this “Address” put into his mouth, Napoleon might never have learned that
little lesson about “striking his medals at London;” or, if Wellington
had met the bard, he would probably have told him what he told an
ultra-obsequious hero-worshipper who doffed his hat to the great soldier,
and remarked how pleased he was to do so—“Don’t be a damned fool!” The
author of _The Gentle Shepherd_ waxed wroth with Lucky Reid over the
liberties she took with his text, and one wonders what he would have said
had he seen the later version of “Lochaber No More.” Borrowing Ramsay’s
title, some minstrel who “rhymed in [odd] numbers” composed a Jacobite
song, of which the following are the closing stanzas:—
“Defeating of Johnny Coup at Prestonpans
Enliven’d our hearts and encouraged our clans;
Being flush’d with success, we to England did steer,
But valiant Duke William put us all in great fear.
“He fought us, he beat us, he ruin’d us quite,
And now we are all in a sorrowful plight!
May Heaven its blessing upon thee, love, pour,
For thee nor Lochaber I ne’er shall see more.”
If the Jacobite lines were as broken as these, they were in a sorrowful
plight indeed.
It is only fair, however, to say that these doggerel effusions formed a
small percentage of the songs which were issued in chapbook form. The
best of our national minstrelsy was put in circulation in this way,
although acknowledgments of authorship were seldom made. Publishers
apparently believed that the song, not the singer, deserved to survive.
Burns had a chapbook devoted to himself, and a fairly good selection of
his songs is given in it; and he and other bards—Tannahill, Hogg, Scott,
Lady Nairne, Susanna Blamire, Jean Elliot, Ramsay, Sempill, Macneill—are
represented in many publications.
It is not improbable that, so far as Scottish song is concerned, the
chapbook in one way did a distinct disservice to the cause. Rude
productions such as those cited were committed to print and stereotyped
for all time, or as much of it as they might survive. In this way their
crudities were perpetuated. Had topical ballads such as “The Lamentation
for Mr. M’Kay” and “Wellington’s Address,” and lyrics of love like “The
True Lovers’ Farewell” and “The Sailor’s Journal,” been cast upon the
world after the manner of our early ballad minstrelsy, and made to depend
for existence on oral tradition, they, in passing from mouth to mouth,
might have been shorn of their faulty rhymes and infelicitous expressions
as the poly-sided stone is smoothed of its angularities by the ebb and
flow of many tides. The means taken for their preservation may have
proved their undoing!
CONCLUSION.
The foregoing survey, brief though it is, may be sufficient to indicate
the varied nature, as well as the poverty and riches, of the productions
that went to the formation of our chapbook literature. Every one of the
five divisions was supplemented by publications from beyond the Border;
and even though Professor Fraser’s opinion, that the English chapbook was
inferior to the Scottish, be true, no student of the subject can fail to
be struck with the variety which the English compositions gave to the
publications of the north. We have nothing, for example, to take the
place of _The Comical History of the King and the Cobbler_; and there is
no doubt that the Scot would laugh as hilariously as the Englishman over
the “entertaining and merry tricks” that were enacted in the Strand in
the early hours of the morning, when the King of all England discussed a
pot of ale with the poor follower of St. Crispin. The wonder is that we
have nothing. These tales of King Henry the Eighth are in line with the
adventures of King James the Fifth, and it does seem strange that _Harry
Tudor_ never suggested _The Gudeman of Ballengeich_ to a Scottish author
as a subject for chapbook treatment. Again, our romances and fairy tales
would make a poor show were it not for the classics imported from south
of Tweed; and our sermons and religious verse would lose much in bulk at
least if we expunged the tractates of English ministers and the simple
rhymes of Isaac Watts. Mother Bunch and Mrs. Shipton were not native
born. The adventures of Dick Turpin, George Barnwell, and James Allan the
Northumberland Piper, were pleasing variants to those of Rob Roy, Paul
Jones the Pirate, and Gilderoy.
