I never yet beheld so much destitution borne with so much content. Verily the acted philosophy of the poor is a thing to make those who write and preach about it hide their heads.

Of the Dress of the Costermongers.

From the homes of the costermongers we pass to a consideration of their dress.

The costermonger’s ordinary costume partakes of the durability of the warehouseman’s, with the quaintness of that of the stable-boy. A well-to-do “coster,” when dressed for the day’s work, usually wears a small cloth cap, a little on one side. A close-fitting worsted tie-up skull-cap, is very fashionable, just now, among the class, and ringlets at the temples are looked up to as the height of elegance. Hats they never wear—excepting on Sunday—on account of their baskets being frequently carried on their heads. Coats are seldom indulged in; their waistcoats, which are of a broad-ribbed corduroy, with fustian back and sleeves, being made as long as a groom’s, and buttoned up nearly to the throat. If the corduroy be of a light sandy colour, then plain brass, or sporting buttons, with raised fox’s or stag’s heads upon them—or else black bone-buttons, with a flower-pattern—ornament the front; but if the cord be of a dark rat-skin hue, then mother-of-pearl buttons are preferred. Two large pockets—sometimes four—with huge flaps or lappels, like those in a shooting-coat, are commonly worn. If the costermonger be driving a good trade and have his set of regular customers, he will sport a blue cloth jacket, similar in cut to the cord ones above described; but this is looked upon as an extravagance of the highest order, for the slime and scales of the fish stick to the sleeves and shoulders of the garment, so as to spoil the appearance of it in a short time. The fashionable stuff for trousers, at the present, is a dark-coloured “cable cord,” and they are made to fit tightly at the knee and swell gradually until they reach the boot, which they nearly cover. Velveteen is now seldom worn, and knee-breeches are quite out of date. Those who deal wholly in fish wear a blue serge apron, either hanging down or tucked up round their waist. The costermonger, however, prides himself most of all upon his neckerchief and boots. Men, women, boys and girls, all have a passion for these articles. The man who does not wear his silk neckerchief—his “King’s-man” as it is called—is known to be in desperate circumstances; the inference being that it has gone to supply the morning’s stock-money. A yellow flower on a green ground, or a red and blue pattern, is at present greatly in vogue. The women wear their kerchiefs tucked-in under their gowns, and the men have theirs wrapped loosely round the neck, with the ends hanging over their waistcoats. Even if a costermonger has two or three silk handkerchiefs by him already, he seldom hesitates to buy another, when tempted with a bright showy pattern hanging from a Field-lane door-post.

The costermonger’s love of a good strong boot is a singular prejudice that runs throughout the whole class. From the father to the youngest child, all will be found well shod. So strong is their predilection in this respect, that a costermonger may be immediately known by a glance at his feet. He will part with everything rather than his boots, and to wear a pair of second-hand ones, or “translators” (as they are called), is felt as a bitter degradation by them all. Among the men, this pride has risen to such a pitch, that many will have their upper-leathers tastily ornamented, and it is not uncommon to see the younger men of this class with a heart or a thistle, surrounded by a wreath of roses, worked below the instep, on their boots. The general costume of the women or girls is a black velveteen or straw bonnet, with a few ribbons or flowers, and almost always a net cap fitting closely to the cheek. The silk “King’s-man” covering their shoulders, is sometimes tucked into the neck of the printed cotton-gown, and sometimes the ends are brought down outside to the apron-strings. Silk dresses are never worn by them—they rather despise such articles. The petticoats are worn short, ending at the ankles, just high enough to show the whole of the much-admired boots. Coloured, or “illustrated shirts,” as they are called, are especially objected to by the men.

On the Sunday no costermonger will, if he can possibly avoid it, wheel a barrow. If a shilling be an especial object to him, he may, perhaps, take his shallow and head-basket as far as Chalk-farm, or some neighbouring resort; but even then he objects strongly to the Sunday-trading. They leave this to the Jews and Irish, who are always willing to earn a penny—as they say.

The prosperous coster will have his holiday on the Sunday, and, if possible, his Sunday suit as well—which usually consists of a rough beaver hat, brown Petersham, with velvet facings of the same colour, and cloth trousers, with stripes down the side. The women, generally, manage to keep by them a cotton gown of a bright showy pattern, and a new shawl. As one of the craft said to me—“Costers likes to see their gals and wives look lady-like when they takes them out.” Such of the costers as are not in a flourishing way of business, seldom make any alteration in their dress on the Sunday.

There are but five tailors in London who make the garb proper to costermongers; one of these is considered somewhat “slop,” or as a coster called him, a “springer-up.”

This springer-up is blamed by some of the costermongers, who condemn him for employing women at reduced wages. A whole court of costermongers, I was assured, would withdraw their custom from a tradesman, if one of their body, who had influence among them, showed that the tradesman was unjust to his workpeople. The tailor in question issues bills after the following fashion. I give one verbatim, merely withholding the address for obvious reasons:

“ONCE TRY YOU’LL COME AGAIN.

Slap-up Tog and out-and-out Kicksies Builder.

Mr. —— nabs the chance of putting his customers awake, that he has just made his escape from Russia, not forgetting to clap his mawleys upon some of the right sort of Ducks, to make single and double backed Slops for gentlemen in black, when on his return home he was stunned to find one of the top manufacturers of Manchester had cut his lucky and stepped off to the Swan Stream, leaving behind him a valuable stock of Moleskins, Cords, Velveteens, Plushes, Swandowns, &c., and I having some ready in my kick, grabbed the chance, and stepped home with my swag, and am now safe landed at my crib. I can turn out toggery of every description very slap up, at the following low prices for

Ready Gilt—Tick being no go.

Upper Benjamins, built on a downey plan, a monarch to half a finnuff. Slap up Velveteen Togs, lined with the same, 1 pound 1 quarter and a peg. Moleskin ditto, any colour, lined with the same, 1 couter. A pair of Kerseymere Kicksies, any colour, built very slap up, with the artful dodge, a canary. Pair of stout Cord ditto, built in the ‘Melton Mowbray’ style, half a sov. Pair of very good broad Cord ditto, made very saucy, 9 bob and a kick. Pair of long sleeve Moleskin, all colours, built hanky-spanky, with a double fakement down the side and artful buttons at bottom, half a monarch. Pair of stout ditto, built very serious, 9 times. Pair of out-and-out fancy sleeve Kicksies, cut to drop down on the trotters, 2 bulls. Waist Togs, cut long, with moleskin back and sleeves, 10 peg. Blue Cloth ditto, cut slap, with pearl buttons, 14 peg. Mud Pipes, Knee Caps, and Trotter Cases, built very low.

