Part 91

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 confines his stock to dog-collars, though they constitute the most valuable portion of it. The one sells, in addition to his collars, key-rings, keys and chains, dog-whistles, stamps with letters engraved 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 articles. 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 illustration 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 6_d._ each (for the very small ones) to 3_s._--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 ornamentally 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 Mr. A----’s, near Smithfield, and he, or his foreman 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 1_s._ 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 nothing._ Perhaps I shouldn’t have had power of mind to drown myself if I’d made up my resolution; besides, it’s a dreadful wickedness. I always liked reading, and, before I was fairly beaten out, used to read at home, at shop-windows, 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 morning he gave me what did me most good of all, a good new shirt, and 5_s._ I got work two days after, and kept it near five years, with four masters, and married and saved 12_l._ 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 sufferings as before, and was without soles to my shoes or a shirt to my back, ’till a gentleman I’d worked for lent me 1_l._, and then I went into this trade, and pulled up a little. In six weeks I paid 15_s._ of my debt, and had my own time for the remaining 5_s._ 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 2_d._ a dozen, or 1_s._ 6_d._ 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 10_s._ a week. My lodging’s 2_s._ 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 30_s._ to 40_s._ 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 12_s._ (“sometimes 20_s._, and sometimes 6_s._”), though some will sell three and even four dozen collars in the week. Any regular dog-collar seller will undertake to get a name engraved upon it at 1_d._ 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 12_s._ weekly taken by twelve men, we find 374_l._ 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 myself. 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 300_l._, 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 recollect 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-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 hawking 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 2_s._ per day. What profit did I get out of 2_s._? 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 2_s._, the profits was from 1_s._ to 1_s._ 6_d._; howsomever, sometimes I didn’t take 6_d._ 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 somehow; 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 miserable 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 would’nt 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,” exclaimed 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 content, and thank God for all his mercies.”

[Illustration: THE STREET-SELLER OF DOGS’ COLLARS.

[_From a Daguerreotype by_ BEARD.]]

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 in the habit of assisting for many years, notwithstanding 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 supplied by the cheapest swag-shops, from which establishments the majority of the street-traders derive their supplies. They are sometimes displayed 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 demanded--is shown by the following:--

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

While many of the street-sellers of tools travel 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 warehouses; (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 2_s._ to 4_s._ each; knives and steels, from 9_d._ to 1_s._ 3_d._ each; cleavers, from 1_s._ 6_d._ to 2_s._ each; and meat-hooks at 1_d._, 2_d._, and 3_d._ 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 5_s._ or 10_s._ usually constitutes the amount of capital invested in stock, and the average takings of each are about 2_s._ or 2_s._ 6_d._ 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 frequenting 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 hammers. 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. Sometimes I have taken only a few pence; on other occasions I have taken 3_s._ or 4_s._, 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.”