It has been said that the chapbook existed in all its vigour down to
the early years of the nineteenth century, and George Mac Gregor,
clearly confounding a part with the whole, says: “An impression of
their vulgarity got abroad, they were regarded by public moralists as
pestilential, and therefore deserving extinction.”[50] Such a remark can
only apply to the broadly humorous effusions of Graham and productions
of a similar kind, and we must look elsewhere for an explanation of the
passing away of the distinctive chapbook. The introduction of periodical
literature had as much to do with the matter as anything. A notable
printer and publisher of chapbooks in Haddington was Mr. G. Miller, who
sought to impart something new to the cheap literature in existence by
the starting of a penny literary paper. This he entitled _The Cheap
Magazine_, and readers of _A Window in Thrums_ will remember that it was
in the pages of that periodical that Tammas Haggart read the account
of the origin of cock-fighting. But the natives of Thrums and other
places appreciated the old familiar booklets better than _The Cheapy_,
and, after a short existence, it expired. Other publishers endeavoured
to succeed where Miller had failed, but they, too, were unsuccessful,
until the Messrs. Chambers took the matter in hand. The first number of
_Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal_ was produced on 4th February, 1832. From
the beginning its success was phenomenal. Fifty thousand copies of the
first issue were put in circulation, and, so heartily was the new venture
taken up, that the third number totalled the remarkable figure of eighty
thousand. _Chambers’s Journal_ was followed by other publications of a
similar kind, such as _Hogg’s Instructor_ and the _Scottish Reader_,
which have collapsed, and _The People’s Friend_, which was founded in
1869, and still flourishes vigorously.
To keep pace with this newer form of cheap literature, some of the
chapbook firms began the issue of “New and Improved Series.” Reference
has already been made to the “Caledonian Classics of the Common People.”
Another series, “illustrated with fine wood-cuts,” was issued by James
Watt, Montrose; and publishers in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and elsewhere,
hoping to gratify popular taste, set about the preparation of emasculated
versions of Graham’s works. But the public that might have gone on
enjoying the realistic pictures of Scottish life which amused their
fathers would not tolerate the colourless outlines, and ere long they
ceased to sell in any great quantity.
The work of destruction begun by _Chambers’s Journal_ and other similar
periodicals was assisted by the increase of daily and weekly newspapers.
The abolition of the duty on this form of literature gave an impetus to
journalism, and soon organs of all kinds began to issue from all parts
of the country. The bi-weekly of the city became a daily, sometimes with
several editions; and soon every town with a few thousand inhabitants
could boast as many rival newspapers as churches. The circulation of
these sheets demanded the institution of the newsagent, who soon made his
(or her) appearance in town and village and hamlet.[51] The _Advertiser_,
or the _Journal_, or the _Gazette_, penetrated with the mail-coach into
rural parts, and was displayed in the window of the local post-office
beside ginger-bread horses and double-strong peppermints. By and by the
local newsagent found that she could sell song-sheets and dream-books,
almanacs and penny-histories as well as newspapers; and then the “Flying
Stationer” awoke to find his occupation gone. The business of vending
popular literature was silently transferred from one agency to another,
and the chapman became the occasional character he is to-day. He could
still push his trade at farm-towns remote from hamlets, and follow his
vocation at fairs and centres of interest, but as a permanent and general
means of supply he had outlived his time.
Something has already been said of the nature and character of the
literary chapman, and, in taking leave of him here, a few notes may be
added. Like his great prototype, John Cheap, he was seldom a respectable
being, and not unfrequently turned pedlar when he had failed in a higher
line of merchandise. The able-bodied man who makes Saturday night hideous
in our busy streets with his raucous rendering of “the newest and popular
songs of the day,” and spends his profits in the nearest tavern, is
not an unworthy successor to, as he certainly maintains the inglorious
traditions of, the “Flying Stationer” of a century ago. Hawkie describes
two of them as being “as ‘kittle’ neighbours as Glasgow could produce,”
and the description might apply to many, including Cameron himself.
Of course, in the city, amid the excitement of fairs and hangings,
the pedlar was seen at his worst, and to those who may incline to the
opinion that the outline here given is lurid rather than just, the
following sketch of the chapman as he appeared in rural places will be
more acceptable. It is taken from a volume of Scottish sketches, which
was published in 1872, under title, _Round the Grange Farm; or, Good Old
Times_.