“A decent allowance made to Seedy Swells, Tea Kettle Purgers, Head Robbers, and Flunkeys out of Collar.

“N.B. Gentlemen finding their own Broady can be accommodated.”

Of the Diet and Drink of Costermongers.

It is less easy to describe the diet of costermongers than it is to describe that of many other of the labouring classes, for their diet, so to speak, is an “out-door diet.” They breakfast at a coffee-stall, and (if all their means have been expended in purchasing their stock, and none of it be yet sold) they expend on the meal only 1d., reserved for the purpose. For this sum they can procure a small cup of coffee, and two “thin” (that is to say two thin slices of bread and butter). For dinner—which on a week-day is hardly ever eaten at the costermonger’s abode—they buy “block ornaments,” as they call the small, dark-coloured pieces of meat exposed on the cheap butchers’ blocks or counters. These they cook in a tap-room; half a pound costing 2d. If time be an object, the coster buys a hot pie or two; preferring fruit-pies when in season, and next to them meat-pies. “We never eat eel-pies,” said one man to me, “because we know they’re often made of large dead eels. We, of all people, are not to be had that way. But the haristocrats eats ’em and never knows the difference.” I did not hear that these men had any repugnance to meat-pies; but the use of the dead eel happens to come within the immediate knowledge of the costermongers, who are, indeed, its purveyors. Saveloys, with a pint of beer, or a glass of “short” (neat gin) is with them another common week-day dinner. The costers make all possible purchases of street-dealers, and pride themselves in thus “sticking to their own.” On Sunday, the costermonger, when not “cracked up,” enjoys a good dinner at his own abode. This is always a joint—most frequently a shoulder or half-shoulder of mutton—and invariably with “lots of good taturs baked along with it.” In the quality of their potatoes these people are generally particular.

The costermonger’s usual beverage is beer, and many of them drink hard, having no other way of spending their leisure but in drinking and gambling. It is not unusual in “a good time,” for a costermonger to spend 12s. out of every 20s. in beer and pleasure.

I ought to add, that the “single fellows,” instead of living on “block ornaments” and the like, live, when doing well, on the best fare, at the “spiciest” cook-shops on their rounds, or in the neighbourhood of their residence.

There are some families of costermongers who have persevered in carrying out the principles of teetotalism. One man thought there might be 200 individuals, including men, women, and children, who practised total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. These parties are nearly all somewhat better off than their drinking companions. The number of teetotallers amongst the costers, however, was more numerous three or four years back.

Of the Cries, Rounds, and Days of Costermongers.

I shall now proceed to treat of the London costermongers’ mode of doing business.

In the first place all the goods they sell are cried or “hawked,” and the cries of the costermongers in the present day are as varied as the articles they sell. The principal ones, uttered in a sort of cadence, are now, “Ni-ew mackerel, 6 a shilling.” (“I’ve got a good jacketing many a Sunday morning,” said one dealer, “for waking people up with crying mackerel, but I’ve said, ‘I must live while you sleep.’”) “Buy a pair of live soles, 3 pair for 6d.”—or, with a barrow, “Soles, 1d. a pair, 1d. a pair;” “Plaice alive, alive, cheap;” “Buy a pound crab, cheap;” “Pine-apples, ½d. a slice;” “Mussels a penny a quart;” “Oysters, a penny a lot;” “Salmon alive, 6d. a pound;” “Cod alive, 2d. a pound;” “Real Yarmouth bloaters, 2 a penny;” “New herrings alive, 16 a groat” (this is the loudest cry of any); “Penny a bunch turnips” (the same with greens, cabbages, &c.); “All new nuts, 1d. half-pint;” “Oranges, 2 a penny;” “All large and alive-O, new sprats, O, 1d. a plate;” “Wi-ild Hampshire rabbits, 2 a shilling;” “Cherry ripe, 2d. a pound;” “Fine ripe plums, 1d. a pint;” “Ing-uns, a penny a quart;” “Eels, 3lbs. a shilling—large live eels 3lbs. a shilling.”

The continual calling in the streets is very distressing to the voice. One man told me that it had broken his, and that very often while out he lost his voice altogether. “They seem to have no breath,” the men say, “after calling for a little while.” The repeated shouting brings on a hoarseness, which is one of the peculiar characteristics of hawkers in general. The costers mostly go out with a boy to cry their goods for them. If they have two or three hallooing together, it makes more noise than one, and the boys can shout better and louder than the men. The more noise they can make in a place the better they find their trade. Street-selling has been so bad lately that many have been obliged to have a drum for their bloaters, “to drum the fish off,” as they call it.

In the second place, the costermongers, as I said before, have mostly their little bit of a “round;” that is, they go only to certain places; and if they don’t sell their goods they “work back” the same way again. If they visit a respectable quarter, they confine themselves to the mews near the gentlemen’s houses. They generally prefer the poorer neighbourhoods. They go down or through almost all the courts and alleys—and avoid the better kind of streets, unless with lobsters, rabbits, or onions. If they have anything inferior, they visit the low Irish districts—for the Irish people, they say, want only quantity, and care nothing about quality—that they don’t study. But if they have anything they wish to make a price of, they seek out the mews, and try to get it off among the gentlemen’s coachmen, for they will have what is good; or else they go among the residences of mechanics,—for their wives, they say, like good-living as well as the coachmen. Some costers, on the other hand, go chance rounds.

Concerning the busiest days of the week for the coster’s trade, they say Wednesdays and Fridays are the best, because they are regular fish days. These two days are considered to be those on which the poorer classes generally run short of money. Wednesday night is called “draw night” among some mechanics and labourers—that is, they then get a portion of their wages in advance, and on Friday they run short as well as on the Wednesday, and have to make shift for their dinners. With the few halfpence they have left, they are glad to pick up anything cheap, and the street-fishmonger never refuses an offer. Besides, he can supply them with a cheaper dinner than any other person. In the season the poor generally dine upon herrings. The poorer classes live mostly on fish, and the “dropped” and “rough” fish is bought chiefly for the poor. The fish-huckster has no respect for persons, however; one assured me that if Prince Halbert was to stop him in the street to buy a pair of soles of him, he’d as soon sell him a “rough pair as any other man—indeed, I’d take in my own father,” he added, “if he wanted to deal with me.” Saturday is the worst day of all for fish, for then the poor people have scarcely anything at all to spend; Saturday night, however, the street-seller takes more money than at any other time in the week.

