. Those sold are of any cheap kind, costing wholesale 6_d._ a dozen, but they are almost always announced as “Moore’s.”
OF THE STREET-SALE OF POCKET-BOOKS AND DIARIES.
The sale of pocket-books, in the streets, is not, I was told by several persons, “a living for a man now-a-days.” Ten years ago it was common to find men in the streets offering “half-crown pocket-books” for 1_s._, and holding them open so as to display the engravings, if there were any. The street-sale usually takes place in March, when the demand for the regular trade has ceased, and the publishers dispose of their unsold stock. The trade is now, I am assured, only about a tenth of its former extent. The reason assigned for the decline is that almanacks, diaries, &c., are so cheap that people look upon 1_s._ as an enormous price, even for a “beautiful morocco-bound pocket-book,” as the street-seller proclaims it. The binding is roan (a dressed sheep-skin, morocco being a goat-skin), an imitation of morocco, but the pocket-books are really those which in the October preceding have been published in the regular way of trade. Some few of them may, however, have been damaged, and these are bought by the street-people as a “job lot,” and at a lower price than that paid in the regular way; which is 4_s._ 6_d._ to 5_s._ 6_d._ the dozen, thirteen to the dozen. The “job lot” is sometimes bought for 2_s._ 6_d._ a dozen, and sold at 6_d._ each, or as low as 4_d._,--for street-sellers generally bewail their having often to come down to “fourpenny-bits, as they’re going so much now.” One man told me that he was four days last March in selling a dozen pocket-books, though the weather was not unfavourable, and that his profit was 5_s._ Engravings of the “fashions,” the same man told me, were “no go now.” Even poorly-dressed women (but they might, he thought, be dress-makers) had said to him the last time he displayed a pocket-book with fashions--“They’re out now.” The principal supplier of pocket-books, &c., to the street-trade is in Bride-lane, Fleet-street. Commercial diaries are bought and sold at the same rate as pocket-books; but the sale becomes smaller and smaller.
I am informed that “last season” there were twenty men, all street-traders in “paper,” or “anything that was up,” at other times, selling pocket-books and diaries. For this trade Leicester-square is a favourite place. Calculating, from the best data I can command, that each of those men took 15_s._ weekly for a month (half of it their profit), we find 60_l._ expended in the streets in this purchase. Ledgers are sometimes sold in the streets; but as the sale is more a hawker’s than a regular street-seller’s, an account of the traffic is not required by my present subject.
OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF SONGS.
These street-traffickers, with the exception, in a great degree, of the “pinners-up,” are of the same class, but their callings are diversified. There are long song-sellers, ballad-sellers (who are generally singers of the ballads they vend, unless they are old and infirm, and offer ballads instead of begging), chaunters, pinners-up, and song-book-sellers. The three first-mentioned classes I have already described in their connection with the patterers; and I now proceed to deal with the two last-mentioned.
The “pinners-up” (whom I have mentioned as an exceptional body), are the men and women--the women being nearly a third of the number of the men--who sell songs which they have “pinned” to a sort of screen or large board, or have attached them, in any convenient way, to a blank wall; and they differ from the other song-sellers, inasmuch as that they are not at all connected with patter, and have generally been mechanics, porters, or servants, and reduced to struggle for a living as “pinners-up.”
OF THE STREET “PINNERS-UP,” OR WALL SONG-SELLERS.
These street-traders, when I gave an account of them in the winter of 1849, were not 50 in number; they are now, I learn, about 30. One informant counted 28, and thought “that was nearly all.”
