GENTEEL ADVERTISING BEGGARS.
_The Newspaper Plan and the delicate Process_—_Forms of Petition_—_Novel
Applications of Photography_—_Personal Attractions of the
Distressed_—_Help_, _or I perish_!
BESIDES those I have enumerated, there are at least two other specimens
of the beggar tribe that deserve mention. They are genteel impostors
both. One avails himself of the advertising columns of the newspaper to
apprise the benevolent of his modest desires, while the other prefers the
more private and delicate process insured by our modern postal system.
Both affect the “reduced gentleman,” and display in their appeals an
amount of artlessness and simple confidence in the charity of their
fellow-creatures that tells unmistakably of their ample possession of
that Christian virtue, while at the same time it conveys to the reader an
idea of the select and highly-exclusive position they should properly
occupy, and from which they have so disastrously descended. It is
evident at a glance that they know nothing of the rough-and-ready ways of
the world, or of its close-fistedness or proneness to suspicion. We know
this, and pity them; otherwise we might be inclined to class them with
those “cheeky” ones in whose praise the young gentleman before mentioned,
of “shallow” extraction, was so hearty, and to treat their impudent
attempts as they deserve. But the touching simplicity of the unfortunate
creatures at once disarms us of suspicion. For instance, who could
refrain from immediately responding to the subjoined “petition,” which is
copied strictly from the original? It was delivered through the post,
and was attached as a fly-leaf to a card on which was affixed the
portraits of six young children, each of whom had evidently been “got up”
with extreme care, as regards hair-curling and arrangements of dress and
ribbons, for the photographic process.
“_Children to save_.—Advertisement sent to a few taken from the
London Directory. The father of these British-born Protestant
children is an elderly gentleman, ruined by competition in business,
and past beginning life again; and the mother is in a very precarious
state of health. To seek for adopters is against parental instinct;
and besides it might ultimately come to that, as by the time their
schooling is over, in ten or fifteen years, they would most likely be
orphans, and their willing adopters would be quite welcome to it
(_sic_). At present the father, in his alarm for the fate of these
creatures, seeks for some that would pay, not to the father, but to
good boarding-schools, for their clothing, keeping, and tuition, and
after school-time to see that they should not want. Willing
benefactors are therefore requested to state what they would feel
inclined to do for each child, by one of the numbers given at foot,
to ‘Alphabet, till called for, at the Post-office, No. 1
Liverpool-street, Moorfields, E.C.,’ enclosing card or addressed
envelope to insure correct address, if a reply should be wished.”
Another method of applying the photographic art to the bolstering-up of a
spurious begging petition takes a form even more outrageous than that
which was adopted to exhibit the personal attractions of the distressed
six British-born Protestant children. In the second case it is the
portrait of a handsome young lady, aged about twenty, with a profusion of
lovely hair, and an expression of countenance strikingly artless and
captivating. Accompanying the portrait was a note, as follows:
“Dear Sir,—I am sure, when you learn the cause, that you will pardon
the liberty I take in addressing myself to you. I am impelled to do
so, not only on account of your known humanity, but because I have
seen you and read in your face that you will not turn a deaf ear to
an appeal frankly and trustingly made to you. The fact is, my dear
sir, I am absolutely in want of a sixpence to procure a meal. I am
the only child of a father whom _misfortune_ has reduced to a
condition of abject beggary. Mother I have none. One day I may have
an opportunity of narrating to you the peculiar causes of our present
embarrassment. I should feel it incumbent on me to do so, were I so
fortunate as to make you our creditor for a small sum. Pray spare me
the pain of detailing more minutely the purport of this letter. I am
aware of the boldness of the step I am taking, but the misery of my
wretched father must plead for me in excuse. I enclose my likeness
(taken, alas, in happier times, though scarcely six months since), so
that you may see that I am not a _common beggar_. Should my appeal
move your compassion towards me, will you kindly send a note
addressed, Adelaide F. T., Post-office, —?”