Of the Costermongers on their Country Rounds.

Some costermongers go what they term “country rounds,” and they speak of their country expeditions as if they were summer excursions of mere pleasure. They are generally variations from a life growing monotonous. It was computed for me that at present three out of every twenty costermongers “take a turn in the country” at least once a year. Before the prevalence of railways twice as many of these men carried their speculations in fish, fruit, or vegetables to a country mart. Some did so well that they never returned to London. Two for instance, after a country round, settled at Salisbury; they are now regular shopkeepers, “and very respectable, too,” was said to me, “for I believe they are both pretty tidy off for money; and are growing rich.” The railway communication supplies the local-dealer with fish, vegetables, or any perishable article, with such rapidity and cheapness that the London itinerant’s occupation in the towns and villages about the metropolis is now half gone.

In the following statement by a costermonger, the mode of life on a country round, is detailed with something of an assumption of metropolitan superiority.

“It was fine times, sir, ten year back, aye, and five year back, in the country, and it ain’t so bad now, if a man’s known. It depends on that now far more than it did, and on a man’s knowing how to work a village. Why, I can tell you if it wasn’t for such as me, there’s many a man working on a farm would never taste such a nice thing as a fresh herring—never, sir. It’s a feast at a poor country labourer’s place, when he springs six-penn’orth of fresh herrings, some for supper, and some in salt for next day. I’ve taken a shillings’-worth to a farmer’s door of a darkish night in a cold autumn, and they’d a warm and good dish for supper, and looked on me as a sort of friend. We carry them relishes from London; and they like London relishes, for we know how to set them off. I’ve fresh herringed a whole village near Guildford, first thing in the morning. I’ve drummed round Guildford too, and done well. I’ve waked up Kingston with herrings. I’ve been as welcome as anything to the soldiers in the barracks at Brentwood, and Romford, and Maidstone with my fresh herrings; for they’re good customers. In two days I’ve made 2l. out of 10s. worth of fresh herrings, bought at Billingsgate. I always lodge at a public-house in the country; so do all of us, for the publicans are customers. We are well received at the public-houses; some of us go there for the handiness of the ‘lush.’ I’ve done pretty well with red herrings in the country. A barrel holds (say) 800. We sell the barrels at 6d. a piece, and the old women fight after them. They pitch and tar them, to make water-barrels. More of us would settle in the country, only there’s no life there.”

The most frequented round is from Lambeth to Wandsworth, Kingston, Richmond, Guildford, and Farnham. The costermonger is then “sold out,” as he calls it,—he has disposed of his stock, and returns by the way which is most lightly tolled, no matter if the saving of 1d. or 2d. entail some miles extra travelling. “It cost me 15d. for tolls from Guildford for an empty cart and donkey,” said a costermonger just up from the country.

Another round is to Croydon, Reigate, and the neighbourhoods; another to Edgeware, Kilburn, Watford, and Barnet; another to Maidstone; but the costermonger, if he starts trading at a distance, as he now does frequently, has his barrow and goods sent down by railway to such towns as Maidstone, so he saves the delay and cost of a donkey-cart. A “mate” sees to the transmission of the goods from London, the owner walking to Maidstone to be in readiness to “work” them immediately he receives them. “The railway’s an ease and a saving,” I was told; “I’ve got a stock sent for 2s., and a donkey’s keep would cost that for the time it would be in travelling. There’s 5,000 of us, I think, might get a living in the country, if we stuck to it entirely.”

If the country enterprise be a failure, the men sometimes abandon it in “a pet,” sell their goods at any loss, and walk home, generally getting drunk as the first step to their return. Some have been known to pawn their barrow on the road for drink. This they call “doing queer.”

In summer the costermongers carry plums, peas, new potatoes, cucumbers, and quantities of pickling vegetables, especially green walnuts, to the country. In winter their commodities are onions, fresh and red herrings, and sprats. “I don’t know how it is,” said one man to me, “but we sell ing-uns and all sorts of fruits and vegetables, cheaper than they can buy them where they’re grown; and green walnuts, too, when you’d think they had only to be knocked off a tree.”

Another costermonger told me that, in the country, he and his mates attended every dance or other amusement, “if it wasn’t too respectable.” Another said: “If I’m idle in the country on a Sunday, I never go to church. I never was in a church; I don’t know why, for my silk handkerchief’s worth more than one of their smock-frocks, and is quite as respectable.”

Some costermongers confine their exertions to the fairs and races, and many of them are connected with the gipsies, who are said to be the usual receivers of the stolen handkerchiefs at such places.

Of the Earnings of Costermongers.

The earnings of the costermonger—the next subject of inquiry that, in due order, presents itself—vary as much as in more fashionable callings, for he is greatly dependent on the season, though he may be little affected by London being full or empty.

Concurrent testimony supplied me with the following estimate of their earnings. I cite the average earnings (apart from any charges or drawbacks), of the most staple commodities:

In January and February the costers generally sell fish. In these months the wealthier of the street fishmongers, or those who can always command “money to go to market,” enjoy a kind of monopoly. The wintry season renders the supply of fish dearer and less regular, so that the poorer dealers cannot buy “at first hand,” and sometimes cannot be supplied at all; while the others monopolise the fish, more or less, and will not sell it to any of the other street-dealers until a profit has been realised out of their own regular customers, and the demand partially satisfied. “Why, I’ve known one man sell 10l. worth of fish—most of it mackarel—at his stall in Whitecross-street,” said a costermonger to me, “and all in one snowy day, in last January. It was very stormy at that time, and fish came in unregular, and he got a haul. I’ve known him sell 2l. worth in an hour, and once 2l. 10s. worth, for I then helped at his stall. If people has dinner parties they must have fish, and gentlemen’s servants came to buy.” The average earnings however of those that “go rounds” in these months are computed not to exceed 8s. a week; Monday and Saturday being days of little trade in fish.

“March is dreadful,” said an itinerant fish seller to me; “we don’t average, I’m satisfied, more nor 4s. a week. I’ve had my barrow idle for a week sometimes—at home every day, though it had to be paid for, all the same. At the latter end of March, if it’s fine, it’s 1s. a week better, because there’s flower roots in—‘all a-growing,’ you know, sir. And that lasts until April, and we then make above 6s. a week. I’ve heard people say when I’ve cried ‘all a-growing’ on a fine-ish day, ‘Aye, now summer’s a-coming.’ I wish you may get it, says I to myself; for I’ve studied the seasons.”