I have, in my account of street song-sellers, described the character of the class of pinners-up. Among the best-accustomed stands are those in Tottenham-court Road, the New-road, the City-road, near the Vinegar-works, the Westminster-road, and in Shoreditch, near the Eastern Counties Station. One of the best-known of the pinners-up was a stout old man, wearing a great-coat in all weathers, who “pinned-up” in an alley leading from Whitefriars-street to the Temple, but now thrown into an open street. He had old books for sale on a stall, in addition to his ballads, and every morning was seen reading the newspaper, borrowed from a neighbouring public-house which he “used,” for he was a keen politician. “He would quarrel with any one,” said a person who then resided in the neighbourhood--an account confirmed to me at the public-house in question--“mostly about politics, or about the books and songs he sold. Why, sir, I’ve talked to him many a time, and have stood looking through his books; and if a person came up and said, ‘Oh, Burn’s Works, 1_s._; I can’t understand him,’--then the old boy would abuse him for a fool! Suppose another came and said--for I’ve noticed it myself--‘Ah! Burns--he was a poet!’ that didn’t pass; for the jolly old pinner-up would say, ‘Well, now, I don’t know about that.’ In my opinion, he cared nothing about this side or that--this notion or the opposite--but he liked to _shine_.” The old man was carried off in the prevalence of the cholera in 1849.
At the period I have specified, I received the following statement from a man who at that time pinned-up by Harewood-place, Oxford-street:
“I’m forty-nine,” he said. “I’ve no children, thank God, but a daughter, who is eighteen, and no incumbrance to me, as she is in a ‘house of business;’ and as she has been there nine years, her character can’t be so very bad. (This was said proudly.) I worked twenty-two years with a great sculptor as a marble polisher, and besides that, I used to run errands for him, and was a sort of porter, like, to him. I couldn’t get any work, because he hadn’t no more marble-work to do; so nine or ten years back I went into this line. I knew a man what done well in it--but times was better then--and that put it into my head. It cost me 2_l._ 10_s._ to stock my stall, and get all together comfortable; for I started with old books as well as songs. I got leave to stand here from the landlord. I sell ballads and 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, but I think his daughter does most of it. I sell my songs at a halfpenny,--and, when I can get it, a penny a piece. Do I yarn a pound a week? Lor’ bless you, no. Nor 15_s._, nor 12_s._ I don’t yarn, one week with another, not 10_s._, sometimes not 5_s._ My wife don’t yarn nothing. She used to go out charing, but she can’t now. I am at my stall at nine in the morning, and sometimes I have walked five or six miles to buy my ‘pubs’ before that. I stop till ten at night oft enough. The wet days is the ruin of us; and I think wet days increases. [This was said on a rainy day.] Such a day as yesterday now I didn’t take, not make,--but I didn’t _take_ what would pay for a pint of beer and a bit of bread and cheese. My rent’s 2_s._ 3_d._ a week for one room, and I’ve got my own bits of sticks there. I’ve always kept _them_, thank God!”
Generally, these dealers know little of the songs they sell,--taking the printer’s word, when they purchase, as to “what was going.” The most popular comic songs (among this class I heard the word _song_ used far more frequently than _ballad_) are not sold so abundantly as others,--because, I was told, boys soon picked _them_ up by heart, hearing them so often, and so did not buy them. Neither was there a great demand for nigger songs, nor for “flash ditties,” but for such productions as “A Life on the Ocean Wave,” “I’m Afloat,” “There’s a Good Time coming,” “Farewell to the Mountain,” &c., &c. Three-fourths of the customers of these traders, one man assured me, were boys.
Indecent songs are not sold by the pinners-up. One man of whom I made inquiries was quite indignant that I should even think it necessary to ask such questions. The “songs” cost the pinners-up, generally, 2_d._ a dozen, sometimes 2-1/2_d._, and sometimes less than 2_d._, according to the quality of the paper and the demand.
On fine summer days the wall song-sellers take 2_s._ on an average. On short wintry days they may not take half so much, and on very foggy or rainy days they take nothing at all. Their ballads are of the same sort as those I proceed to describe under especial heads, and I have shown what are of readiest sale. Reckoning that each pinner-up, thirty in number, now takes 10_s._ 6_d._ weekly (7_s._ being the profit), we find that 780 guineas are yearly expended in London streets, in the ballads of the pinners-up.
OF ANCIENT AND MODERN STREET BALLAD MINSTRELSY.
Mr. Strutt, in his “Sports and Pastimes of the People of England,” shows, as do other authorities, that in the reigns subsequent to the Norman Conquest the minstrels “were permitted to perform in the rich monasteries, and in the mansions of the nobility, which they frequently visited in large parties, and especially upon occasions of festivity. They entered the castles without the least ceremony, rarely waiting for any previous invitation, and there exhibited their performances for the entertainment of the lord of the mansion and his guests. They were, it seems, admitted without any difficulty, and handsomely rewarded for the exertion of their talents.”