The gentleman to whom the above artful concoction was addressed is well
known for his philanthropy, and his name appears frequently in the
newspapers. He is an elderly gentleman, and has grown-up sons and
daughters, consequently he was not a likely person to be trapped by the
lovely Adelaide, who would “feel it incumbent on her to seek out and
personally thank her benefactor,” in the event of his forwarding to her a
pound or so. But it might have been different, if, instead of a
plain-sailing shrewd man of the world, he had been a person afflicted
with vanity. Here was this poor young handsome creature, who had seen
him and read in his face that which induced her to make to him such a
pitiful avowal of her poverty—her _peculiar_ poverty! Why, the story of
the “peculiar cause” that led to the sudden downfall of such a family
must be worth a pound to listen to! Was it justifiable to dishonour the
promise his face had assured to the poor young woman? These or similar
reflections might have betrayed the better judgment of a less experienced
person than Mr. L—. As it was, the artful note served but to ponder over
as one of the latest curiosities in the begging-letter line; while as for
the portrait, it furnished ample food for moralising on how marvellously
deceptive appearances were—especially female appearances.
And if this were the end of the story, the good reader, with all his
honest British inclination for giving the accused the benefit of a doubt,
might be tempted to exclaim, “And, after all, who knows but that the
appeal to this known philanthropist might have been genuine? To be sure,
the shape it assumed was one that might well excite the suspicion of an
individual alive to the surpassing cleverness and cunning of begging
impostors; but at the same time there was sufficient of probability in
the application to protect it from the stigma of impudent fraud.” Such
readers will be glad to hear that all doubts on the matter were set at
rest, and in the following singular, and for one party concerned somewhat
unpleasant, manner. The portrait in question fell into the hands of a
relative of Mr. L—, a gentleman with a hard heart for begging impostors,
and sturdy resolution to put them down and punish them whenever he
encountered them. He was particularly set against mendicants of the
genteel class, and was very severe in his strictures on the abominable
cheat attempted by “Adelaide F. T.” One afternoon, while walking along
Oxford-street, lo, the original of the pictured culprit appeared before
him, artlessly and innocently gazing into a linendraper’s window, and
accompanied by another lady. The resemblance between the first lady and
the photograph was so striking as to place her identity beyond a doubt;
yet in order to make _quite_ sure, our friend withdrew the latter from
his pocketbook, and covertly compared it with the original. It was as
certain as that he had eyes in his head. There was the hair of golden
hue massed behind and raised from the temples; there was the straight
nose, the small winning mouth, and the delicately-rounded chin. The
stern exposer of imposture, however, was not to be moved to mercy by a
pretty face; his course of duty was plain before him, and stepping up to
the lady, he addressed with undisguised severity, “Miss Adelaide T., I
believe?” “You are mistaken, sir.” “Not at all, madam; a friend of mine
was lately favoured with a letter from you enclosing your likeness.” It
was scarcely to be wondered at, that an expression of terror took
possession of the lady’s face, though it was misinterpreted by the
gentleman. Thinking that she was addressed by a drunken man or a maniac,
the lady prudently retreated into the shop the window of which she had
been regarding. More than ever convinced that he was not mistaken, L—’s
friend followed her; and goodness knows what serious consequences might
have ensued, had not the lady been a known customer of the draper as the
daughter of a gentleman of wealth and station. This, of course, led to
an explanation, and to the most earnest and humble apologies on the part
of the pursuer of imposture. The photograph was produced, and
undoubtedly it was a likeness of the lady. How it had got into the hands
of the designing “Adelaide F. T.” no one could tell, but doubtless it was
selected on account of its beauty and prepossessing artlessness. An
endeavour was made to secure the cheats; but from some cause or another
they took alarm, and the decoy letter, addressed “Post-office —,”
remained there until it was returned through the Dead-letter Office.