In May the costermonger’s profit is greater. He vends fresh fish—of which there is a greater supply and a greater demand, and the fine and often not very hot weather insures its freshness—and he sells dried herrings and “roots” (as they are called) such as wall-flowers and stocks. The average earnings then are from 10s. to 12s. a week.

In June, new potatoes, peas, and beans tempt the costermongers’ customers, and then his earnings rise to 1l. a week. In addition to this 1l., if the season allow, a costermonger at the end of the week, I was told by an experienced hand, “will earn an extra 10s. if he has anything of a round.” “Why, I’ve cleared thirty shillings myself,” he added, “on a Saturday night.”

In July cherries are the principal article of traffic, and then the profit varies from 4s. to 8s. a day, weather permitting, or 30s. a week on a low average. On my inquiry if they did not sell fish in that month, the answer was, “No, sir; we pitch fish to the ——; we stick to cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and ripe currants and gooseberries. Potatoes is getting good and cheap then, and so is peas. Many a round’s worth a crown every day of the week.”

In August, the chief trading is in Orleans plums, green-gages, apples and pears, and in this month the earnings are from 5s. to 6s. a day. [I may here remark that the costermongers care little to deal in either vegetables or fish, “when the fruit’s in,” but they usually carry a certain supply of vegetables all the year round, for those customers who require them.]

In September apples are vended, and about 2s. 6d. a day made.

In October “the weather gets cold,” I was told, “and the apples gets fewer, and the day’s work’s over at four; we then deals most in fish, such as soles; there’s a good bit done in oysters, and we may make 1s. or 1s. 6d. a day, but it’s uncertain.”

In November fish and vegetables are the chief commodities, and then from 1s. to 1s. 6d. a day is made; but in the latter part of the month an extra 6d. or 1s. a day may be cleared, as sprats come in and sell well when newly introduced.

In December the trade is still principally in fish, and 12d. or 18d. a day is the costermonger’s earnings. Towards the close of the month he makes rather more, as he deals in new oranges and lemons, holly, ivy, &c., and in Christmas week he makes 3s. or 4s. a day.

These calculations give an average of about 14s. 6d. a week, when a man pursues his trade regularly. One man calculated it for me at 15s. average the year through—that is supposing, of course, that the larger earnings of the summer are carefully put by to eke out the winter’s income. This, I need hardly say, is never done. Prudence is a virtue, which is comparatively unknown to the London costermongers. They have no knowledge of savings’-banks; and to expect that they themselves should keep their money by them untouched for months (even if they had the means of so doing) is simply to expect impossibilities—to look for the continued withstanding of temptation among a class who are unused to the least moral or prudential restraint.

Some costers, I am told, make upwards of 30s. a week all the year round; but allowing for cessations in the street-trade, through bad weather, neglect, ill-health, or casualty of any kind, and taking the more prosperous costers with the less successful—the English with the Irish—the men with the women—perhaps 10s. a week may be a fair average of the earnings of the entire body the year through.

These earnings, I am assured, were five years ago at least 25 per cent. higher; some said they made half as much again: “I can’t make it out how it is,” said one man, “but I remember that I could go out and sell twelve bushel of fruit in a day, when sugar was dear, and now, when sugar’s cheap, I can’t sell three bushel on the same round. Perhaps we want thinning.”

Such is the state of the working-classes; say all the costers, they have little or no money to spend. “Why, I can assure you,” declared one of the parties from whom I obtained much important information, “there’s my missis—she sits at the corner of the street with fruit. Eight years ago she would have taken 8s. out of that street on a Saturday, and last Saturday week she had one bushel of apples, which cost 1s. 6d. She was out from ten in the morning till ten at night, and all she took that day was 1s. 7½d. Go to whoever you will, you will hear much upon the same thing.” Another told me, “The costers are often obliged to sell the things for what they gave for them. The people haven’t got money to lay out with them—they tell us so; and if they are poor we must be poor too. If we can’t get a profit upon what goods we buy with our stock-money, let it be our own or anybody’s else, we are compelled to live upon it, and when that’s broken into, we must either go to the workhouse or starve. If we go to the workhouse, they’ll give us a piece of dry bread, and abuse us worse than dogs.” Indeed, the whole course of my narratives shows how the costers generally—though far from universally—complain of the depressed state of their trade. The following statement was given to me by a man who, for twelve years, had been a stall-keeper in a street-market. It shows to what causes he (and I found others express similar opinions) attributes the depression:—

“I never knew things so bad as at present—never! I had six prime cod-fish, weighing 15lbs. to 20lbs. each, yesterday and the day before, and had to take two home with me last night, and lost money on the others—besides all my time, and trouble, and expense. I had 100 herrings, too, that cost 3s.—prime quality, and I only sold ten out of them in a whole day. I had two pads of soles, sir, and lost 4s.—that is one pad—by them. I took only 4s. the first day I laid in this stock, and only 2s. 6d. the next; I then had to sell for anything I could get, and throw some away. Yet, people say mine’s a lazy, easy life. I think the fall off is owing to meat being so cheap, ’cause people buy that rather than my goods, as they think there’s more stay in it. I’m afeard things will get worse too.” (He then added by way of sequitur, though it is difficult to follow the reasoning,) “If this here is free-trade, then to h— with it, I say!”

Of the Capital and Income of the Costermongers.

I shall now pass, from the consideration of the individual earnings, to the income and capital of the entire body. Great pains have been taken to ensure exactitude on these points, and the following calculations are certainly below the mark. In order to be within due bounds, I will take the costermongers, exclusive of their wives and families, at 10,000, whereas it would appear that their numbers are upwards of 11,000.

Very nearly 24,000l., then, at the most moderate computation, represents the value of the animals, vehicles, and stock, belonging to the costermongers in the streets of London.

The keep of the donkeys is not here mixed up with their value, and I have elsewhere spoken of it.

