now isn’t half so good as it used to be. People haven’t got the money
to lay out; for it all depends with the working man. The least we take
in a day is, upon an average, sixpence; but taking the good and bad
together, I should say we take about 10_s._ a week. I know there’s some
get more than that, but then there’s many take less. Lately, I know,
I haven’t taken 9_s._ a week myself, and people reckon me one of the
best patterers in the trade. I’m reckoned to have the gift--that is,
the gift of the gab. I never works a last dying speech on any other
than the day of execution--all the edge is taken off of it after that.
The last dying speeches and executions are all printed the day before.
They’re always done on the Sunday, if the murderers are to be hung on
the Monday. I’ve been and got them myself on the Sunday night, over
and over again. The flying stationers goes with the papers in their
pockets, and stand under the drop, and as soon as ever it falls, and
long before the breath is out of the body, they begin bawling out.”
[Here my informant gave a further account of the flying stationers
under the gallows, similar to what I have given. He averred that they
“invented every lie likely to go down.”] “‘Here you have also an exact
likeness,’ they say, ‘of the murderer, taken at the bar of the Old
Bailey!’ when all the time it is an old wood-cut that’s been used for
every criminal for the last forty years. I know the likeness that was
given of Hocker was the one that was given for Fauntleroy; and the
wood-cut of Tawell was one that was given for the Quaker that had
been hanged for forgery twenty years before. Thurtell’s likeness was
done expressly for the ‘papers;’ and so was the Mannings’ and Rush’s
likenesses too. The murders are bought by men, women, and children.
Many of the tradespeople bought a great many of the affair of the
Mannings. I went down to Deptford with mine, and did uncommonly well.
I sold all off. Gentlefolks won’t have anything to do with murders
sold in the street; they’ve got other ways of seeing all about it. We
lay on the horrors, and picture them in the highest colours we can.
We don’t care what’s in the ‘papers’ in our hands. All we want to do
is to sell ’em; and the more horrible we makes the affairs, the more
sale we have. We do very well with ‘love-letters.’ They are ‘cocks;’
that is, they are all fictitious. We give it out that they are from
a tradesman in the neighbourhood, not a hundred yards from where we
are a-standing. Sometimes we say it’s a well-known sporting butcher;
sometimes it’s a highly respectable publican--just as it will suit
the tastes of the neighbourhood. I got my living round Cornwall for
one twelvemonth with nothing else than a love-letter. It was headed,
‘A curious and laughable love-letter and puzzle, sent by a sporting
gentleman to Miss H--s--m, in _this_ neighbourhood;’ that suits any
place that I may chance to be in; but I always patter the name of the
street or village where I may be. This letter, I say, is so worded,
that had it fallen into the hands of her mamma or papa, they could
not have told what it meant; but the young lady, having so much wit,
found out its true meaning, and sent him an answer in the same manner.
You have here, we say, the number of the house, the name of the place
where she lives (there is nothing of the kind, of course), and the
initials of all the parties concerned. We dare not give the real
names in full, we tell them; indeed, we do all we can to get up the
people’s curiosity. I did very well with the ‘Burning of the House of
Commons.’ I happened by accident to put my pipe into my pocket amongst
some of my papers, and burnt them. Then, not knowing how to get rid
of them, I got a few straws. I told the people that my burnt papers
were parliamentary documents that had been rescued from the flames,
and that, as I dare not sell them, I would let them have a straw for
a penny, and give them one of the papers. By this trick I got rid of
my stock twice as fast, and got double the price that I should have
done. The papers had nothing at all to do with the House of Commons.
Some was ‘Death and the Lady,’ and ‘Death and the Gentleman,’ and
others were the ‘Political Catechism,’ and 365 lies, Scotch, English,
and Irish, and each lie as big round as St. Paul’s. I remember a party
named Jack Straw, who laid a wager, half-a-gallon of beer, that he’d
bring home the money for two dozen blank papers in one hour’s time.
