"ON THE DEATH OF OLD BENNET, THE NEWS CRYER

"One evening, when the sun was just gone down, And I was walking thro' the noisy town, A sudden silence through each street was spread, As if the soul of London had been fled.

Much I enquired the cause, but could not hear, Till fame, so frightened, that she did not dare To raise her voice, thus whisper'd in my ear:-- Bennet, the prince of hawkers, is no more, Bennet, my _Herald_ on the British sh.o.r.e, Bennet, by whom, I own myself outdone, Tho' I a hundred mouths, he had but one, He, when the list'ning town he would amuse, Made _Echo_ tremble with his '_b.l.o.o.d.y news!_'

No more shall _Echo_, now his voice return, _Echo_ for ever must in silence mourn,-- Lament, ye heroes, who frequent the wars, The great proclaimer of your dreadful scars.

Thus wept the conqueror who the world o'ercame, Homer was waiting to enlarge his fame, Homer, the first of hawkers that is known, _Great News_ from Troy, cried up and down the town, None like him has there been for ages past, Till our stentorian Bennet came at last, Homer and Bennet were in this agreed, Homer was blind, and Bennet could not read!"

In our own days there has been legislation for the benefit of tender ears; and there are now penalties, with police constables to enforce them, against "All persons blowing any horn or using any other noisy instrument, for the purpose of calling persons together, or of announcing any show or entertainment, or for the purpose of hawking, selling, distributing, or collecting any article, or of obtaining money or alms."

These are the words of the Police Act of 1839; and they are stringent enough to have nearly banished from our streets all those uncommon noises which did something to relieve the monotony of the one endless roar of the tread of feet and the rush of wheels.

Mr. Henry Mayhew, in his admirable work of "London Labour and London Poor," writing in 1851, under the head "Of the Sellers of Second Editions," says:--

"I believe that there is not now in existence--unless it be in a workhouse and unknown to his fellows, or engaged in some other avocation, and lost sight of by them--any one who sold 'Second Editions' of the _Courier_ evening paper at the time of the Duke of York's Walcheren expedition, at the period of the battle of the Nile, during the continuance of the Peninsular war, or even at the battle of Waterloo. There were a few old men--some of whom had been soldiers or sailors, and others who have simulated it--surviving within these five or six years and some later, who 'worked Waterloo,' but they were swept off, I was told, by the cholera."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: CLEAN YOUR HONOUR'S SHOES.

"Temper the foot within this vase of oil, And let the little tripod aid thy toil; On this methinks I see the walking crew, At thy request, support the miry shoe; The foot grows black that was with dirt embrown'd, And in thy pocket jingling halfpence sound."

_Gay's "Trivia."_]

"About thirty years before the cry of 'Clean your boots, sir!' became familiar to the ears of the present generation of Londoners," Mr. Charles Knight informs us that:--"In one of the many courts on the north side of Fleet-street, might be seen, somewhere about the year 1820, 'The last of the London shoe-blacks.' One would think that he deemed himself dedicated to his profession by Nature, for he was a Negro. At the earliest dawn he crept forth from his neighbouring lodging, and planted his tripod on the quiet pavement, where he patiently stood till noon was past. He was a short, large-headed son of Africa, subject, as it would appear, to considerable variations of spirits, alternating between depression and excitement, as the gains of the day presented to him the chance of having a few pence to recreate himself beyond what he should carry home to his wife and children. For he had a wife and children, this last representative of a falling trade; and two or three little woolly-headed _decrotteurs_ nestled around him when he was idle, or a.s.sisted in taking off the roughest of the dirt when he had more than one client. He watched, with a melancholy eye, the gradual improvement of the streets; for during some twenty or thirty years he had beheld all the world combining to ruin him. He saw the foot pavements widening; the large flag-stones carefully laid down; the loose and broken piece, which discharged a slushy shower on the unwary foot, and known to him and London chairmen as a '_Beau-trap_'[11] instantly removed: he saw the kennels diligently cleansed, and the drains widened: he saw experiment upon experiment made in the repair of the carriage-way, and the holes, which were to him as the 'old familiar faces' which he loved, filled up with a haste that appeared quite unnecessary, if not insulting. One solitary country shopkeeper, who had come to London once a year during a long life, clung to our sable friend; for he was the only one of the fraternity that he could find remaining, in his walk from Charing-cross to Cheapside."

