The fourth head presents the street-vending of cotton, silken, and linen-manufactures; such as sheetings, shirtings, a variety of laces, sewing cotton, threads and tapes, articles of haberdashery and of millinery, artificial flowers, handkerchiefs, and pretended smuggled goods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of the Street-sellers of Manufactured Articles in Metal.

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

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

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

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

The street-trade in metal manufactured articles is principally itinerant. Perhaps during the week upwards of three-fourths of those carrying it on are itinerant, while on a Saturday night, perhaps, all are stationary, and almost always in the street-markets. The itinerant trade is carried on, and chiefly in the suburbs, by men, women, and children; but the children are always, or almost always, the offspring of the adult street-sellers.

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

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

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

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

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

The principal traffic carried on by these street-sellers is in the suburbs. Women constitute their sole customers, or nearly so. Their profits fluctuate from 20 per cent. to 100 per cent. The bread-baskets, which they buy at 4s. 6d. the doz., they retail at 6d. each; for it is very difficult, I have frequently been told, to get a price between 6d. and 1s. This, however, relates only to those things which are not articles of actual necessity. Half of these street-sellers, I am assured, take on an average from 20s. to 25s. weekly the year through; a quarter take 15s., and the remaining quarter from 7s. 6d. to 10s. Calculating an average taking of 15s. each per week, throughout the entire class, men, women, and children, we find 3,900l. expended in street-sold hardwares. Ten years ago, I am told, the takings were not less than 2,000l.

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

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

Of the Cheap Johns, or Street Hansellers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few of them are not over particular as to the respectability of their transactions. I recollect one purchasing a brick at Sheffield; the brick was packed up in paper, with a knife tied on the outside, it appeared like a package of knives, containing several dozens. The “cheap John” made out that he bought them as stolen property; the biter was deservedly bitten. A few of the fraternity are well-known “Fences,” and some of them pursue the double calling of “cheap John” and gambler—keeping gambling tables at races. However the majority are hard-working men, who unite untiring industry with the most indomitable perseverance, for the laudable purpose of bettering their condition.

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

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

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

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

Some of the “cheap Johns” have wagons upon four wheels, others have carts; but both are fitted up with a wooden roof. The proprietor invariably sleeps within his portable house, both for the protection of his property and also upon the score of economy. The vans with four wheels answer all the purposes of a habitation. The furniture consists of a bed placed upon boxes, containing the stock in trade. The bed extends the whole width of the vehicle, about 6 ft. 6 in., and many generally extend about 5 ft. into the body of the van, and occupies the farthest end of the machine from the door,—which door opens out upon the horse. The four-wheeled vans are 12 ft. long, and the two-wheeled carts 9 ft. During business hours the whole of the articles most likely to be wanted are spread out upon the bed, and the assistant (either the wife or a boy) hands them out as the salesman may require them. The furniture, in addition to the bed, is very scarce; indeed they are very much averse to carry more than is really necessary. The pail, the horse takes his corn and beans from (I don’t know why, but they never use nose-bags,) serves the purpose of a wash-hand basin or a washing-tub. It is generally painted the same colour as the van, with the initials of the proprietor painted upon it, and, when travelling, hangs upon a hook under the machine. They mostly begin with a two-wheeled machine, and if successful a four-wheeler follows. The tables and chairs are the boxes in which the goods are packed. A tea-kettle and saucepan, and as few delf articles as possible, and corner-cupboard, and these comprise the whole of the furniture of the van. In the four-wheeled wagons there is always a fire-place similar to those the captains of ships have in their cabins, but in the two-wheeled carts fire-places are dispensed with. These are mostly brass ones, and are kept very bright; for the “cheap Johns” are proud of their van and its contents. They are always gaudily painted, sometimes expensively; indeed they are most expensive articles, and cost from 80l. to 120l. The principal person for making these machines is a Mr. Davidson of Leeds. The showman’s caravans are still more expensive; the last purchased by the late Mr. Wombwell cost more than 300l., and is really a curiosity. He termed it, as all showmen do—the living wagon; viz. to live in—it has parlour and kitchen, and is fitted up most handsomely; its exterior presents the appearance of a first-class railway-carriage. The front exterior of the van during the trading operations of the “cheap Johns,” is hung round with guns, saws, tea-trays, bridles, whips, centre-bits, and other articles, displayed to the best advantage. The name of the proprietor is always prominently displayed along the whole side of the vehicle, added to which is a signification that he is a wholesale hardwareman, from Sheffield, Yorkshire, or Birmingham, Warwickshire, and sometimes an extra announcement.

“The original cheap John.”