He went out into the Old-street-road, and began a patter about the
political affairs of the nation, and Sir Robert Peel, and the Duke of
Wellington, telling the public that he dared not sell his papers, they
were treasonable; so he gave them with a straw--that he sold for one
penny. In less than the hour he was sold clean out, and returned and
drank the beer. The chief things that I work are quarter-sheets of
recitations and dialogues. One is ‘Good Advice to Young Men on Choosing
their Wives.’ I have done exceedingly well with that--it’s a good moral
thing. Another is the ‘Drunkard’s Catechism;’ another is ‘The Rent Day;
or, the Landlord gathering his Rents.’ This is a dialogue between the
landlord and his tenant, beginning with ‘Good morning, Mrs. Longface;
have you got my rent ready, ma’am?’ The next one is ‘The Adventures
of Larry O’Flinn.’ It’s a comic story, and a very good got-up thing.
Another is ‘A Hint to Husbands and Wives;’ and ‘A Pack of Cards turned
into a Bible, a Prayer-book, and an Almanack.’ These cards belonged
to Richard Middleton, of the 60th regiment of foot, who was taken a
prisoner for playing at cards in church during divine service. But the
best I do is ‘The Remarkable Dream of a Young Man of loose character,
who had made an agreement to break into a gentleman’s house at twelve
at night on Whitsun Monday, but, owing to a little drink that he took,
he had a remarkable dream, and dreamed he was in hell. The dream had
such influence on his mind that he refused to meet his comrade. His
comrade was taken up for the burglary, found guilty, and executed for
it. This made such an impression on the young man’s mind that he became
a reformed character.’ There is a very beautiful description of hell in
this paper,” said my informant, “that makes it sell very well among the
old women and the apprentice lads, for the young man was an apprentice
himself. It’s all in very pretty poetry, and a regular ‘cock.’ The
papers that I work chiefly are what are called ‘the standing patters;’
they’re all of ’em stereotype, and some of them a hundred years old. We
consider the ‘death hunters’ are the lowest grade in the trade. We can
make most money of the murders while they last, but they don’t last,
and they merely want a good pair of lungs to get them off. But it’s
not every one, sir, that can work the standing patters. Many persons
I’ve seen try at it and fail. One old man I knew tried the ‘Drunkard’s
Catechism’ and the ‘Soldier’s Prayer-book and Bible.’ He could manage
to patter these because they’ll almost work themselves; but ‘Old Mother
Clifton’ he broke down in. I heard him do it in Sun-street and in the
Blackfriars-road; but it was such a dreadful failure--he couldn’t
humour it a bit--that, thinks I to myself, you’ll soon have to give
up, and sure enough he’s never been to the printer’s since. He’d a
very poor audience, chiefly boys and girls, and they were laughing at
him because he made so many blunders in it. A man that’s never been to
school an hour can go and patter a dying speech or ‘A Battle between
Two Ladies of Fortune.’ They require no scholarship. All you want is
to stick a picture on your hat, to attract attention, and to make all
the noise you can. It’s all the same when they does an ‘Assassination
of Louis Philippe,’ or a ‘Diabolical Attempt on the Life of the
Queen’--a good stout pair of lungs and plenty of impudence is all that
is required. But to patter ‘Bounce, the Workhouse Beadle, and the
Examination of the Paupers before the Poor-law Commissioners,’ takes a
good head-piece and great gift of the gab, let me tell you. It’s just
the same as a play-actor. I can assure you I often feel very nervous.
I begin it, and walk miles before I can get confidence in myself to
make the attempt. I got rid of two quire last night. I was up among
the gentlemen’s servants in Crawford-street, Baker-street, and I had
a very good haul out of the grown-up people. I cleared 1_s._ 8_d._
altogether. I did that from seven till nine in the evening. It’s all
chance-work. If it’s fine, and I can get a crowd of grown-up people
round me, I can do very well, but I can’t do anything amongst the boys.
