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

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

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

The passing of this Act did not materially check the fraudulent practices of which the hawkers were accused, and of which a portion of them were doubtlessly guilty; indeed some of the manufacturers, whose names were pirated by the hawkers, were of opinion that the licensing for ten or twenty years facilitated fraud, as many people, both in London and the country, thought they were safe in dealing with a “licensed” hawker, since he could not procure a licence without a certificate of his good character from the clergyman of his place of residence, and from two “reputable inhabitants.” Linen of good quality used to be extensively hawked, but from 1820 to 1825, or later in some parts, the hawkers got to deal in an inferior quality, “unions” (a mixture of linen and cotton), glazed and stiffened, and set off with gaudy labels bearing sometimes the name of a well-known firm, but altered in spelling or otherwise, and expressed so as to lead to the belief that such a firm were the manufacturers of the article. Jews, moreover, as we have seen, travelled in all parts with inferior watches and jewellery, and sometimes “did well” by persuading the possessors of old solid watches, or old seals or jewellery, that they were ridiculously out of fashion, and so inducing them to give money along with the old watch for a watch or other article of the newest fashion, which yet was intrinsically valueless compared with the other. These and other practices, such as selling inferior lace under pretence of its having been smuggled from France, and of the choicest quality, tended to bring the hawker’s trade into disrepute, and the disrepute affected the honest men in the business. Some sank from the possession of a good horse and cart to travelling on foot, as of yore, forwarding goods from place to place by the common carriers, and some relinquished the itinerant trade altogether. The “cutting” and puffing shopkeepers appeared next, and at once undersold the “slop” hawker, and foiled him on his own ground of pushing off inferior wares for the best. The numbers of the hawkers fell off considerably, but notwithstanding I find, in the last census tables (1841), the following returns as to the numbers of “hawkers, hucksters, and pedlars,” distributed throughout Great Britain. The Government returns, however, admit of no comparison being formed between these numbers and those of any previous time.

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

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

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

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

Of the Packmen, or Hawkers of Soft Wares.

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

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

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

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

“My master,” he said, “was an Irishman, and told everybody he had been a manager of a linen factory in Belfast. I believe he was brought up to be a shoemaker, and was never in the north of Ireland. Anyhow, he was very shy of talking about Irish factories to Irish gentlemen. I heard one say to him, ‘Don’t tell me, you have the Cork brogue.’ I know he’d got some knowledge of linen weaving at Dundee, and could talk about it very clever; indeed he was a clever fellow. Sometimes, to hear him talk, you’d think he was quite a religious man, and at others that he was a big blackguard. It wasn’t drink that made the difference, for he was no drinker. It’s a great thing on a round to get a man or woman into a cheerful talk, and put in a joke or two; and that he could do, to rights. I had 12s. a week, standing wages, from him, and bits of commissions on sales that brought me from 3s. to 5s. more. He was a buyer of damaged goods, and we used to ‘doctor’ them. In some there was perhaps damages by two or three threads being out all the way, so the manufacturers wouldn’t send them to their regular customers. My master pretended it was a secret where he got them, but, lord, I knew; it was at a swag-shop. We used to cut up these in twelves (twelve yards), sometimes less if they was very bad, and take a Congreve, and just scorch them here and there, where the flaws was worst, and plaster over other flaws with a little flour and dust, to look like a stain from street water from the fire-engine. Then they were from the stock of Mr. Anybody, the great draper, that had his premises burnt down—in Manchester or Glasgow, or London—if there’d been a good fire at a draper’s—or anywhere; we wasn’t particular. They was fine or strong shirtings, he’d say—and so they was, the sound parts of them—and he’d sell as cheap as common calico. I’ve heard him say, ‘Why, marm, sure marm, with your eyes and scissors and needle, them burns—ah! fire’s a dreadful judgment on a man—isn’t the least morsel of matter in life. The stains is cured in a wash-tub in no time. It’s only touched by the fire, and you can humour it, I know, in cutting out as a shirt ought to be cut; it should be as carefully done as a coat.’ Then we had an Irish linen, an imitation, you know, a kind of ‘Union,’ which we call double twist. It is made, I believe, in Manchester, and is a mixture of linen and cotton. Some of it’s so good that it takes a judge to tell the difference between it and real Irish. He got some beautiful stuff at one time, and once sold to a fine-dressed young woman in Brompton, a dozen yards, at 2s. 6d. a yard, and the dozen only cost him 14s. Then we did something on tally, but he was dropping that trade. The shopkeepers undersold him. ‘If you get 60l. out of 100l., in tally scores,’ he often said, ‘it’s good money, and a fair living profit;’ but he got far more than that. What was worth 8s. was 18s. on tally, pay 1s. a week. He did most that way with the masters of coffee-shops and the landlords of little public-houses. Sometimes, if they couldn’t pay, we’d have dinner, and that went to account, and he’d quarrel with me after it for what was my share. There’s not much of this sort of trade now, sir. I believe my old master got his money together and emigrated.”