By the bye, the idea of begging “not for myself, but for another,” is a
dodge not confined to the epistolary impostor. In the neighbourhood in
which I reside, some little time since there made her appearance a very
fine specimen of disinterested generosity of the kind in question: a
little old lady dressed in black, with kid-gloves on her hands, and a
cloak soberly trimmed with black crape. She knocked the knock of a
person used to the genteel fingering of a knocker, and might she be
permitted to speak with the lady of the house? It happened that, at that
moment, the gentleman of the house was going out, and he, hearing the
application, suggested that possibly he might do as well. Undoubtedly,
though it was a trivial matter with which to occupy the attention of a
gentleman. The simple fact was, that the little old lady was bound on a
mission of charity for a poor soul recently left destitute with nine
small children: her aim being the purchase of a mangle and a few
washing-tubs, that the widow might earn an honourable livelihood for her
numerous brood. “I am too poor to supply her with _all_ the money out of
my own slender little purse,” said the old lady, “but I have plenty of
leisure, and I think that you will agree with me, sir, it cannot be
employed more worthily. I do not ask for any large sum on the poor
creature’s behalf; I only ask one single penny. I will not take more
than a penny. I put the pence in this little bag, you see, and by
perseverance I trust that I shall soon accomplish my aim.” As the little
old lady spoke, she cheerfully produced from the folds of her cloak a
stout linen bag heavy with copper money, and containing, I should say, at
least twelve shillings. The little old lady’s manner was plausible and
smooth, and well calculated to impose on the “lady of the house” nine
times out of ten. But unfortunately for her it had been my lot to make
the acquaintance of many strange little old ladies as well as of
gentlemen, and I had my suspicions. I closed the outer door and
confronted her on the mat. “I beg your pardon, but have we not met
before?” I asked her. She looked up suddenly and sharply, with no little
alarm on her wizened old face. “I—I think not, sir,” she faltered. “Do
you happen to know a gentleman named Horsford?” was my next inquiry. The
little old lady looked still more embarrassed. “I did not come here to
discuss my own affairs, sir,” said she with a sorry affectation of
indignation, “nor to answer questions that bear no relation to my
charitable object. I wish you a good-morning, sir!” And with that she
opened the door, and let herself out; and descending the steps quickly,
trotted up the street with guilty speed, and turned the corner, and was
out of sight before I could make up my mind what to do with her.
Of advertising beggars there is a large variety. A great many of them
breathe a pious spirit, or rather gasp;—for it is seldom that these
distressed ones muster courage to cry out until they have endured their
distress even to death’s-door. Not unfrequently the headings or
“catch-lines” of these printed appeals are culled from the Bible. Here
is one, for example:
“‘HELP, OR I PERISH!’—The advertiser (in his sixty-seventh birthday)
was once blessed with a handsome fortune. Drink—he confesses it—has
been the cause of his ruin. He still drinks; not now for pleasure
and in luxury, but to benumb the gnawing of an aroused conscience.
Unless this horrid propensity is checked, the advertiser feels that
he must perish body and soul! Who will save him? He has two sons in
Canada, who are striving men and total abstainers, and who would
receive him with open arms, could he but raise money enough to
purchase some poor outfit, and to pay for the voyage.—Address, X.,
Prescott-street, Whitechapel.”
One cannot help reflecting, that, before contributing towards a fund to
assist the emigration of the aged toper—who appears only to have awoke to
a sense of his abasement now that he is stinted of his gin—he would like
to have the opinion of those striving men, his sons, the total abstainers
in Canada. Possibly they would prefer to honour him at a distance.
According to the ingenious old gentleman’s own showing, he only regards
his sons as possible props to keep him out of a drunkard’s grave; and if,
fettered under the weight imposed on them, they sank with their father
into the same dishonourable sepulchre, it would turn out to be money
decidedly ill invested. All this, supposing the appeal to be genuine,
which in all probability it is not. Were it investigated, the only
truthful hit in the appeal would very likely he found to consist in the
three words, “he still drinks.”