There’s very little to be done in the day-time. I begin at ten in the
day, and stop out till one. After that I starts off again at five, and
leaves off about ten at night. Marylebone, Paddington, and Westminster
I find the best places. The West-end is very good the early part of
the week, for any thing that’s genteel, such as the ‘Rich Man and his
Wife quarrelling because they have no Family.’ Our customers there are
principally the footmen, the grooms, and the maid-servants. The east
end of the town is the best on Friday and Saturday evenings. I very
often go to Limehouse on Friday evening. Most part of the dock-men are
paid then, and anything comic goes off well among them. On Saturdays
I go to the New-cut, Ratcliff-highway, the Brill, and such places. I
make mostly 2_s._ clear on a Saturday night. After nineteen years’
experience of the patter and paper line in the streets, I find that
a foolish nonsensical thing will sell twice as fast as a good moral
sentimental one; and, while it lasts, a good murder will cut out the
whole of them. It’s the best selling thing of any. I used at one time
to patter religious tracts in the street, but I found no encouragement.
I did the ‘Infidel Blacksmith’--that would not sell. ‘What is
Happiness? a Dialogue between Ellen and Mary’--that was no go. No more
was the ‘Sorrows of Seduction.’ So I was driven into the comic standing
patters.”
The more recent “experiences” of standing patterers, as they were
detailed to me, differ so little in subject, or anything else, from
what I have given concerning running patterers, that to cite them would
be a repetition.
From the best information to be obtained, I have no doubt that there
are always at least 20 standing patterers--sometimes they are called
“boardmen”--at work in London. Some of them “run” occasionally, but an
equal number or more, of the regular “runners” resort now and then to
the standing patter, so the sum is generally kept up.
Notwithstanding the drawbacks of bad weather, which affects
the standing, and does not affect the running, patterer; and
notwithstanding the more frequent interruptions of the police, I am of
opinion that the standing patterer earns on an average 1_s._ a week
more than his running brother. His earnings too are often all his own;
whereas the runners are a ‘school,’ and, their gains divided. More
running patterers become, on favourable occasions, stationary, with
boards, perhaps in the proportion of five to four, than the stationary
become itinerant. One standing patterer told me, that, during the
excitement about the Sloanes, he cleared full 3_s._ a day for more than
a week; but at other times he had cleared only 1_s._ 6_d._ in a whole
week, and he had taken nothing when the weather was too wet for the
standing work, and there was nothing up to “run” with.
If, then, 20 standing patterers clear 10_s._ weekly, each, the year
through--“taking” 15_s._ weekly--we find that 780_l._ is yearly
expended in the standing patter of London streets.
The capital required for the start of the standing is greater than that
needed by the running patterer. The painting for a board costs 3_s._
6_d._; the board and pole, with feet, to which it is attached, 5_s._
6_d._; and stock-money, 2_s._; in all, 11_s._
OF POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, ETC.
To “work a litany” in the streets is considered one of the higher
exercises of professional skill on the part of the patterer. In working
this, a clever patterer--who will not scruple to introduce anything
out of his head which may strike him as suitable to his audience--is
very particular in his choice of a mate, frequently changing his
ordinary partner, who may be good “at a noise” or a ballad, but not
have sufficient acuteness or intelligence to patter politics as if
he understood what he was speaking about. I am told that there are
not twelve patterers in London whom a critical professor of street
elocution will admit to be capable of ‘working a catechism’ or a
litany. “Why, sir,” said one patterer, “I’ve gone out with a mate to
work a litany, and he’s humped it in no time.” To ‘hump,’ in street
parlance, is equivalent to ‘botch,’ in more genteel colloquialism. “And
when a thing’s humped,” my informant continued, “you can only ‘call a
go.’” To ‘call a go,’ signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt
some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some change or other in
consequence of a failure.