“Old Dauvit was a middle-sized, broad-shouldered man, with
a keen, pawky eye, and a very sleek, worldly face. He was
always clad in a blue coat like a large surtout, with big
metal buttons, homespun grey vest and trousers, while his
head was surmounted by a huge broad bonnet with a red top;
round his neck he wore a green and yellow Indian neckerchief,
which encircled his unbleached shirt collar. The lappels of
his coat and vest pockets were the only fanciful parts of his
dress; his pack was tied in a linen table-cover and slung over
his shoulders, but Dauvit strode on as if he felt no burden,
planting his staff firmly on the ground, and keeping a sharp
eye on business. His stock consisted, perhaps, of hardware
goods, comprising _five-bawbee_ knives, needles, pins of all
sizes, from the small ‘mannikin’ to the large ‘Willie Cossar;’
thimbles, scissors, bone-combs, specks; also ballads such as
‘Gill Morice’ and ‘Sir James the Rose,’ or four and eight
page pamphlets generally comprehending among the number ‘John
Cheap the Chapman,’ ‘The King and the Cobbler,’ and ‘Ali
Baba or the Forty Thieves.’ Dauvit had his regular ‘rounds,’
which he traversed twice, or it might be many times a year,
usually contriving at nightfall to reach some friendly
farmhouse, where the cog of porridge and bed of straw were
cheerfully given in return for his budget of news, his packet
of chapbooks, or small parcel of tea and sugar, bespoken on
his last visit. Every person, from the peer to the peasant,
welcomed and encouraged Dauvit to castle and cot. When he
entered a house he had always a suitable remark to set off
his rustic bow and confident familiar smile. ‘Uncommon fine
weather, mistress,’ was his favourite salutation, varying the
‘fine’ with ‘coarse,’ ‘cauld,’ ‘dry,’ ‘wat,’ or ‘changeable,’
to suit the weather. Then followed some complimentary remark,
such as, ‘I needna ask if ye’re weel the day, for ye’re
the very picture o’ health;’ or some decidedly pleasant
observation, especially to the young lasses, as ‘fair fa’ your
bonny face, I haena seen your match in a’ the borders;’ or,
‘Eh, now! but a sight of you’s a gude thing, I wonder if I hae
ony nice ribbon in my pack for you the day,’ with, it might be,
‘Ye’re a comely lassie; I wish he saw you the noo that likes
ye best.’ Of course, after such flattering speeches Dauvit was
asked to lay down his pack and give them his news; and then he,
nothing loath, opened up his budget of information, told the
mistress when he last saw her married daughter, and how she
was looking; delivered the message to Jenny the kitchen-maid,
received from some far-away brother; or told the master all
about the various ‘craps’ upon the different farms he passed
through, generally ending with—‘I hae seen nae pasture to
compare wi’ your ain,’ or, ‘Ye’ve braw corn, maister, in the
park down there.’ He was generally asked to join the family of
the small farmer at meals; but he was a very moderate eater and
well bred in his own fashion, handing all the plates of bread
to the company at table till told again and again ‘that he was
eatin’ nane his sel’ but only watchin’ other folk.’ Dauvit
learned about all the marriages likely to take place, and,
throwing himself in the way of the bridegroom or bride, would
make him or her a present of a ribbon or neckerchief; then,
after a joke and an encomium on the absent one, expressing his
certainty that two such ‘weel-doin’ industrious young folk
couldna but be happy,’ he would inform them that he ‘was aye at
hame frae the last Monday o’ the ae month to the first Monday
o’ the other; or, if they wad either write what they wanted or
come owre, he wad gie them some grand bargains,’ adding ‘that
he wad tak’ the siller as they could gie him it?’ But Geordie
Johnston o’ the Shaw remarked, after doing, as he termed it,
a ‘gude stroke wi’ Dauvit,’ that ‘he wasna sae accommodatin’
as he made believe.’ When business was over, if he could reach
another farm-town before dark, he would roll up the pack, and,
wishing them all ‘a gude afternoon,’ speed on his way; but,
if it was near nightfall, he remained and spent the evening,
sitting with the assembled household round the fire, retailing
his news, or it might be slyly, but faithfully, delivering a
message or letter to some lad or lass amongst the company from
an absent sweetheart. The _fore supper_ was the best time for
gossip, and this, during winter, was from _lowsin’_ time, about
five o’clock, until eight, when the cows were milked and the
horses _suppered_. All eagerly listened to Dauvit’s summary of
news, as well they might, for his budget was varied, extending
from Parliamentary discussion to domestic cookery, the _bairns_
listening so intently and so quietly that they generally fell
asleep on their stools, while the older part of the audience,
unwilling to break the thread of his narrative, scarcely
interrupted him with a single question.”