Hone, in "_The Table Book_," 1827, under an article on the Old London cries has:--"A s...o...b..ack; A boy, with a small basket beside him, brushes a shoe on a stone, and addresses himself to a wigged beau, who carries his c.o.c.ked hat under his left arm, with a crooked-headed walking stick in his left hand, as was the fashion among the dandies of old times. I recollect s...o...b..acks formerly at the corner of almost every street, especially in great thoroughfares. There were several every morning on the steps of St.

Andrew's church, Holborn, till late in the forenoon. But the greatest exhibition of these artists was on the site of Finsbury-square, when it was an open field, and a depository for the stones used in paving and street-masonry. There, a whole army of s...o...b..acks intercepted the citizens and their clerks on their way from Islington and Hoxton to the counting-houses and shops in the city, with 's...o...b..ack, your honour! Black your shoes, sir!'"

Each of them had a large, old tin-kettle, containing his apparatus, viz:--a capacious pipkin, or other large earthen-pot, containing the blacking, which was made of ivory-black, the coa.r.s.est moist sugar, and pure water with a little vinegar--a knife, two or three brushes, and an old wig. The old wig was an indispensable requisite to a s...o...b..ack; it whisked away the dust, or thoroughly wiped off the wet dirt, which his knife and brushes could not entirely detach; a rag tied to the end of a stick smeared his viscid blacking on the shoe, and if the blacking was "real j.a.pan," it shone. The old experienced shoe-wearers preferred an oleaginous, l.u.s.treless blacking. A more liquid blacking, which took a polish from the brush, was of later use and invention. n.o.body at that time wore boots except on horseback; and everybody wore breeches and stockings: pantaloons, or trousers, were unheard of. The old s...o...b..acks operated on the shoes while they were on the feet, and so dexterously as not to soil the fine white cotton stocking, which was at that time the extreme of fashion, or to smear the buckles, which were universally worn.

Latterly, you were accommodated with an old pair of shoes to stand in, and the yesterday's paper to read, while your shoes were cleaning and polishing, and your buckles were whitened and brushed. When shoestrings first came into vogue, the Prince of Wales (Geo. IV.) appeared with them in his shoes, when immediately a deputation from the buckle-makers of Birmingham presented a pet.i.tion to his Royal Highness to resume the wearing of buckles, which was good-naturedly complied with. Yet, in a short time, shoestrings entirely superseded buckles. The first incursion on the s...o...b..acks was by the makers of "Patent Cake Blacking" on sticks formed with a handle, like a small battledoor; they suffered a more fearful invasion from the makers of liquid blacking in bottles. Soon afterwards, when "Day and Martin" manufactured the _ne plus ultra_ of blacking, private s...o...b..acking became general, public s...o...b..acks rapidly disappeared, and in [1827] they became extinct. The last s...o...b..ack that I remember in London sat under the covered entrance of Red Lion-court, Fleet-street within the last six years. This unfortunate, "The Last of the London s...o...b..acks"--was probably the "short, large headed son of Africa"

alluded to by Charles Knight, under the heading of "Clean your honour's shoes," in his "History of London."

In 1851, some gentlemen connected with the Ragged Schools determined to revive the brotherhood of boot cleaners for the convenience of the foreign visitors to the Exhibition, and commenced the experiment by sending out five boys in the now well-known red uniform. The scheme succeeded beyond expection; the boys were patronized by natives as well as aliens, and the s...o...b..ack Society and its brigade were regularly organized. During the exhibition season, about twenty-five boys were constantly employed, and cleaned no less than 100,000 pairs of boots. The receipts of the brigade during its first year amounted to 656. Since that time, thanks to the combination of discipline and liberality, the s...o...b..ack Society has gone on and prospered, and proved the Parent of other Societies. Every district in London now has its corps of s...o...b..acks, in every variety of uniform, and while the number of boys has increased from tens to hundreds, their earnings have increased from hundreds to thousands. Numbers of London waifs and strays have been rescued from idleness and crime. The Ragged School Union, and s...o...b..ack Brigades, therefore hold a prominent place among the indirectly preventive agencies for the suppression of crime: for since ignorance is generally the parent of vice, any means of securing the benefits of education to those who are hopelessly deprived of it, must operate in favour of the well-being of society.