An elderly man, not now in the street trade, but who had “pattered off
a few papers” some years ago, told me that he had heard three or four
old hands--“now all dead, for they’re a short-lived people”--talk of
the profits gained and the risk ran by giving Hone’s parodies on the
Catechism, Litany, St. Athanasius’ Creed, &c. in the streets, after
the three consecutive trials and the three acquittals of Hone had made
the parodies famous and Hone popular. To work them in the streets was
difficult, “for though,” said my informant, “there was no new police
in them days, there was plenty of officers and constables ready to
pull the fellows up, and though Hone was acquitted, a beak that wanted
to please the high dons, would find some way of stopping them that
sold Hone’s things in the street, and so next to nothing could be done
that way, but a little was done.” The greatest source of profit, I
learned from the reminiscences of the same man, was in the parlours and
tap-rooms of public-houses, where the patterers or reciters were well
paid “for going through their catechisms,” and sometimes, that there
might be no interruption, the door was locked, and even the landlord
and his servants excluded. The charge was usually 2_d._ a copy, but
1_d._ was not refused.
During Queen Caroline’s trial there were the like interruptions and
hindrances to similar performances; and the interruptions continued
during the passing of the Catholic Emancipation Bill until about the
era of the Reform Bill, and then the hindrance was but occasional. “And
perhaps it was our own fault, sir,” said one patterer, “that we was
then molested at all in the dialogues and catechisms and things; but we
was uncommon bold, and what plenty called sarcy, at that time: we was
so.”
Thus this branch of a street profession continued to be followed, half
surreptitiously, until after the subsidence of the political ferment
consequent on the establishment of a new franchise and the partial
abolition of an old one. The calling, however, has never been popular
among street purchasers, and I believe that it is sometimes followed by
a street-patterer as much from the promptings of the pride of art as
from the hope of gain.
The street-papers in the dialogue form have not been copied nor derived
from popular productions--but even in the case of Political Litanies
and Anti-Corn-law Catechisms and Dialogues are the work of street
authors.
One intelligent man told me, that properly to work a political litany,
which referred to ecclesiastical matters, he “made himself up,” as well
as limited means would permit, as a bishop! and “did stunning, until
he was afraid of being stunned on skilly.” Of the late papers on the
subject of the Pope, I cite the one which was certainly the best of
all that appeared, and concerning which indignant remonstrances were
addressed to some of the newspapers. The “good child” in the patter,
was a tall bulky man; the examiner (also the author), was rather
diminutive:--
“_The old English Bull John_ v. _the Pope’s Bull of Rome_.
“My good Child as it is necessary at this very important crisis; when,
that good pious and very reasonable old gentleman Pope Pi-ass the
nineth has promised to favor us with his presence, and the pleasures
of Popery--and trampled on the rights and privilages which, we, as
Englishmen, and Protestants, have engaged for these last three hundred
years--Since Bluff, king Hal. began to take a dislike to the broad
brimmed hat of the venerable Cardinal Wolsey, and proclaimed himself
an heretic; It is necessary I say, for you, and all of you, to be
perfect in your Lessons so as you may be able to verbly chastize this
saucy prelate, his newly made Cardinal Foolishman, and the whole
host of Puseites and protect our beloved Queen, our Church, and our
Constitution.
“_Q._ Now my boy can you tell me what is your Name?
“_A._ B---- Protestant.
“_Q._ How came you by that name?
“_A._ At the time of Harry the stout, when Popery was in a galloping
consumption the people protested against the surpremacy and instalence
of the Pope; and his Colleges had struck deep at the hallow tree of
superstition I gained the name of Protestant, and proud am I, and ever
shall be to stick to it till the day of my death.
“_Let us say._
“From all Cardinals whether wise or foolish. Oh! Queen Spare us.
“_Spare us, Oh Queen._
“From the pleasure of the Rack, and the friendship of the kind hearted
officers of the Inquisition. Oh! Johnny hear us.
“_Oh! Russell hear us._
“From the comforts of being frisled like a devil’d kindney. Oh! Nosey
save us.
“_Hear us Oh Arthur._
“From such saucy Prelates, as Pope Pi-ass. Oh! Cumming’s save us.
“_Save us good Cumming._
“And let us have no more Burnings in smithfield, no more warm drinks
in the shape of boiled oil, or, molten lead, and send the whole
host of Pusyites along with the Pope, Cardinals to the top of mount
Vesuvius there to dine off of hot lava, so that we may live in peace &
shout long live our Queen, and No Popery!”