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

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

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

The most primitive kind of packmen, or hawkers of soft-wares, who still form part of the distributing machinery of the country, traverse the highlands of Scotland. They have their regular rounds, and regular days of visiting their customers; their arrival is looked for with interest by the country people; and the inmates of the farm-house where they locate for the night consider themselves fortunate in having to entertain the packman; for he is their newsmonger, their story-teller, their friend, and their acquaintance, and is always made welcome. His wares consist of hose—linsey wolsey, for making petticoats—muslins for caps—ribbons—an assortment of needles, pins, and netting-pins—and all sorts of small wares. He always travels on foot. It is suspected that he likewise does a little in the “jigger line,” for many of these Highlanders have, or are supposed to have, their illicit distilleries; and the packmen are suspected of trafficking without excise interference. Glasgow, Dundee, Galashiels, and Harwick are the principal manufacturing towns where the packman replenishes his stock. “My own opinion,” says an informant of considerable experience, “is that these men seldom grow rich; but the prevailing idea in the country part of Scotland is, that the pedlar has an unco lang stockin wi’ an awfu’ amount o goden guineas in it, and that his pocket buik is plumped out wi’ a thick roll of bank notes. Indeed there are many instances upon record of poor packmen having been murdered—the assassins, doubtlessly, expecting a rich booty.” It scarcely ever costs the packman of Scotland anything for his bed and board. The Highlanders are a most hospitable people with acquaintances—although with strangers at first they are invariably shy and distant. In Ireland there is also the travelling pedlar, whose habits and style of doing business are nearly similar to that of the Scotchman. Some of the packmen of Scotland have risen to eminence and distinction. A quondam lord provost of Glasgow, a gentleman still living, and upon whom the honour of knighthood has been conferred, was, according to common report, in his earlier days a packman; and rumour also does the gentleman the credit to acknowledge that he is not ashamed to own it.

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

Statement of a Packman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my way, sir. I don’t mind telling that, because they do the same in the shops. I’ve heard them, but they can’t put love and sweet-hearting so cleverly in a crowded shop as we can in a quiet house. It’s that I go for, love and sweet-hearting; and I always speak to any smart servant as if I thought she was the mistress, or as if I wasn’t sure whether she was the mistress or the lady’s-maid; three times out of four she’s house-maid or maid of all work. I call her ‘ma’am,’ and ‘young lady,’ and sometimes ‘miss.’ It’s no use offering to sell until a maid has tidied herself in the afternoon—not a bit. I should make a capital draper’s shopman, I know, only I could never bear the confinement. I never will hear such words as ‘I don’t want it,’ or, ‘nothing more to-day,’ no more than if I was behind a counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of the Tally Packman.

The pedlar tallyman is a hawker who supplies his customers with goods, receiving payment by weekly instalments, and derives his name from the tally or score he keeps with his customers. Linen drapery—or at least the general routine of linen-draper’s stock, as silk-mercery, hosiery, woollen cloths, &c.—is the most prevalent trade of the tallyman. There are a few shoemakers and some household furniture dealers who do business in the tally or “score” system; but the great majority are linen-drapers, though some of them sell household furniture as well. The system is generally condemned as a bad one; as leading to improvidence in the buyer and rapacity in the seller. There are many who have incurred a tally debt, and have never been able to “get a-head of it,” but have been kept poor by it all their lives. Some few, however, may have been benefited by the system, and as an outfit for a young man or woman entering service is necessary—when the parties are too poor to pay ready money—it is an accommodation. I have never heard any of the tallyman’s customers express an opinion upon the subject, other than that they wish they had done with the tallyman, or could do without him.