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

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

The commencement of the “cheap John’s” season is at Lynn in Norfolk; there is a mart there commencing 14th February, it continues fourteen days. After this, there is Wisbeach, Spalding, Grantham, and other marts in Norfolk and Lincolnshire; which bring them up to Easter. At Easter there are many fairs—Manchester, Knott Mill, Blackburn, Darlington, Newcastle, &c., &c. The “cheap Johns” then disperse themselves through different parts of the country. Hill-fairs are considered the best; that is cattle-fairs, where there are plenty of farmers and country people. Hirings for servants are next to them. It may appear curious, but Sheffield and Birmingham fairs are two of the best for the “cheap John’s” business in England. There are two fairs at each place during the year. Sheffield, at Whitsuntide and November; Birmingham, Whitsuntide and September. Nottingham, Derby, Leeds, Newcastle, Bristol, Glasgow—in fact, where the greatest population is, the chances for business are considered the best, and if I may judge from the number of traders in this line, who attend the largest towns, I should say they succeed better than in smaller towns.

If we calculate that there are 100 “cheap Johns” in London and in the country, and they are more or less itinerant, and that they each take 4l. per day for nine months in the year, or 24l. per week; this amounts to 2,400l. per week, or about 90,000l. in nine months. Supposing their profits to be 20 per cent., it would leave 18,000l. clear income. Say that during the winter there are seventy-five following the business, and that their receipts amount to 15l. each per week, this amounts to 13,500l. additional; and, at the rate of 20 per cent. profit, comes to 2,700l.,—making throughout the year the profits of the 100 “cheap Johns” 20,700l., or 207l. a man.

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

The Crippled Street-seller of Nutmeg-graters.

I now give an example of one of the classes driven to the streets by utter inability to labour. I have already spoken of the sterling independence of some of these men possessing the strongest claims to our sympathy and charity, and yet preferring to sell rather than beg. As I said before, many ingrained beggars certainly use the street trade as a cloak for alms-seeking, but as certainly many more, with every title to our assistance, use it as a means of redemption from beggary. That the nutmeg-grater seller is a noble example of the latter class, I have not the least doubt. I have made all due inquiries to satisfy myself as to his worthiness, and I feel convinced that when the reader looks at the portrait here given, and observes how utterly helpless the poor fellow is, and then reads the following plain unvarnished tale, he will marvel like me, not only at the fortitude which could sustain him under all his heavy afflictions, but at the resignation (not to say philosophy) with which he bears them every one. His struggles to earn his own living (notwithstanding his physical incapacity even to put the victuals to his mouth after he has earned them), are instances of a nobility of pride that are I believe without a parallel. The poor creature’s legs and arms are completely withered; indeed he is scarcely more than head and trunk. His thigh is hardly thicker than a child’s wrist. His hands are bent inward from contraction of the sinews, the fingers being curled up and almost as thin as the claws of a bird’s foot. He is unable even to stand, and cannot move from place to place but on his knees, which are shod with leather caps, like the heels of a clog, strapped round the joint; the soles of his boots are on the upper leathers, that being the part always turned towards the ground while he is crawling along. His countenance is rather handsome than otherwise; the intelligence indicated by his ample forehead is fully borne out by the testimony as to his sagacity in his business, and the mild expression of his eye by the statements as to his feeling for all others in affliction.