For some pitches the foregoing was sufficient, for a street auditory
“hates too long a patter;” but where a favourable opportunity offered,
easily tested by the pecuniary beginnings, the “Lesson of the Day” was
given in addition, and was inserted after the second “Answer” in the
foregoing parody, so preceding the “Let us say:”
“_The Lesson of the Day._
“You seem an intelligent lad, so I think you are quite capable of
Reading with me the Lessons for this day’s service.
“Now the Lesson for the day is taken from all parts of the Book of
Martyr’s, beginning at just where you like.
“It was about the year 1835, that a certain renagade of the name of
Pussy--I beg his pardon, I mean Pusey, like a snake who stung his
master commenced crawling step by step, from the master; he was bound
to serve to worship a puppet, arrayed in a spangle and tincel of a
romish showman.
“And the pestelance that he shed around spread rapidly through the
minds of many unworthy members of our established Church; even up to
the present year, 1850, inasmuch that St Barnabus, of Pimlico, unable
to see the truth by the aid of his occulars, mounted four pounds of
long sixes in the mid-day, that he might see through the fog of his
own folly, by which he was surrounded.
“And Pope Pi-ass the nineth taking advantage of the hubub, did create
unto himself a Cardinal in the person of one Wiseman of Westminster.
“And Cardinal broadbrim claimed four counties in England as his
dioces, and his master the Pope claimed as many more as his sees, but
the people of England could not see that, so they declared aloud they
would see them blowed first.
“So when Jack Russell heard of his most impudent intentions, he sent
him a Letter saying it was the intention of the people of England
never again to submit to their infamous mumerys for the burnings in
Smithfield was still fresh in their memory.
“And behold great meetings were held in different parts of England
where the Pope was burnt in effigy, like unto a Yarmouth Bloater, as a
token of respect for him and his followers.
“And the citizens of London were stanch to a man, and assembled
together in the Guildhall of our mighty City and shouted with
stentarian lungs, long live the Queen and down with the Pope, the
sound of which might have been heard even unto the vatican of Rome.
“And when his holyness the Pope heard that his power was set at
naught, his nose became blue even as a bilberry with rage and declared
Russell and Cummings or any who joined in the No Popery cry, should
ever name the felisity of kissing his pious great toe.
“_Thus Endeth the Lesson._”
In the course of my inquiries touching this subject I had more than
once occasion to observe that an acute patterer had always a reason,
or an excuse for anything. One quick-witted Irishman, whom I knew to
be a Roman Catholic, was “working” a “patter against the Pope,” (not
the one I have given), and on my speaking to him on the subject, and
saying that I supposed he did it for a living, he replied: “That’s it
then, sir. You’re right, sir, yes. I work it just as a Catholic lawyer
would plead against a Catholic paper for a libel on Protestants--though
in his heart he knew the paper was right--and a Protestant lawyer
would defend the libel hammer and tongs. Bless you, sir, you’ll not
find much more honour that way among us (laughing) than among them
lawyers; not much.” The readiness with which the sharpest of those men
plead the doings not only of tradesmen, but of the learned and sacred
professions, to justify themselves, is remarkable.
Sometimes a dialogue is of a satirical nature. One man told me that
the “Conversation between Achilles and the Wellington Statue,” of
which I give the concluding moiety, was “among the best,” (he meant
for profit), “but no great thing.” My informant was Achilles--or, as
he pronounced it, Atchilees--and his mate was the statue, or “man on
the horse.” The two lines, in the couplet form, which precede every
two paragraphs of dialogue, seem as if they represent the speakers
wrongfully. The answer should be attributed, in each case, to Achilles.
“The hoarse voice it came from the statue of Achilles
And ’twas answer’d thus by the man on the horse.