Of the truth of this statement all contemporary history is a corroboration. The minstrels then, indeed, constituted the theatre, the opera, and the concert of the powerful and wealthy. They were decried by some of the clergy of that day,--as are popular performers and opera singers (occasionally) by some zealous divine in our own era. John of Salisbury stigmatizes minstrels as “ministers of the devil.”
“The large gratuities collected by these artists,” the same antiquarian writer further says, “not only occasioned great numbers to join their fraternity, but also induced many idle and dissipated persons to assume the characters of minstrels, to the disgrace of the profession. These evils became at last so notorious, that in the reign of King Edward II. it was thought necessary to restrain them by a public edict, which sufficiently explains the nature of the grievance. It states, that many indolent persons, under the colour of minstrelsy, intruded themselves into the residences of the wealthy, where they had both meat and drink, but were not contented without the addition of large gifts from the householder. To restrain this abuse, the mandate ordains, that no person should resort to the houses of prelates, earls, or barons, to eat, or to drink, who was not a professed minstrel; nor more than three or four minstrels of honour at most in one day (meaning, I presume, the king’s minstrels of honour and those retained by the nobility), except they came by invitation from the lord of the house.”
The themes of the minstrels were the triumphs, victories, pageants, and great events of the day; commingled with the praise, or the satire of individuals, as the humour of the patron or of the audience might be gratified. It is stated that Longchamp, the favourite and justiciary of Richard Cœur-de-lion, not only engaged poets to make songs and poems in his, Bishop Longchamp’s, praise, but the best singers and minstrels to sing them in the public streets!
In the ninth year of the reign of Edward IV. another royal edict was issued, as little favourable to the minstrels as the one I have given an account of; and those functionaries seem to have gradually fallen in the estimation of the public, and to have been contemned by the law, down to the statute of Elizabeth, already alluded to, subjecting them to the same treatment as rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars. A writer of the period (1589) represents the (still-styled) minstrels, singing “ballads and small popular musickes” for the amusement of boys and others “that passe by them in the streete.” It is related also that their “matters were for the most part stories of old time; as the tale of Sir Topas, Bevis of Southampton, Guy of Warwick, Adam Bell, and Clymme of the Clough, and such other old romances or historical rhymes, made purposely for the recreation of the common people at Christmas dinners and bride ales, and in tavernes and alehouses, and such other places of base resort.”
These “stories of old time” are now valuable as affording illustrations of ancient manners, and have been not unfertile as subjects of antiquarian annotation.
Under the head of the “Norman Minstrels,” Mr. Strutt says: “It is very certain that the poet, the songster, and the musician were frequently united in the same person.”
From this historical sketch it appears evident that the ballad-singer and seller of to-day is the sole descendant, or remains, of the minstrel of old, as regards the business of the streets; he is, indeed, the minstrel having lost caste, and being driven to play cheap.
The themes of the minstrels were wars, and victories, and revolutions; so of the modern man of street ballads. If the minstrel celebrated with harp and voice the unhorsings, the broken bones, the deaths, the dust, the blood, and all the glory and circumstance of a tournament,--so does the ballad-seller, with voice and fiddle, glorify the feelings, the broken bones, the blood, the deaths, and all the glory and circumstance of a prize-fight. The minstrel did not scoff at the madness which prevailed in the lists, nor does the ballad-singer at the brutality which rules in the ring. The minstrels had their dirges for departed greatness; the ballad-singer, like old Allan Bane, also “pours his wailing o’er the dead”--for are there not the street “helegies” on all departed greatness? In the bestowal of flattery or even of praise the modern minstrel is far less liberal than was his prototype; but the laudation was, in the good old times, very often “paid for” by the person whom it was sung to honour. Were the same measure applied to the ballad-singer and writer of to-day, there can be no reason to doubt that it would be attended with the same result. In his satire the modern has somewhat of an advantage over his predecessor. The minstrel not rarely received a “largesse” to satirize some one obnoxious to a rival, or to a disappointed man. The ballad-singer (or chaunter, for these remarks apply with equal force to both of these street-professionals), is seldom hired to abuse. I was told, indeed, by a clever chaunter, that he had been sent lately by a strange gentleman to sing a song--which he and his mate (a patterer) happened at the time to be working--in front of a neighbouring house. The song was on the rogueries of the turf; and the “move” had a doubly advantageous effect. “One gentleman, you see, sir, gave us 1_s._ to go and sing; and afore we’d well finished the chorus, somebody sent us from the house another 1_s._ to go away agin.” I believe this to be the only way in which the satire of a ballad-singer is rewarded, otherwise than by sale to his usual class of customers in the streets or the public-houses. The ancient professors of street minstrelsy unquestionably played and sung satirical lays, depending for their remuneration on the liberality of their out-of-door audience; so is it precisely with the modern. The minstrel played both singly and with his fellows; the ballad-singer “works” both alone (but not frequently) and with his “mates” or his “school.”