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

“Often after I’ve been walking, my limbs and back ache so badly that I can get no sleep. Across my lines it feels as if I’d got some great weight, and my knees are in a heat, and throb, and feel as if a knife was running into them. When I go up-stairs I have to crawl upon the back of my hands and my knees. I can’t lift nothing to my mouth. The sinews of my hands is all contracted. I am obliged to have things held to my lip for me to drink, like a child. I can use a knife and fork by leaning my arm on the table and then stooping my head to it. I can’t wash nor ondress myself. Sometimes I think of my helplessness a great deal. The thoughts of it used to throw me into fits at one time—very bad. It’s the Almighty’s will that I am so, and I must abide by it. People says, as they passes me in the streets, ‘Poor fellow, it’s a shocking thing;’ but very seldom they does any more than pity me; some lays out a halfpenny or a penny with me, but the most of ’em goes on about their business. Persons looks at me a good bit when I go into a strange place. I do feel it very much, that I haven’t the power to get my living or to do a thing for myself, but I never begged for nothing. I’d sooner starve than I’d do that. I never thought that people whom God had given the power to help theirselves ought to help me. I have thought that I’m as I am—obliged to go on my hands and knees, from no fault of my own. Often I’ve done that, and I’ve over and over again laid in bed and wondered why the Almighty should send me into the world in such a state; often I’ve done that on a wet day, with nothing to eat, and no friend to come a-nigh me. When I’ve gone along the streets, too, and been in pain, I’ve thought, as I’ve seen the people pass straight up, with all the use of their limbs, and some of them the biggest blackguards, cussing and swearing, I’ve thought, Why should I be deprived of the use of mine? and I’ve felt angry like, and perhaps at that moment I couldn’t bring my mind to believe the Almighty was so good and merciful as I’d heard say; but then in a minute or two afterwards I’ve prayed to Him to make me better and happier in the next world. I’ve always been led to think He’s afflicted me as He has for some wise purpose or another that I can’t see. I think as mine is so hard a life in this world, I shall be better off in the next. Often when I couldn’t afford to pay a boy, I’ve not had my boots off for four or five nights and days, nor my clothes neither. Give me the world I couldn’t take them off myself, and then my feet has swollen to that degree that I’ve been nearly mad with pain, and I’ve been shivering and faint, but still I was obliged to go out with my things; if I hadn’t I should have starved. Such as I am can’t afford to be ill—it’s only rich folks as can lay up, not we; for us to take to our beds is to go without food altogether. When I was without never a boy, I used to tie the wet towel round the back of one of the chairs, and wash myself by rubbing my face up against it. I’ve been two days without a bit of anything passing between my lips. I couldn’t go and beg for victuals—I’d rather go without. Then I used to feel faint, and my head used to ache dreadful. I used then to drink a plenty of water. The women sex is mostly more kinder to me than the men. Some of the men fancies, as I goes along, that I can walk. They often says to me, ‘Why, the sole of your boot is as muddy as mine;’ and one on ’em is, because I always rests myself on that foot—the other sole, you see, is as clean as when it was first made. The women never seem frightened on me. My trade is to sell brooms and brushes, and all kinds of cutlery and tin-ware. I learnt it myself. I never was brought up to nothing, because I couldn’t use my hands. Mother was a cook in a nobleman’s family when I were born. They say as I was a love-child. I was not brought up by mother, but by one of her fellow-servants. Mother’s intellects was so weak, that she couldn’t have me with her. She used to fret a great deal about me, so her fellow-servant took me when she got married. After I were born, mother married a farmer in middling circumstances. They tell me as my mother was frightened afore I was born. I never knew my father. He went over to Buonos Ayres, and kept an hotel there—I’ve heard mother say as much. No mother couldn’t love a child more than mine did me, but her feelings was such she couldn’t bear to see me. I never went to mother’s to live, but was brought up by the fellow-servant as I’ve told you of. Mother allowed her 30l. a-year. I was with her till two years back. She was always very kind to me—treated me like one of her own. Mother used to come and see me about once a-year—sometimes not so often: she was very kind to me then. Oh, yes; I used to like to see her very much. Whatever I wished for she’d let me have; if I wrote to her, she always sent me what I wanted. I was very comfortably then. Mother died four years ago; and when I lost her I fell into a fit—I was told of it all of a sudden. She and the party as I was brought up with was the only friends as I had in the world—the only persons as cared anything about a creature like me. I was in a fit for hours, and when I came to, I thought what would become of me: I knew I could do nothing for myself, and the only friend as I had as could keep me was gone. The person as brought me up was very good, and said, while she’d got a home I should never want; but, two years after mother’s death, she was seized with the cholera, and then I hadn’t a friend left in the world. When she died I felt ready to kill myself; I was all alone then, and what could I do—cripple as I was? She thought her sons and daughters as I’d been brought up with—like brothers and sisters—would look after me; but it was not in their power—they was only hard-working people. My mother used to allow so much a year for my schooling, and I can read and write pretty well.” (He wrote his name in my presence kneeling at the table; holding the pen almost as one might fancy a bird would, and placing the paper sideways instead of straight before him.) “While mother was alive, I was always foraging about to learn something unbeknown to her. I wanted to do so, in case mother should leave me without the means of getting a living. I used to buy old bedsteads, and take them to a man, and get him to repair them, and then I’d put the sacking on myself; I can hold a hammer somehow in my right hand. I