This picture is more pleasing than that of the drunken crew with whom
Hawkie and the Glasgow police hob-nobbed, and it presents what is the
most favourable sketch that could be drawn of the travelling pedlar. But
it is not essentially different from the coarser portrait to be found in
_John Cheap the Chapman_. Both characters are wily merchants, ever ready
to watch the main chance, and to further their interests by a word in
season or a remark that is flattering rather than complimentary. The life
they live is the same, and when one is a little more decently clad—in
tongue and manner—than the other, it is due to the fact that the portrait
came from a feminine pen. Dauvit doubtless broke as many commandments as
John Cheap, and it was well for him that his author, being a woman, had
not, presumably, so intimate a knowledge of her subject and his sins as
had Dougal Graham of “John Cheap” and his shortcomings.
It is to be feared—perhaps regretted—that the “Flying Stationer” seldom
acquired wealth. If he had watched his business, it could have made him
a man of money. There were large profits on his wares. William Cameron
tells us that he could buy eight-page ballads at twopence a dozen, and
states that, out of a capital of twopence, he made six shillings in about
three hours. On another occasion, he bought tracts at three half-pence a
dozen and sold them so well that by night he had nine shillings, and was
drunk into the bargain. Sometimes, when there was a ready purchase, the
price of the chapbook went up a hundred per cent., and, notwithstanding
the increase, sold by the ream.
The chapman had various ways of going to work. A great deal of his
success lay in his being able to “patter” well. If he could give an
attractive rendering of the song or ballad he was selling, he was sure
to draw a crowd of customers. Sometimes recourse was had to the practice
of vending straw. The “Flying Stationer,” pretending that the books he
carried were of a particularly interesting nature, informed his audience
that he dared not “call” them, but that he would sell them a straw for
a penny and give them a copy of the book to the bargain. This “catch”
seldom failed. The selling of the straw was more or less a piece of
imposition, but sometimes the unscrupulous chapman descended to even
greater fraud. When the worst came to the worst, he did not hesitate
to “patter” one thing and sell another. Cameron, in his interesting
reminiscences of a pedlar’s life, affords an illustration of this, and
the good folks of Paisley were his victims.
“Paisley,” he writes, “was the first town that ever I imposed
on, by selling useless paper for books. One Saturday night I
could get no books to buy, as there was only one bookseller
in Paisley who sold them, George Caldwell, residing in Dyer’s
Wynd, Moss Street, who had retired from business; and in a room
of his dwelling-house was selling off the remainder of his
stock.
“That night he was out, and had taken the key of the room along
with him; I wearied waiting for him, and seeing a number of
papers lying on the kitchen table, I bargained for them with
Mrs. Caldwell; and she, honest woman, not knowing the purpose
for which I wanted them, sold them to me. I went out into the
street, told a long tale, and sold the papers. Times were good
then. I drew upwards of four shillings. None challenged me
that night, but on the Monday following, when I was at the
‘Cross,’ a young woman came to me and said, ‘You rascal, you
cheated me on Saturday night; you sold me a newspaper instead
of a book.’ I asked her, ‘What she gave for it?’ She said, ‘A
halfpenny.’ And I told her ‘She could never be cheated with a
newspaper for a halfpenny.’”[52]
John Milne, a poet-pedlar of Aberdeenshire, who sold his own effusions
over a wide tract of the East of Scotland, always pleaded his cause in
a verse of doggerel. He was one of the later-day chapmen. His poems
frequently dealt with incidents connected with the great religious
struggle that culminated in the Disruption of 1843, and these he recited
at fairs and markets, always concluding with the following lines:—
“I, Jock Milne of the Glen,
Wrote this poem wi’ my ain pen;
And I’m sure I couldna sell it cheaper,
For it’ll hardly pay the price o’ the paper.”[53]
The chapman was not always dealt with in life in a kindly fashion, and
it is to be feared that he frequently found himself deserted and alone
in the hour of death. Sometimes in the gloaming of his days he found “a
hained rig” in the shelter of a city hospital, but it is likely that more
often he died,
“a cadger-powny’s death
At some dyke-side.”
Mr. Alan Reid, writing of John Burness, the author of _Thrummy Cap_, says
his end was unutterably sad. “His occupation was anything but lucrative;
his spirit was broken, and his physique impaired through struggles and
disappointments; and at Portlethen, in 1826, the toiling wayfarer was
overtaken in a snowstorm and literally ‘driven to the wall’ by the
conqueror Death.”[54] The shroud of many, like that of Burness, was woven
by the snowy flakes of a wintry blast.