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

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

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

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

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

The principal portion of the tallyman’s customers are poor mechanics. When the appearance of the house, and the inquiries out of doors are approved of, no security is required; but the tallyman would at all times rather add a security, when attainable. Servant-girls who deal with tallymen must find the security of a housekeeper; and when such housekeeper agrees to be responsible for the payments, the same inquisitorial proceedings are adopted, in order to ascertain the circumstances of the surety. There are about fifty drapery shops in London where the tally-trade is carried on; and about 200 Scotchmen, besides fifty others (part English, part Irish), are engaged in the trade. A clerk of a tally-shop, at the West-end, informs me that there are ten collectors and canvassers for customers, out each day, from that one establishment; and that, until lately, they were accustomed to collect moneys on Sundays. Some collect as much as 12l. or 14l. a day; and some not more than 2l. or 3l. The average sum collected may be about 5l. each, or 50l. per day by the whole. The profits are 30 per cent., the bad debts 10 per cent., thus leaving 20 per cent. net.

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

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

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

I have given the rise and progress of a Scotch tallyman, and will now relate the downfall of another—an Englishman. He commenced a tally-shop in the neighbourhood of ——, and was carrying on a prosperous and daily increasing trade. At one time, a bill in the shop window announced that an errand boy was wanted—an applicant soon presented himself—was engaged, and proved a steady lad. In the course of a few weeks, this youth was promoted to the office of serving in the shop, and afterwards became collecting clerk. “George,” said his master one day, “we have three days in the week unemployed; suppose you try and form a connection around Finchley, Highgate, Hampstead, and that neighbourhood.” George was quite willing to make the experiment, and succeeded beyond expectation. The country connection soon surpassed the town trade; and George, the errand boy, became a man of some consequence in the establishment. The principal of the firm was what is termed “gay.” He was particularly fond of attending public entertainments. He sported a little as well, and delighted in horse-racing. His business, though an excellent one, was neglected; the books got out of order; and he became involved in difficulties. An examination of his affairs took place; and a Mr. R—— was engaged from a wholesale house in the city to assist in making up the accounts, &c. During this person’s sojourn in the shop, he saw that George (the quondam errand boy) was the chief support of the concern. The country customers had never seen any other person, and a partnership was proposed. The proposal was accepted, and the firm R—— and W—— became one of the most prosperous tally-shops in the neighbourhood of Tottenham-court-road. George’s master was made bankrupt, and is now a street-seller in Fitzroy-market—vending sandwiches, &c.

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

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

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

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

Of the “Duffers” or Hawkers of Pretended Smuggled Goods.

Of “duffers” and “lumpers,” as regards the sale of textile fabrics, there are generally, I am informed, about twenty in London. At such times as Epsom, Ascot-heath, or Goodwood races, however, there is, perhaps, not one. All have departed to prey, if possible, upon the countrymen. Eight of them are Jews, and the majority of the others are Irishmen. They are generally dressed as sailors, and some wear either fur caps, or cloth ones, with gilt bands round them, as if they were the mates or stewards of ships. They look out for any likely victim at public-houses, and sometimes accost persons in the streets—first looking carefully about them, and hint that they are smugglers, and have the finest and cheapest “Injy” handkerchiefs ever seen. These goods are now sold in “pieces” of three handkerchiefs. When times were better, I was told, they were in pieces of four, five, and six. One street-seller said to me, “Yes, I know the ‘duffers;’ all of them. They do more business than you might think. Everybody likes a smuggled thing; and I should say these men, each of the ‘duffers,’ tops his 1l. a week, clear profit.” I am assured that one of the classes most numerously victimised is a body who generally account themselves pretty sharp, viz. gentlemen’s grooms, and coachmen at the several mews. Sailors are the best customers, and the vicinity of the docks the best locality for this trade; for the hawker of pretended smuggled goods always does most business among the “tars.” The mock handkerchiefs are damped carefully with a fine sponge, before they are offered for sale; and they are often strongly perfumed, some of the Jews supplying cheap perfumes, or common “scents.” When the “duffer” thinks he may venture upon the assertion, he assures a customer that this is “the smell the handkerchiefs brought with ’em from foreign parts, as they was smuggled in a bale of spices!” The trade however is not without its hazards; for I am informed that the “duffers” sometimes, on attempting their impositions imprudently, and sometimes on being discovered before they can leave the house, get soundly thrashed. They have, of course, no remedy.

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes the ‘duffers’ sell all their stock to one individual. No sooner do they dispose of the handkerchiefs to a dupe, than they introduce the smuggled tobacco to the notice of the unsuspecting customer; then they palm off their cigars, next their tea, and lastly, as the ‘duffer’ is determined to raise as much money as he can ‘to have his spree;’ ‘why d—e,’ he exclaims to his victim—‘I’ll sell you my watch. It cost me 6l. at Portsmouth—give me 3l. for it and it’s yours, shipmate. Well, then, 2l.——1l.’ The watch, I need not state, is made solely for sale.