used to polish them on my knees. I made a bench to my height out of two old chairs. I used to know what I should get for the bedsteads, and so could tell what I could afford to give the man to do up the parts as I couldn’t manage. It was so I got to learn something like a business for myself. When the person died as had brought me up, I could do a little; I had then got the means. Before her death I had opened a kind of shop for things in the general line; I sold tin-ware, and brass-work, and candlesticks, and fire-irons, and all old furniture, and gown-prints as well. I went into the tally business, and that ruined me altogether. I couldn’t get my money in; there’s a good deal owing to me now. Me and a boy used to manage the whole. I used to make all my account-books and everything. My lodgers didn’t pay me my rent, so I had to move from the house, and live on what stock I had. In my new lodging I went on as well as I could for a little while; but about eighteen months ago I could hold on no longer. Then I borrowed a little, and went hawking tin-ware and brushes in the country. I sold baking-dishes, Dutch ovens, roasting-jacks, skewers and gridirons, teapots and saucepans, and combs. I used to exchange sometimes for old clothes. I had a barrow and a boy with me; I used to keep him, and give him 1s. a week. I managed to get just a living that way. When the winter came on I gave it up; it was too cold. After that I was took bad with a fever; my stock had been all gone a little while before, and the boy had left because I couldn’t keep him, and I had to do all for myself. All my friends was dead, and I had no one to help me, so I was obligated to lay about all night in my things, for I couldn’t get them off alone; and that and want of food brought on a fever. Then I was took into the workhouse, and there I stopped all the summer, as I told you. I can’t say they treated me bad, but they certainly didn’t use me well. If I could have worked after I got better, I could have had tea; but ’cause I couldn’t do nothing, they gave me that beastly gruel morning and night. I had meat three times a week. They would have kept me there till now, but I would die in the streets rather than be a pauper. So I told them, if they would give me the means of getting a stock, I would try and get a living for myself. After refusing many times to let me have 10s., they agreed to give me 5s. Then I came out, but I had no home, and so I crawled about till I met with the people where I am now, and they let me sit up there till I got a room of my own. Then some of my friends collected for me about 15s. altogether, and I did pretty well for a little while. I went to live close by the Blackfriars-road, but the people where I lodged treated me very bad. There was a number of girls of the town in the same street, but they was too fond of their selves and their drink to give nothing. They used to buy things of me and never pay me. They never made game of me, nor played me any tricks, and if they saw the boys doing it they would protect me. They never offered to give me no victuals; indeed, I shouldn’t have liked to have eaten the food they got. After that I couldn’t pay my lodgings, and the parties where I lodged turned me out, and I had to crawl about the streets for four days and nights. This was only a month back. I was fit to die with pain all that time. If I could get a penny I used to go into a coffee-shop for half-a-pint of coffee, and sit there till they drove me out, and then I’d crawl about till it was time for me to go out selling. Oh! dreadful, dreadful, it was to be all them hours—day and night—on my knees. I couldn’t get along at all, I was forced to sit down every minute, and then I used to fall asleep with my things in my hand, and be woke up by the police to be pushed about and druv on by them. It seemed like as if I was walking on the bare bones of my knees. The pain in them was like the cramp, only much worse. At last I could bear it no longer, so I went afore Mr. Secker, the magistrate, at Union Hall, and told him I was destitute, and that the parties where I had been living kept my bed and the few things I had, for 2s. 6d. rent, that I owed them. He said he couldn’t believe that anybody would force me to crawl about the streets, for four days and nights, cripple as I was, for such a sum. One of the officers told him I was a honest and striving man, and the magistrate sent the officer, with the money, to get my things, but the landlady wouldn’t give them till the officer compelled her, and then she chucked my bed out into the middle of the street. A neighbour took it in for me and took care of it till I found out the tinman who had before let me sit up in his house. I should have gone to him at first, but he lived farther than I could walk. I am stopping with him now, and he is very kind to me. I have still some relations living, and they are well to do, but, being a cripple, they despise me. My aunt, my mother’s sister, is married to a builder, in Petersham, near Richmond, and they are rich people—having some houses of their own besides a good business. I have got a boy to wheel me down on a barrow to them, and asked assistance of them, but they will have nothing to do with me. They won’t look at me for my affliction. Six months ago they gave me half-a-crown. I had no lodgings nor victuals then; and that I shouldn’t have had from them had I not said I was starving and must go to the parish. This winter I went to them, and they shut the door in my face. After leaving my aunt’s, I went down to Ham Common, where my father-in-law lives, and there his daughter’s husband sent for a policeman to drive me away from the place. I told the husband I had no money nor food; but he advised me to go begging, and said I shouldn’t have a penny of them. My father-in-law was ill up-stairs at the time, but I don’t think he would have treated me a bit better—and all this they do because the Almighty has made me a cripple. I can, indeed, solemnly say, that there is nothing else against me, and that I strive hard and crawl about till my limbs ache enough to drive me mad, to get an honest livelihood. With a couple of pounds I could, I think, manage to shift very well for myself. I’d get a stock, and go into the country with a barrow, and buy old metal, and exchange tin ware for old clothes, and, with that, I’m almost sure I could get a decent living. I’m accounted a very good dealer.”

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