The flying-stationer did not lack his elegist. Part of a lament for
Dougal Graham has been preserved, but it is more in relation to the
bellman than the pedlar side of his character, and a few lines from the
“Elegy on Peter Duthie”[55] may be quoted in preference to it. Duthie,
who flourished from 1721 to 1812, was a flying-stationer for “upwards of
eighty years,” and when at length he passed away his memory was embalmed
in elegaic verse, from which the following is an extract:—
“Lament ye people, ane an’ a’,
For Peter Duthie’s e’en awa’;
Nae mair will Pate e’er travel round
The circle o’ his native ground;
Nae mair shall he last speeches cry,
Nor in the barns will ever lie;
Nae mair shall he again appear
To usher in the infant year
With _Almanacks_ frae Aberdeen,
The best and truest ever seen;
Nae mair shall he again proclaim
The prophecies in _Rhymer’s_ name;
Nor sell again the great commands,
Nor praise the book ca’d _Meally Hands_;
Nor _Arry’s_ ware for lads and lasses,
Which for the highest wisdom passes;
Nor shall he _Jock and Maggie’s_ tale
Again expose to view or sale;
Nae mair shall he e’er gain a dram
Upon the tricks o’ _Louden Tam_;
_Buchanan’s_ wit he cannot praise,
As aft he did in former days;
Nor tell how _Leper_ threw the cat
Into auld Janet’s boiling pat.
...
[Death’s] sov’reign will nae doubt it was,
Altho’ we canna tell the cause,
To drive poor Peter from the earth,
An’ cause sic mourning into Perth,
Where lang the honest body dwelt,
Where mony a hunder beuk he selt,
An’ where ten thousand wad defend him,
And sae wad ilk ane done that kend him.
Alas! poor Pate! nae mair will ye
Tell tales again wi’ mirth and glee;
Lang will the country lasses weary,
To see that face was ay sae cheery,
A face weel kent o’er Britain’s Isle,
A face ay painted with a smile.
O, wha will now fill up thy place,
And fill it with so good a grace?
There’s only one that I do ken,
Among the mortal sons o’ men,
An’ that is Jackey, ance thy friend,
The fittest fellow e’er I kend;
Thy customers he knew right well,
An’ can a canty story tell,
On winter nights, while round the ingle,
The wheels an’ reels an’ plates do jingle,
So let him now tak’ up thy trade,
An’ then I’m sure his fortune’s made.”
If “Jackey” took up the business where Peter Duthie left it, and lived
to anything like the age of his predecessor, the chances are that his
elegist—if he had one—would not be under the necessity of looking for
somebody to succeed him. By that time, the newsagent would be supplanting
the “Flying Stationer.”
The chapbook was issued from many towns in Scotland, and Dr. Robert
Chambers—though his figure is believed to be well within the mark—put
the annual circulation at 200,000. The leading presses were those of
Glasgow, Edinburgh, Falkirk, Stirling, and Paisley. Many of the chapbooks
were issued without printer’s name, and cannot therefore be assigned to
any particular office. In Edinburgh, the great places of publication
were Niddery’s Wynd and Cowgate, and the most notable printers were J.
Morren and Alexander Robertson. In Glasgow, the firm of James and Matthew
Robertson did an extensive business, and are understood to have realised
£30,000 from the work. Their premises were situated in the historic
Saltmarket. Other printers of the same locality were R. Hutchison and
Thomas Duncan. Francis Orr, who started business in 1790, was a notable
Glasgow printer. In 1825, he assumed his three sons as partners, and his
firm has since been known as that of Francis Orr & Sons. James, the last
of the three sons, died so recently as 1899, leaving wealth to the value
of about a million sterling. Paisley and Falkirk had two outstanding
publishers. In the former town, George Caldwell carried on business, and
was the original printer of many of Dougal Graham’s productions; in the
latter place, T. Johnston issued a numerous collection of chapbooks.
Stirling had no fewer than four printers engaged in the business.
There were the two separate firms of C. Randall and M. Randall, and J.
Fraser and W. Macnie, one or another of whose imprints appear on many
publications. A number of other towns throughout Scotland—Leith, Dundee,
Aberdeen, Kilmarnock, Irvine, Newton-Stewart, Haddington, Montrose,
Airdrie—contributed to the general stock, and endeavoured to meet the
demands of the “Flying Stationer.”