The whole course of my narrative shows that the bulk of the property in the street goods, and in the appliances for their sale, is in the hands of usurers as well as of the costers. The following account shows the sum paid yearly by the London costermongers for the hire, rent, or interest (I have heard each word applied) of their barrows, weights, baskets, and stock:

Concerning the income of the entire body of costermongers in the metropolis, I estimate the earnings of the 10,000 costermongers, taking the average of the year, at 10s. weekly. My own observation, the result of my inquiries, confirmed by the opinion of some of the most intelligent of the costermongers, induce me to adopt this amount. It must be remembered, that if some costermongers do make 30s. a week through the year, others will not earn a fourth of it, and hence many of the complaints and sufferings of the class. Then there is the drawback in the sum paid for “hire,” “interest,” &c., by numbers of these people; so that it appears to me, that if we assume the income of the entire body—including Irish and English—to be 15s. a week per head in the summer, and 5s. a week each in the winter, as the two extremes, or a mean of 10s. a week all the year through, we shall not be far out either way. The aggregate earnings of the London costermongers, at this rate, are 5,000l. per week, or 260,000l. yearly. Reckoning that 30,000 individuals have to be supported out of this sum, it gives an average of 3s. 4d. a week per head.

But it is important to ascertain not only the earnings or aggregate amount of profit made by the London costermongers in the course of the year, but likewise their receipts, or aggregate amount of “takings,” and thus to arrive at the gross sum of money annually laid out by the poorer classes of the metropolis in the matter of fish, fruit, and vegetables alone. Assuming that the average profits of the costermongers are at the rate of 25 per cent. (and this, I am satisfied, is a high estimate—for we should remember, that though cent. per cent. may be frequently obtained, still their “goods,” being of a “perishable” nature, are as frequently lost or sold off at a “tremendous sacrifice”); assuming then, I say, that the average profits of the entire 10,000 individuals are 25 per cent. on the cost-price of their stock, and that the aggregate amount of their profits or earnings is upwards of 260,000l., it follows that the gross sum of money laid out with the London costers in the course of the twelvemonth is 1,040,000l. sterling—a sum so enormous as almost to make us believe that the tales of individual want are matters of pure fiction. Large, however, as the amount appears in the mass, still, if distributed among the families of the working men and the poorer class of Londoners, it will be found that it allows but the merest pittance per head per week for the consumption of those articles, which may be fairly said to constitute the staple commodities of the dinners and “desserts!” of the poor.

Of the Providence and Improvidence of Costermongers.

The costermongers, like all wandering tribes, have generally no foresight; only an exceptional few are provident—and these are mostly the more intelligent of the class—though some of the very ignorant do occasionally save. The providence of the more intelligent costermonger enables him in some few cases to become “a settled man,” as I have before pointed out. He perhaps gets to be the proprietor of a coal-shed, with a greengrocery and potato business attached to it; and with the usual trade in oysters and ginger-beer. He may too, sometimes, have a sum of money in the savings’-bank, or he may invest it in the purchase of a lease of the premises he occupies, or expend it in furnishing the rooms of his house to let them out to single-men lodgers; or he may become an usurer, and lend out his money to his less provident brethren at 1040l. per cent. per annum; or he may purchase largely at the markets, and engage youths to sell his surplus stock at half profits.

The provident costermonger, who has thus “got on in the world,” is rarely speculative. He can hardly be induced to become a member of a “building” or “freehold land” society, for instance. He has been accustomed to an almost immediate return for his outlays, and distrusts any remote or contingent profit. A regular costermonger—or any one who has been a regular costermonger, in whatever trade he may be afterwards engaged—generally dies intestate, let his property be what it may; but there is seldom any dispute as to the disposition of his effects: the widow takes possession of them, as a matter of course. If there be grown-up children, they may be estranged from home, and not trouble their heads about the matter; or, if not estranged, an amicable arrangement is usually come to. The costermongers’ dread of all courts of law, or of anything connected with the law, is only second to their hatred of the police.

The more ignorant costermonger, on the other hand, if he be of a saving turn, and have no great passion for strong drink or gaming, is often afraid to resort to the simple modes of investment which I have mentioned. He will rather keep money in his pocket; for, though it does not fructify there, at least it is safe. But this is only when provided with a donkey or pony “what suits;” when not so provided, he will “suit himself” forthwith. If, however, he have saved a little money, and have a craving after gambling or amusements, he is sure at last to squander it that way. Such a man, without any craving for drink or gaming, will often continue to pay usuriously for the hire of his barrow, not suspecting that he is purchasing it over and over and over again, in his weekly payments. To suggest to him that he might place his money in a bank, is to satisfy him that he would be “had” in some way or other, as he believes all banks and public institutions to be connected with government, and the taxes, and the police. Were any one to advise a man of this class—and it must be remembered that I am speaking of the ignorant costers—to invest a spare 50l. (supposing he possessed it) in the “three per cents.,” it would but provoke a snappish remark that he knew nothing about them, and would have nothing to do with them; for he would be satisfied that there was “some cheatery at the bottom.” If he could be made to understand what is meant by 3l. per centum per annum, he would be sure to be indignant at the robbery of giving only 7½d. for the use of 1l. for a whole year!

I may state, in conclusion, that a costermonger of the class I have been describing, mostly objects to give change for a five-pound note; he will sooner give credit—when he knows “the party”—than change, even if he have it. If, however, he feels compelled, rather than offend a regular customer, to take the note, he will not rest until he has obtained sovereigns for it at a neighbouring innkeeper’s, or from some tradesman to whom he is known. “Sovereigns,” said one man, and not a very ignorant man, to me, “is something to lay hold on; a note ain’t.”

Moreover, should one of the more ignorant, having tastes for the beer-shop, &c., meet with “a great haul,” or save 5l. by some continuous industry (which he will most likely set down as “luck”), he will spend it idly or recklessly in dissipation and amusement, regardless of the coming winter, whatever he may have suffered during the past. Nor, though they know, from the bitterest experience, that their earnings in the winter are not half those of the rest of the year, and that they are incapacitated from pursuing their trade in bad weather, do they endeavour to make the extra gains of their best time mitigate the want of the worst.

Of the Costermongers in Bad Weather and during the Cholera.

“Three wet days,” I was told by a clergyman, who is now engaged in selling stenographic cards in the streets, “will bring the greater part of 30,000 street-people to the brink of starvation.” This statement, terrible as it is, is not exaggerated. The average number of wet days every year in London is, according to the records of the Royal Society, 161—that is to say, rain falls in the metropolis more than three days in each week, and very nearly every other day throughout the year. How precarious a means of living then must street-selling be!