[Ill.u.s.tration:

"'Tis education forms the common mind; Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HEARTH-STONE MERCHANT.]

"Hearth-stones! Do you want any hearth-stones? Now, my maids, here's your right sort--reg'lar good'uns, and no mistake--vorth two o'your shop harticles, and at half the price. Now my pretty von, lay out a _tanner_, and charge your missus a _bob_--and no cheating neither! the cook has always a right to make her market penny and to a.s.sist a poor cove like me in the bargain.

"They're good uns, you vill find-- Choose any, marm, as you prefer.

You look so handsome and so kind, I'm sure you'll be a customer.

Three halfpence, marm, for this here pair-- I only vish as you vould try 'em; I'm sure you'll say the price is fair-- Come marm, a penny if you'll buy 'em."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FLYING STATIONER, OTHERWISE PATTERER.]

"Here's tidings sad, for owld and young, Of von who liv'd for years by macing; And vos this werry morning hung, The Debtor's Door at Newgate facing.

"Here's his confession upon hoath, The vords he spoke ven he vos dying, His birth and eddycation both-- The whole pertic'lers--vell vorth the buying.

"Here's an account of robberies sad.

In vich he alus vos a hactor; You must to read the life be glad-- Of such a famous malefactor!

"How to the mob he spinn'd a yarn, And varn'd them from a course unproper, You may, vith all his history, larn-- For the small valley of a copper!"

"Now my kind-hearted, haffectionated and wery ready-money Christian-hearted, pious and hinfidel customers, here you have the last speech and dying vords, life, character, and behaviour of the hunfortunate malefactor that vas hexecuted this morning hopposit the Debtor's door in the Hold Bailey! together with a full confession of the hoffence vherevith he vos found guilty before a hupright Judge and a wery himpartial Jury!

Here you have likewise a copy of a most affecting letter, written by the criminal in the condemned cell the night afore hexecution to his hinnocent vife and hunoffending babbies, vith a copy of werses consarning the same--all for the small charge of von halfpenny. Yes, my friends, von halfpenny buys the werses as follows--von arter the 'tother:--

"Come, all you blessed Christians dear, That's a-tender, kind, and free, While I a story do relate Of a dreadful tragedy, Which happened in London town, As you shall all be told; But when you hear the horrid deed 'Twill make your blood run cold.-- _For the small charge of a ha'penny!_

"'Twas in the merry month of May, When my true love I did meet; She look'd all like an angel bright, So beautiful and sweet.

I told her I loved her much, And she could not say nay; 'Twas then I stung her tender heart, And led her all astray.-- _Only a ha'penny!_"

JAMES--or as he was popularly called, "_Jemmy_," or, "_Old Jemmy_"

Catnach, (_Kat-nak_,) late of the Seven Dials, London, printer and publisher of ballads, battledores, lotteries, primers, &c., and whose name is ever a.s.sociated with the literature of the streets, was the son of John Catnach, a printer, of Alnwick, an ancient borough, market town, and parish of Northumberland, where he was born on August 18th, 1792.

At the time Jemmy Catnach commenced business in Seven Dials it took all the prudence and tact which he could command to maintain his position, as at that time "Johnny" Pitts,[12] of the Toy and Marble Warehouse, No. 6, Great St. Andrew-street, was the acknowledged and established printer of street literature for the "Dials" district; therefore, as may be easily imagined, a powerful rivalry and vindictive jealousy soon arose between these "two of a trade"--most especially on the part of "Old Mother" Pitts, who is described as being a coa.r.s.e and vulgar-minded personage, and as having originally followed the trade of a b.u.mboat woman at Portsmouth: she "wowed wengeance" against the young fellow in the court for daring to set up in their business, and also spoke of him as a young "Cats.n.a.t.c.h,"

"Catblock," "Cut-throat;" many other opprobrious terms being also freely given to the new comer. Pitts' staff of "bards" were duly cautioned of the consequences which would inevitably follow should they dare to write a line for Catnach--the new _cove_ in the court. The injunction was for a time obeyed, but the "Seven Bards of the Seven Dials" soon found it not only convenient, but also more profitable to sell copies of their effusions to both sides at the same time, and by keeping their council they avoided detection, as each printer accused the other of buying an early sold copy, and then reprinting it off with the utmost speed, and which was in reality often the case, as "Both Houses" had emissaries on the constant look-out for any new production suitable for street-sale.