“Little man of little mind havn’t I now got iron blinds, and
bomb-proof rails when danger assails, a cunning devised job, to keep
out an unruly mob, with high and ambitious views and remarkable queer
shoes; I say, Old Nakedness, I say, come and see my frontage over the
way, but I believe you can’t get out after ten!
“No, you’re as near where you are as at Quatre Bras, I hear a great
deal what the public think and feel, plain as the nose on your face,
we’re deemed a national disgrace; they grumble at your high-ness, and
at my want of shyness, and say many unpleasant things of Ligny and
Marchienne!
“The hoarse voice it came from the statue of Achilles
And ’twas answer’d thus by the man on the horse.
“Ah! its a few days since the Nive, where Soult found me all alive,
and the grand toralloo I made at Bordeaux; wasn’t I in a nice mess,
when Boney left Elba and left no address, besides 150 other jobs with
the chill off I could bring to view.
“But then people will say, poor unfortunate Ney, and that you were
dancing at a ball, and not near Hogumont at all, and that the job of
St. Helena might have been done rather cleaner, and it was a shameful
go to send Sir Hudson Lowe, and that you took particular care of No.
1, at Waterloo.
“The hoarse voice it came from the statue of Achilles
And ’twas answer’d thus by the man on the horse.
“Why flog ’em and ’od ’rot em, who said ‘Up Guards and at ’em!’ and
you know that nice treat I received in Downing Street, when hooted by
a thousand or near, defended by an old grenadier, so no whopping I
got, good luck to his old tin pot, oh! there’s a deal of brass in me
I’ll allow.
“Its prophecied you’ll break down, they’re crying it about town, and
many jokes are past, that you’re brought to the scaffold at last,
and they say I look black, because I’ve no shirt to my back, and its
getting broad daylight, I vow!
“The hoarse voice it came from the statue of Achilles
But ’twas answer’d thus by the man on the horse.
“H. V. HOOKER.”
Of parodies other than the sort of compound of the Litany and other
portions of the Church Service, which I have given, there are none in
the streets--neither are there political duets. Such productions as
parodies on popular songs, “Cab! cab! cab!” or “Trip! trip! trip!” are
now almost always derived, for street-service, from the concert-rooms.
But they relate more immediately to ballads, or street song; and not to
patter.
OF “COCKS,” ETC.
These “literary forgeries,” if so they may be called, have already
been alluded to under the head of the “Death and Fire Hunters,” but it
is necessary to give a short account of a few of the best and longest
known of those stereotyped; no new cocks, except for an occasion, have
been printed for some years.
One of the stereotyped cocks is, the “Married Man Caught in a Trap.”
One man had known it sold “for years and years,” and it served, he
said, when there was any police report in the papers about sweethearts
in coal-cellars, &c. The illustration embraces two compartments. In
one a severe-looking female is assaulting a man, whose hat has been
knocked off by the contents of a water-jug, which a very stout woman is
pouring on his head from a window. In the other compartment, as if from
an adjoining room, two women look on encouragingly. The subject matter,
however, is in no accordance with the title or the embellishment. It is
a love-letter from John S--n to his most “adorable Mary.” He expresses
the ardour of his passion, and then twits his adored with something
beyond a flirtation with Robert E--, a “decoyer of female innocence.”
Placably overlooking this, however, John S--n continues:--
“My dearest angel consent to my request, and keep me no longer in
suspense--nothing, on my part, shall ever be wanting to make you
happy and comfortable. My apprenticeship will expire in four months
from hence, when I intend to open a shop in the small ware line, and
your abilities in dress-making and self-adjusting stay-maker, and the
assistance of a few female mechanics, we shall be able to realize an
independency.”
“Many a turn in seductions talked about in the papers and not talked
about nowhere,” said one man, “has that slum served for, besides other
things, such as love-letters, and confessions of a certain lady in this
neighbourhood.”