When a costermonger cannot pursue his out-door labour, he leaves it to the women and children to “work the public-houses,” while he spends his time in the beer-shop. Here he gambles away his stock-money oft enough, “if the cards or the luck runs again him;” or else he has to dip into his stock-money to support himself and his family. He must then borrow fresh capital at any rate of interest to begin again, and he begins on a small scale. If it be in the cheap and busy seasons, he may buy a pad of soles for 2s. 6d., and clear 5s. on them, and that “sets him a-going again, and then he gets his silk handkerchief out of pawn, and goes as usual to market.”

The sufferings of the costermongers during the prevalence of the cholera in 1849, were intense. Their customers generally relinquished the consumption of potatoes, greens, fruit, and fish; indeed, of almost every article on the consumption of which the costermongers depend for his daily bread. Many were driven to apply to the parish; “many had relief and many hadn’t,” I was told. Two young men, within the knowledge of one of my informants, became professional thieves, after enduring much destitution. It does not appear that the costermongers manifested any personal dread of the visitation of the cholera, or thought that their lives were imperilled: “We weren’t a bit afraid,” said one of them, “and, perhaps, that was the reason so few costers died of the cholera. I knew them all in Lambeth, I think, and I knew only one die of it, and he drank hard. Poor Waxy! he was a good fellow enough, and was well known in the Cut. But it was a terrible time for us, sir. It seems to me now like a shocking dream. Fish I could’nt sell a bit of; the people had a perfect dread of it—all but the poor Irish, and there was no making a crust out of them. They had no dread of fish, however; indeed, they reckon it a religious sort of living, living on fish,—but they will have it dirt cheap. We were in terrible distress all that time.”

Of the Costermongers’ Raffles.

In their relief of the sick, if relief it is to be called, the costermongers resort to an exciting means; something is raffled, and the proceeds given to the sufferer. This mode is common to other working-classes; it partakes of the excitement of gambling, and is encouraged by the landlords of the houses to which the people resort. The landlord displays the terms of the raffle in his bar a few days before the occurrence, which is always in the evening. The raffle is not confined to the sick, but when any one of the class is in distress—that is to say, without stock-money, and unable to borrow it,—a raffle for some article of his is called at a public-house in the neighbourhood. Cards are printed, and distributed among his mates. The article, let it be whatever it may—perhaps a handkerchief—is put up at 6d. a member, and from twenty to forty members are got, according as the man is liked by his “mates,” or as he has assisted others similarly situated. The paper of every raffle is kept by the party calling it, and before he puts his name down to a raffle for another party, he refers to the list of subscribers to his raffle, in order to see if the person ever assisted him. Raffles are very “critical things, the pint pots fly about wonderful sometimes”—to use the words of one of my informants. The party calling the raffle is expected to take the chair, if he can write down the subscribers’ names. One who had been chairman at one of these meetings assured me that on a particular occasion, having called a “general dealer” to order, the party very nearly split his head open with a quart measure. If the hucksters know that the person calling the raffle is “down,” and that it is necessity that has made him call it, they will not allow the property put up to be thrown for. “If you was to go to the raffle to-night, sir,” said one of them to me, many months ago, before I became known to the class, “they’d say to one another directly you come in, ‘Who’s this here swell? What’s he want?’ And they’d think you were a ‘cad,’ or else a spy, come from the police. But they’d treat you civilly, I’m sure. Some very likely would fancy you was a fast kind of a gentleman, come there for a lark. But you need have no fear, though the pint pots does fly about sometimes.”

Of the Markets and Trade Rights of the Costermongers, and of the laws affecting them.

The next point of consideration is what are the legal regulations under which the several descriptions of hawkers and pedlars are allowed to pursue their occupations.

The laws concerning hawkers and pedlars, (50 Geo. III., c. 41, and 6 Geo. IV., c. 80,) treat of them as identical callings. The “hawker,” however, is, strictly speaking, one who sells wares by crying them in the streets of towns, while the pedlar travels on foot through the country with his wares, not publicly proclaiming them, but visiting the houses on his way to solicit private custom. Until the commencement of the present century—before the increased facilities for conveyance—the pedlars were a numerous body in the country. The majority of them were Scotchmen and some amassed considerable wealth. Railways, however, have now reduced the numbers to insignificance.

Hawkers and pedlars are required to pay 4l. yearly for a license, and an additional 4l. for every horse or ass employed in the conveyance of wares. The hawking or exposing for sale of fish, fruit, or victuals, does not require a license; and further, it is lawful for any one “being the maker of any home manufacture,” to expose it for sale in any fair or market, without a warrant. Neither does anything in either of the two acts in question prohibit “any tinker, cooper, glazier, plumber, harness-mender, or other person, from going about and carrying the materials proper to their business.”

The right of the costermongers, then, to “hawk” their wares through the streets is plainly inferred by the above acts; that is to say, nothing in them extends to prohibit persons “going about,” unlicensed, and at their own discretion, and selling fish, vegetables, fruit, or provisions generally.

The law acknowledges none of the street “markets.” These congregatings are, indeed, in antagonism to the municipal laws of London, which provide that no market, or public place where provisions are sold, shall be held within seven miles of the city. The law, though it permits butchers and other provisionmongers to hire stalls and standings in the flesh and other markets, recognised by custom or usage, gives no such permission as to street-trading.

The right to sell provisions from stands in the streets of the metropolis, it appears, is merely permissive. The regulation observed is this: where the costermongers or other street-dealers have been in the habit of standing to sell their goods, they are not to be disturbed by the police unless on complaint of an adjacent shopkeeper or other inhabitant. If such a person shows that the costermonger, whose stand is near his premises, is by his improper conduct a nuisance, or that, by his clamour or any peculiarity in his mode of business, he causes a crowd to gather and obstruct the thoroughfare, the policeman’s duty is to remove him. If the complaint from the inhabitants against the street-sellers be at all general the policemen of the beat report it to the authorities, taking no steps until they receive instructions.

It is somewhat anomalous, however, that the law now recognises—inferentially it is true—the right of costermongers to carry about their goods for sale. Formerly the stands were sometimes tolerated, but not the itinerancy.