Now, although this style of "double dealing" and compet.i.tion tended much to lessen the cost price to the "middle-man," or vendor, the public in this case did not get any of the reduction, as a penny broadside was still a penny, and a quarter-sheet still a halfpenny to them, the "street-patterer" obtaining the whole of the reduction as extra profit.

The feud existing between these rival publishers, who have been somewhat aptly designated as the Colburn and Bentley of the "paper" trade, never abated, but, on the contrary, increased in acrimony of temper until at last not being content to vilify each other by words alone, they resorted to printing off virulent lampoons, in which Catnach never failed to let the world know that "Old Mother Pitts" had been formerly a b.u.mboat woman, while the Pitts' party announced that--

"All the boys and girls around, Who go out prigging rags and phials, Know Jemmy _Cats.n.a.t.c.h_!!! well, Who lives in a back slum in the Dials.

He hangs out in Monmouth Court, And wears a pair of blue-black breeches, Where all the 'Polly c.o.x's crew' do resort To chop their swag for badly printed Dying Speeches."

A mournful and affecting COPY OF VERSES on the death of ANN WILLIAMS, Who was barbarously and cruelly murdered by her sweetheart, W. JONES, near Wirksworth, in Derbyshire, July, 1823.

William Jones, a young man aged 20, has been fully committed to Derby gaol for the murder of his sweetheart, under circ.u.mstances of unheard of barbarity. The poor victim was a servant girl, whom under pretense of marriage he seduced. On her proving with child the villain formed the horrid design of murdering her, and carried his diabolical plan into execution on Monday evening last. The following verses are written upon the occasion, giving a complete detail of this shocking affair:--

Come all false hearted young men And listen to my song, 'Tis of a cruel murder, That lately has been done On the body of a maiden fair The truth I will unfold, The bare relation of this deed Will make your blood run cold.

Near Wirksworth town in Derbyshire, Ann Williams she did dwell, In service she long time had lived, Till this to her befel.

Her cheeks were like the blushing rose All in the month of May, Which made this wicked young man Thus unto her did say: Nancy, my charming creature, You have my heart ensnared, My love is such I am resolved To wed you I declare.

Thus by his false deluding tongue Poor Nancy was beguil'd, And soon to her misfortune, By him she proved with child.

Some days ago this damsel fair Did write to him with speed.

Such tenderness she did express Would make a heart to bleed.

She said, my dearest William, I am with child by thee; Therefore, my dear, pray let me know When you will marry me.

The following day at evening, This young man did repair, Unto the town of Wirksworth, To meet his Nancy there.

Saying, Nancy dear, come let us walk, Among the flowery fields, And then the secrets of my heart To you I will reveal.

O then this wicked young man A knife he did provide, And all unknown to his true love Concealed it by his side.

When to the fatal spot they came, These words to her did say: All on this very night I will Your precious life betray.

On bended knee she then did fall, In sorrow and despair, Aloud for mercy she did call, Her cries did rend the air; With clasped hands and uplift eyes She cried, Oh spare my life, I never more will ask you To make me your wedded wife.

O then this wicked young man said, No mercy will I show; He took the knife all from his side, And pierced her body through.

But still she smiling said to him, While trembling with fear, Aa! William, William, spare my life, Think on your baby dear.

Twice more then with the b.l.o.o.d.y knife He ran her body through, Her throat was cut from ear to ear, Most dreadful for to view; Her hands and arms and beauteous face He cut and mangled sore, While down upon her milk white breast The crimson blood did pour.

He took the shawl from off her neck, And round her body tied, With pebble stones he did it fill, Thinking the crime to hide.

O then into the silver stream He plunged her straightway, But with her precious blood was stained, Which soon did him betray.

O then this young man taken was, And into prison sent, In ratling chains he is confin'd His crime for to lament, Until the Asizes do come on When trembling he must stand, Reflecting on the deed he's done; Waiting the dread command.

Now all you thoughtless young men A timely warning take; Likewise ye fair young maidens, For this poor damsel's sake.