Here is another of more recent date, in the emigration line:
“A lady has an opportunity of going to America, where she could
obtain a good situation as governess, but has not the means of
procuring an outfit. She would be very thankful to anyone who would
lend her 10_l._, which she would promise to return with interest at
the end of the year.”
This is cool, but almost feverish compared with the annexed:
“‘MONEY WITHOUT SECURITY!’—Doubtless these mocking words have struck
many readers besides the advertiser. In his desperate situation he
has often put to himself the question, Is there to be found in this
cruel world a good Samaritan who would confer on a fellow-creature a
boon so precious? Is there one who, blessed with means, can find
delight in raising from the slough of despond a poor wretch stranded
on the bank of the black river of despair? Is there one who will
account it cheap by _lending_ ten pounds, for three months, at
twenty-five per cent interest, to elevate to manly altitude a human
creature who, for want of such a sum, is groaning in the dust? If
so, let him send a Beam of Sunshine to G. S. R., No. 17 Model Lodging
Houses, —.”
One cannot but ask the question, is G. S. R. a madman, or simply an
idiot, who can regard it as a “joke” to waste five shillings for the
privilege of seeing so many lines of empty rubbish in print? Or, again,
are there really any grounds of five shillingsworth for supposing that
amongst the fifty thousand readers of a daily newspaper one may be met
with silly or eccentric or whimsical enough to entertain G. S. R.’s
proposition? It is hard to believe in such a possibility. Still, there
_are_ strange people in the world; every day furnishes evidence of this
fact. Not more than a month ago it came to light that an old lady
residing at Clapham has for years past been in the habit of paying an
organ-grinder thirty shillings a-week—a half-sovereign on the evening of
every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday—to come and play for half-an-hour
under her window. Supposing a rupture between the lady and her musician,
and she had put an advertisement in the _Times_—“A lady, a resident in a
quiet suburb, is desirous of engaging with an organ-grinder. Terms of
service, three half-hours per week, 75_l._ a-year”—who would have
regarded it but as a silly joke?
Here is another begging advertisement of the simple and affecting type:
“A WIDOW’S ONLY COMFORT.—The advertiser begs the kind assistance of
the kind-hearted and benevolent to rescue her pianoforte from the
hands of the broker. It is but a poor old affair (valued only at
12_l._), but it has been her only consolation and solace since the
death of a darling only daughter, whose instrument it was, and it
would break her heart to part with it. Its music and her prayers
should combine to thank any one who was generous enough to restore it
to her. Address — Colebrook-row.”
One more instance, and we will have done with the advertising beggar:
“TO THE AGED AND UNPROTECTED.—A young man, aged twenty-two,
well-built, good-looking, and of a frank and affectionate
disposition, is desirous of acting the part of a son towards any aged
person or persons who would regard his companionship and constant
devotion as an equivalent for his maintenance and clothes and support
generally. The parents of the advertiser are both dead, and he has
not a relative in the wide world. Affluence is not aimed at, no more
than that degree of comfort that moderate means insure. Address, O.
D., —.”
Although it is difficult without a struggle to feel an interest in this
young gentleman’s welfare, we cannot help feeling curious to know what
success his advertisement brought him. Is he still a forlorn orphan,
wasting his many virtues and manly attributes on a world that to him is a
wilderness; or has he happily succeeded in captivating “some aged person
or persons,” and is he at the present time acting the part of a son
towards them, and growing sleek and fat “on that degree of comfort that
moderate means insure”? Were his initials J. D. instead of O. D., we
might imagine that it was our ancient friend Jeremiah Diddler turned up
once more. O. D. stand for Old Diddler, but Jeremiah the ancient must be
aged considerably more than twenty-two. We may rest assured, however,
that the advertiser is an offshoot of that venerable family.
IV.—Fallen Women.