The enactments of the Common-council from the time of Elizabeth are stringent against itinerant traders of all descriptions, but stringent to no purpose of prevention. In 1607, a Common-council enactment sets forth, that “many People of badd and lewde Condicon daylie resorte from the most Parte of this Realme to the said Cyttie, Suburbes, and Places adjoininge, procuringe themselves small Habytacons, namely, one Chamber-Roome for a poore Forreynor and his Familye, in a small Cottage with some other as poore as himself in the Cyttie, Suburbes, or Places adjacente, to the great Increase and Pestringe of this Cyttie with poore People; many of them proovinge Shifters, lyvinge by Cozeninge, Stealinge, and Imbeazellinge of Mens Gooddes as Opportunitye may serve them, remoovinge from Place to Place accordinglye; many Tymes runninge away, forsakinge their Wives and Children, leavinge them to the Charge of the said Cyttie, and the Hospitalles of the same.”

It was towards this class of men who, by their resort to the capital, recruited the numbers of the street-sellers and public porters and others that the jealousy of the Corporation was directed. The city shop-keepers, three centuries ago, complained vehemently and continuously of the injuries inflicted on their trade by itinerant dealers, complaints which led to bootless enactments. In Elizabeth’s reign the Court of Common Council declared that the streets of the city should be used, as in ancient times, for the common highway, and not for the traffic of hucksters, pedlars, and hagglers. But this traffic increased, and in 1632 another enactment was accounted necessary. Oyster-wives, herb-wives, tripe-wives, and all such “unruly people,” were threatened with the full pains and penalties of the outraged law if they persevered in the prosecution of their callings, which are stigmatised as “a way whereby to live a more easie life than by labour.” In 1694 the street-sellers were menaced with the punishments then deemed suitable for arrant rogues and sturdy beggars—whipping; and that remedy to be applied alike to males and females!

The tenor of these Vagrant Laws not being generally known, I here transcribe them, as another proof of the “wisdom” and mercy of our “ancestors” in “the good old times!”

In the year 1530 the English Parliament enacted, that, while the impotent poor should receive licenses from the justices of the peace to beg within certain limits, all men and women, “being whole and mighty in body, and able to labour,” if found vagrant and unable to give an account as to how they obtained their living, should be apprehended by the constables, tied to the tail of a cart naked, and beaten with whips through the nearest market-town, or hamlet, “till their bodies be bloody by reason of such whipping!” Five years afterwards it was added, that, if the individual had been once already whipped, he or she should not only be whipped again, but “also shall have the upper part of the gristle of his ear clean cut off, so as it may appear for a perpetual token hereafter that he hath been a contemner of the good order of the commonwealth.” And finally, in 1562, it was directed that any beggar convicted of being a vagabond should, after being grievously whipped, be burnt through the gristle of the right ear “with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about,” unless some person should agree to take him as a servant—of course without wages—for a year; then, that if he twice ran away from such master, he should be adjudged a felon; and that if he ran away a third time, he should “suffer pains of death and loss of land and goods as a felon, without benefit of clergy or sanctuary.”

The only acts now in force which regulate the government of the streets, so to speak, are those best known as Michael Angelo Taylor’s Act, and the 2 & 3 Vic., best known as the Police Act.

Of the Removals of Costermongers from the Streets.

Such are the laws concerning street trading: let us now see the effect of them.

Within these three months, or little more, there have been many removals of the costermongers from their customary standings in the streets. This, as I have stated, is never done, unless the shopkeepers represent to the police that the costermongers are an injury and a nuisance to them in the prosecution of their respective trades. The costermongers, for the most part, know nothing of the representation of the shopkeepers, so that perhaps the first intimation that they must “quit” comes from the policemen, who thus incur the full odium of the measure, the majority of the street people esteeming it a mere arbitrary act on the part of the members of the force.

The first removal, recently, took place in Leather-lane, Holborn, between three and four months back. It was effected in consequence of representations from the shopkeepers of the neighbourhood. But the removal was of a brief continuance. “Leather-lane,” I was told, “looked like a desert compared to what it was. People that had lived there for years hardly knew their own street; and those that had complained, might twiddle their thumbs in their shops for want of something better to do.”

The reason, or one reason, why the shopkeepers’ trade is co-existent with that of the street-sellers was explained to me in this way by a tradesman perfectly familiar with the subject. “The poorer women, the wives of mechanics or small tradesmen, who have to prepare dinners for their husbands, like, as they call it, ‘to make one errand do.’ If the wife buys fish or vegetables in the street, as is generally done, she will, at the same time, buy her piece of bacon or cheese at the cheesemonger’s, her small quantity of tea and sugar at the grocer’s, her fire-wood at the oilman’s, or her pound of beef or liver at the butcher’s. In all the street-markets there are plenty of such tradesmen, supplying necessaries not vended in the streets, and so one errand is sufficient to provide for the wants of the family. Such customers—that is, such as have been used to buy in the streets—will not be driven to buy at the shops. They can’t be persuaded that they can buy as cheap at the shops; and besides they are apt to think shopkeepers are rich and street-sellers poor, and that they may as well encourage the poor. So if one street-market is abolished, they’ll go to another, or buy of the itinerant costermongers, and they’ll get their bits of groceries and the like at the shops in the neighbourhood of the other street-market, even if they have a walk for it; and thus everybody’s injured by removing markets, except a few, and they are those at the nearest markets that’s not disturbed.”

In Leather-lane the shopkeepers speedily retrieved what many soon came to consider the false step (as regards their interests) which they had taken, and in a fortnight or so, they managed, by further representations to the police authorities, and by agreement with the street-sellers, that the street-market people should return. In little more than a fortnight from that time, Leather-lane, Holborn, resumed its wonted busy aspect.

In Lambeth the case at present is different. The men, women, and children, between two and three months back, were all driven by the police from their standings. These removals were made, I am assured, in consequence of representations to the police from the parishioners, not of Lambeth, but of the adjoining parish of Christchurch, Blackfriars-road, who described the market as an injury and a hindrance to their business. The costermongers, etc., were consequently driven from the spot.

A highly respectable tradesman in “the Cut” told me, that he and all his brother shopkeepers had found their receipts diminished a quarter, or an eighth at least, by the removal; and as in all populous neighbourhoods profits were small, this falling off was a very serious matter to them.

In “the Cut” and its immediate neighbourhood, are tradesmen who supply street-dealers with the articles they trade in,—such as cheap stationery, laces, children’s shoes, braces, and toys. They, of course, have been seriously affected by the removal; but the pinch has fallen sorest upon the street-sellers themselves. These people depend a good deal one upon another, as they make mutual purchases; now, as they have neither stalls nor means, such a source of profit is abolished.