In the persons of some of these modern street professionals, as I have shown and shall further show, are united the functions of “the poet, the songster, and the musician.” So in the days of yore. There are now female ballad-singers; there were female minstrels, or glee-women. The lays which were poured forth in our streets and taverns some centuries back, either for the regalement of a miscellaneous assemblage, or of a select few, were sometimes of an immoral tendency. Such, it cannot be denied, is the case in our more enlightened days at our Cyder-cellars, Coal-holes, Penny Gaffs, and such like places. Rarely, however, are such things sung in the streets of London; but sometimes at country fairs and races.
In one respect the analogy between the two ages of these promoters of street enjoyment does not hold. The minstrel’s garb was distinctive. It was not always the short laced tunic, tight trousers, and russet boots, with a well plumed cap,--which seems to be the modern notion of this tuneful itinerant. The king’s and queen’s minstrels wore the royal livery, but so altered as to have removed from its appearance what might seem menial. The minstrels of the great barons also assumed their patron’s liveries, with the like qualification. A minstrel of the highest class might wear “a fayre gowne of cloth of gold,” or a military dress, or a “tawnie coat,” or a foreign costume, or even an ecclesiastical garb,--and some of them went so far as to shave their crowns, the better to resemble monks. Of course they were imitated by their inferiors. The minstrel, then, wore a particular dress; the ballad-singer of the present day wears no particular dress. During the terrors of the reign of Henry VIII., and after the Reformation, a large body of the minstrels fell into meanness of attire; and in that respect the modern ballad-singer _is_ analogous.
It must be borne in mind that I have all along spoken--except when the description is necessarily general--of the _street_, or itinerant, minstrel of old. The highest professors of the art were poets and composers, men often of genius, learning, and gravity, and were no more to be ranked with the mass of those I have been describing than is Alfred Tennyson with any Smithfield scribbler and bawler of some Newgate “Copy of Verses.”
How long “Sir Topas” and the other “old stories” continued to be sung in the streets there are no means of ascertaining. But there are old songs, as I ascertained from an intelligent and experienced street-singer, still occasionally heard in the open air, but more in the country than the metropolis. Among those still heard, however rarely, are the Earl of Dorset’s song, written on the night before a naval engagement with the Dutch, in 1665:
“To all you ladies now on land, We men at sea indite.”
I give the titles of the others, not chronologically, but as they occurred to my informant’s recollection--“A Cobbler there was, and he liv’d in a Stall”--Parnell’s song of “My Days have been so wond’rous Free,” now sung in the streets to the tune of “Gramachree.” A song (of which I could not procure a copy, but my informant had lately heard it in the street) about the Cock-lane Ghost--
“Now ponder well, you parents dear The words which I shall write; A doleful story you shall hear, In time brought forth to light.”
the “Children in the Wood” and “Chevy-chase.” Concerning this old ditty one man said to me: “Yes, sir, I’ve sung it at odd times and not long ago in the north of England, and I’ve been asked whereabouts Chevy-chase lay, but I never learned.”
“In Scarlet towne, where I was borne, There was a faire maid dwellin’, Made every youth crye, Well-awaye! Her name was Barbara Allen.”