“It is really astonishing,” adds my informant, “how these men ever succeed, for their look denotes cunning and imposition, and their proceedings have been so often exposed in the newspapers that numbers are alive to their tricks, and warn others when they perceive the “duffers” endeavouring to victimise them; but, as the thimble-men say, “There’s a fool born every minute.”

Of the Street-Sellers of “Small-Ware,” or Tape, Cotton, etc.

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

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

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

“After I put my hip out, I couldn’t get my living as I’d been used to do. I couldn’t stand a day if I had five hundred pounds for it. I must sit down. So I got a little stall, and sat at the end of the alley here with a few laces and tapes and things. I’ve done so for this nine year past, and seen many a landlord come in and go out of the house that I sat at. My husband used to sell small articles in the streets—black lead and furniture paste, and blacking. We got a sort of a living by this, the two of us together. It’s very seldom though we had a bit of meat. We had 1s. 9d. rent to pay—Come, my poor fellow, will you have another little drop to wet your mouth?” said the woman, breaking off. “Come, my dearest, let me give you this,” she added, as the man let his jaw fall, and she poured some warm sugar and water flavoured with cinnamon—all she had to give him—into his mouth. “He’s been an ailing man this many a year. He used to go of errands and buy my little things for me, on account of my being lame. We assisted one another, you see. He wasn’t able to work for his living, and I wasn’t able to go about, so he used to go about and buy for me what I sold. I am sure he never earned above 1s. 6d. in the week. He used to attend me, and many a time I’ve sat for ten and fourteen hours in the cold and wet and didn’t take a sixpence. Some days I’d make a shilling, and some days less; but whatever I got I used to have to put a good part into the basket to keep my little stock.” [A knock here came to the door; it was for a halfpenny-worth of darning cotton.] “You know a shilling goes further with a poor couple that’s sober than two shillings does with a drunkard. We lived poor, you see, never had nothing but tea, or we couldn’t have done anyhow. If I’d take 18d. in the day I’d think I was grandly off, and then if there was 6d. profit got out of that it would be almost as much as it would. You see these cotton braces here” (said the old woman, going to her tray). “Well, I gives 2s. 9d. a dozen for them here, and I sells ’em for 4½d., and oftentimes 4d. a pair. Now, this piece of tape would cost me seven farthings in the shop, and I sells it at six yards a penny. It has the name of being eighteen yards. The profit out of it is five farthings. It’s beyond the power of man to wonder how there’s a bit of bread got out of such a small way. And the times is so bad, too! I think I could say I get 8d. a day profit if I have any sort of custom, but I don’t exceed that at the best of times. I’ve often sat at the end of the alley and taken only 6d., and that’s not much more than 2d. clear—it an’t 3d. I’m sure. I think I could safely state that for the last nine year me and my husband has earned together 5s. a week, and out of that the two of us had to live and pay rent—1s. 9d. a week. Clothes I could buy none, for the best garment is on me; but I thank the Lord still. I’ve paid my rent all but three weeks, and that isn’t due till to-morrow. We have often reckoned it up here at the fire. Some weeks we have got 5s. 3d., and some weeks less, so that I judge we have had about 3s. to 3s. 6d. a week to live upon the two of us, for this nine year past. Half-a-hundred of coals would fit me the week in the depths of winter. My husband had the kettle always boiling for me against I came in. He used to sit here reading his book—he never was fit for work at the best—while I used to be out minding the basket. He was so sober and quiet too. His neighbours will tell that of him. Within the last ten weeks he’s been very ill indeed, but still I could be out with the basket. Since then he’s never earnt me a penny—poor old soul, he wasn’t able! All that time I still attended to my basket. He wasn’t so ill then but what he could do a little here in the room for hisself; but he wanted little, God knows, for he couldn’t eat. After he fell ill, I had to go all my errands myself. I had no one to help me, for I’d nothing to pay them, and I’d have to walk from here down to Sun-street with my stick, till my bad leg pained me so that I could hardly stand. You see the hip being put out has drawn all the sinews up into my groin, and it leaves me oncapable of walking or standing constantly; but I thank God that I’ve got the use of it anyhow. Our lot’s hard enough, goodness knows, but we are content. We never complain, but bless the Lord for the little he pleases to give us. When I was away on my errands, in course I couldn’t be minding my basket; so I lost a good bit of money that way. Well, five weeks on Wednesday he has been totally confined to his bed, excepting when I lifted him up to make it some nights; but he can’t bear that now. Still the first fortnight he was bad, I did manage to leave him, and earn a few pence; but, latterly, for this last three weeks, I haven’t been able to go out at all, to do anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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