Another old cock is headed, “Extraordinary and Funny Doings in this
Neighbourhood.” The illustration is a young lady, in an evening dress,
sitting with an open letter in her hand, on a sort of garden-seat, in
what appears to be a churchyard. After a smart song, enforcing the
ever-neglected advice that people should “look at home and mind their
own business,” are two letters, the first from R. G.; the answer from
S. H. M. The gentleman’s epistle commences:--
“Madam,
“The love and tenderness I have hitherto expressed for
you is false, and I now feel that my indifference towards
you increases every day, and the more I see you the more
you appear ridiculous in my eyes and contemptible--
I feel inclined & in every respect disposed & determined
to hate you. Believe me, I never had any inclination
to offer you my hand.”
The lady responds in a similar strain, and the twain appear very angry,
until a foot-note offers an explanation: “By reading every other line
of the above letters the true meaning will be found.”
Of this class of cocks I need cite no other specimens, but pass on to
one of another species--the “Cruel and Inhuman Murder Committed on the
Body of Capt. Lawson.” The illustration is a lady, wearing a coronet,
stabbing a gentleman, in full dress, through the top button of his
waistcoat. The narrative commences:--
“WITH surprise we have learned that this neighbourhood for a length
of time was amazingly alarmed this day by a crowd of people carrying
the body of Mr. James Lawless, to a doctor while streams of blood
besmeared the way in such a manner that the cries of Murder re-echoed
the sound of numerous voices. It appears that the cause of alarm,
originated through a court-ship attended with a solemn promise of
marriage between him and miss Lucy Guard, a handsome young Lady of
refined feelings with the intercourse of a superior enlightened mind
she lived with her aunt who spared neither pain nor cost to improve
the talents of miss G. those seven years past, since the death of her
mother in Ludgate Hill, London, and bore a most excellent character
until she got entangled by the delumps alcurement of Mr. L.”
The writer then deplores Miss Guard’s fall from virtue, and her
desertion by her betrayer, “on account of her fortune being small.”
Capt. Lawson, or Mr. James Lawless, next woos a wealthy City maiden,
and the banns are published. What follows seems to me to be a rather
intricate detail:--
“We find that the intended bride learned that Miss Guard, held certain
promissory letters of his, and that she was determined to enter an
action against him for a breach of promise, which moved clouded
Eclipse over the extacy of the variable miss Lawless who knew that
Miss G had Letters of his sufficient to substantiate her claims in a
court.”
Lawson visits Miss Guard to wheedle her out of his letters, but “she
drew a large carving-knife and stabbed him under the left breast.” At
the latest account the man was left without hope of recovery, while
“the valiant victress” was “ordered to submit to judicial decorum in
the nineteenth year of her age.” The murders and other atrocities for
which this “cock” has been sponsor, are--I was informed emphatically--a
thundering lot!
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS OF STREET-ART--No. II.
Murder of Captain Lawson.
(A “COCK.”)]
I conclude with another cock, which may be called a narrative “on
a subject,” as we have “ballads on a subject” (afterwards to be
described), but with this difference, that the narrative is fictitious,
and the ballad must be founded on a real event, however embellished.
The highest newspaper style, I was told, was aimed at. Part of the
production reads as if it had done service during the Revolution of
February, 1848.
“Express from Paris. Supposed Death of LOUIS NAPOLEON. We stop the
press to announce, That Luis Napoleon has been assasinated, by some
it is said he is shot dead, by others that he is only wounded in the
right arm.
“We have most important intelligence from Paris. That capital is in
a state of insurrection. The vivacious people, who have herefore
defeated the goverment by paving-stones, have again taken up those
missiles. On Tuesday the Ministers forbade the reform banquet, and
the prefect of police published a proclamation warning the people to
respect the laws, which he declared were violated, and he meant to
enforce them. But the people dispised the proclamation and rejected
his authority. They assembled in great multitudes round the Chambers
of Deputies, and forced their way over the walls. They were attacked
by the troops and dispersed, but, re-assembled in various quarters.
They showed their hatred of M. Guizot by demolishing his windows
and attempting to force an entrance into his hotel, but were again
repulced by the troops. All the military in Paris, and all the
National Guard, have been summoned to arms, and every preparation made
on the part of the government to put down the people.