“It is hard on such as me,” said a fruit-seller to me, “to be driven away, for nothing that I’ve done wrong as I knows of, and not let me make a living, as I’ve been brought up to. I can’t get no work at any of the markets. I’ve tried Billingsgate and the Borough hard, but there is so many poor men trying for a crust, they’re fit to knock a new-comer’s head off, though if they did, it wouldn’t be much matter. I had 9s. 6d. stock-money, and I sold the apples and a few pears I had for 3s. 9d., and that 13s. 3d. I’ve been spinning out since I lost my pitch. But it’s done now, and I haven’t had two meals a day for a week and more—and them not to call meals—only bread and coffee, or bread and a drink of beer. I tried to get a round of customers, but all the rounds was full, and I’m a very bad walker, and a weak man too. My wife’s gone to try the country—I don’t know where she is now. I suppose I shall lose my lodging this week, and then I must see what ‘the great house’ will say to me. Perhaps they’ll give me nothing, but take me in, and that’s hard on a man as don’t want to be a pauper.”

Another man told me that he now paid 3s. a week for privilege to stand with two stalls on a space opposite the entrance into the National Baths, New Cut; and that he and his wife, who had stood for eleven years in the neighbourhood, without a complaint against them, could hardly get a crust.

One man, with a fruit-stall, assured me that nine months ago he would not have taken 20l. for his pitch, and now he was a “regular bankrupt.” I asked a girl, who stood beside the kerb with her load in front strapped round her loins, whether her tray was heavy to carry. “After eight hours at it,” she answered, “it swaggers me, like drink.” The person whom I was with brought to me two girls, who, he informed me, had been forced to go upon the streets to gain a living. Their stall on the Saturday night used to have 4l. worth of stock; but trade had grown so bad since the New Police order, that after living on their wares, they had taken to prostitution for a living, rather than go to the “house.” The ground in front of the shops has been bought up by the costermongers at any price. Many now give the tradesmen six shillings a week for a stand, and one man pays as much as eight for the right of pitching in front.

The applications for parochial relief, in consequence of these removals, have been fewer than was anticipated. In Lambeth parish, however, about thirty families have been relieved, at a cost of 50l. Strange to say, a quarter, or rather more, of the very applicants for relief had been furnished by the parish with money to start the trade, their expulsion from which had driven them to pauperism.

It consequently becomes a question for serious consideration, whether any particular body of householders should, for their own interest, convenience, or pleasure, have it in their power to deprive so many poor people of their only means of livelihood, and so either force the rate-payers to keep them as paupers, or else drive the women, who object to the imprisonment of the Union, to prostitution, and the men to theft—especially when the very occupation which they are not allowed to pursue, not only does no injury to the neighbourhood, but is, on the contrary, the means of attracting considerable custom to the shops in the locality, and has, moreover, been provided for them by the parish authorities as a means of enabling them to get a living for themselves.

Of the Tricks of Costermongers.

I shall now treat of the tricks of trade practised by the London costermongers. Of these the costers speak with as little reserve and as little shame as a fine gentleman of his peccadilloes. “I’ve boiled lots of oranges,” chuckled one man, “and sold them to Irish hawkers, as wasn’t wide awake, for stunning big uns. The boiling swells the oranges and so makes ’em look finer ones, but it spoils them, for it takes out the juice. People can’t find that out though until it’s too late. I boiled the oranges only a few minutes, and three or four dozen at a time.” Oranges thus prepared will not keep, and any unfortunate Irishwoman, tricked as were my informant’s customers, is astonished to find her stock of oranges turn dark-coloured and worthless in forty-eight hours. The fruit is “cooked” in this way for Saturday night and Sunday sale—times at which the demand is the briskest. Some prick the oranges and express the juice, which they sell to the British wine-makers.

Apples cannot be dealt with like oranges, but they are mixed. A cheap red-skinned fruit, known to costers as “gawfs,” is rubbed hard, to look bright and feel soft, and is mixed with apples of a superior description. “Gawfs are sweet and sour at once,” I was told, “and fit for nothing but mixing.” Some foreign apples, from Holland and Belgium, were bought very cheap last March, at no more than 16d. a bushel, and on a fine morning as many as fifty boys might be seen rubbing these apples, in Hooper-street, Lambeth. “I’ve made a crown out of a bushel of ’em on a fine day,” said one sharp youth. The larger apples are rubbed sometimes with a piece of woollen cloth, or on the coat skirt, if that appendage form part of the dress of the person applying the friction, but most frequently they are rolled in the palms of the hand. The smaller apples are thrown to and fro in a sack, a lad holding each end. “I wish I knew how the shopkeepers manages their fruit,” said one youth to me; “I should like to be up to some of their moves; they do manage their things so plummy.”

Cherries are capital for mixing, I was assured by practical men. They purchase three sieves of indifferent Dutch, and one sieve of good English cherries, spread the English fruit over the inferior quality, and sell them as the best. Strawberry pottles are often half cabbage leaves, a few tempting strawberries being displayed on the top of the pottle. “Topping up,” said a fruit dealer to me, “is the principal thing, and we are perfectly justified in it. You ask any coster that knows the world, and he’ll tell you that all the salesmen in the markets tops up. It’s only making the best of it.” Filberts they bake to make them look brown and ripe. Prunes they boil to give them a plumper and finer appearance. The latter trick, however, is not unusual in the shops.

The more honest costermongers will throw away fish when it is unfit for consumption, less scrupulous dealers, however, only throw away what is utterly unsaleable; but none of them fling away the dead eels, though their prejudice against such dead fish prevents their indulging in eel-pies. The dead eels are mixed with the living, often in the proportion of 20 lb. dead to 5 lb. alive, equal quantities of each being accounted very fair dealing. “And after all,” said a street fish dealer to me, “I don’t know why dead eels should be objected to; the aristocrats don’t object to them. Nearly all fish is dead before it’s cooked, and why not eels? Why not eat them when they’re sweet, if they’re ever so dead, just as you eat fresh herrings? I believe it’s only among the poor and among our chaps, that there’s this prejudice. Eels die quickly if they’re exposed to the sun.”

Herrings are made to look fresh and bright by candle-light, by the lights being so disposed “as to give them,” I was told, “a good reflection. Why I can make them look splendid; quite a pictur. I can do the same with mackerel, but not so prime as herrings.”

There are many other tricks of a similar kind detailed in the course of my narrative. We should remember, however, that shopkeepers are not immaculate in this respect.