“IN London I had a great quantity of parlours where I was known and
allowed to perform. One night I’d take the West-end, and another the
East-end. Sometimes I have done four or five houses of an evening, and
I have had to walk miles for that--to Woolwich and back for instance,
or to Edmonton and back--and occasionally I’d only come home with
1_s._ 6_d._ I have also had 8_s._ from one parlour only, and then I’d
consider that a night’s performance, and come home again.
“I remember one very peculiar circumstance which happened to me whilst
I was out busking. There is a house at the bottom of York-street,
Westminster, where they wouldn’t allow any other conjurer but me. I
was very friendly with the landlord, and I went there regularly every
week, and I’d invariably take such a thing as 2_s._ or 3_s._ out of the
room. If I found only a small muster in the parlour, I’d say, ‘I’ll
come another evening,’ and go off to another parlour in Pimlico. One
night the company in the parlour said, after I had been performing,
‘What a pity it is that one of your talent doesn’t take a large room
somewhere, and we’d patronise you.’ ‘Why,’ says the landlord, ‘he can
have my large room up-stairs if he likes.’ I agreed to it, and says,
‘Well, gentlemen, we’ll have it next Wednesday evening, if you think
proper.’ The landlord didn’t tell his wife that there was a performance
to take place on the Wednesday evening. When I went to this house to
the appointment, there were about thirty assembled. The landlord was
out. When we asked the landlady for the room, she wouldn’t, and we had
all the difficulty in the world before we got the apartment. I wanted a
large table-cloth to dress up my stand, for I have, in order to perform
some of my tricks, to make a bag with the end of the table-cloth
to drop things into. We sent the waiter to ask for this cloth, and
says she, ‘I ain’t going to lend no conjurers table-cloths.’ Then a
gentleman says, ‘Oh, nonsense, I’ll soon get you a table-cloth. She’ll
lend me one in a minute.’ He goes to the bar, but the reply she made
was, ‘I’m surprised at Mr. W. having such a performance up there, and
no table-cloth shall you have from me.’ He came up-stairs, and said he
had been grossly insulted at the bar; and then another gentleman said,
‘Well, this young man shan’t be disappointed, and we’ll see if we can’t
find another house down the street, and move it to there, and we’ll
all go.’ One went out, and came back and said he’d not only got a very
large room and everything required, but the landlord had four friends
in the bar who’d join our company. I made altogether about 1_l._ that
night, for I made no charge, and it was altogether contribution. None
of that company ever returned to that house again, so he lost the whole
of his parlour customers. I could never go into that house again, and
I really was sorry for the landlord, for it wasn’t his fault. This is
a very good proof that it is to the advantage of landlords to allow
respectable performers to visit their parlours.
“At others times I have sometimes gone into a parlour and found the
customers talking politics. If it was a very good company, and I saw
good business, I’d try to break the thread of the discussion by saying
when there was a pause in the debate, ‘Gentlemen, would you like to see
some of my performances, such as walking round the ceiling with my head
down?’ Then they’d say, ‘Well, that’s very curious; let’s see you.’ Of
course I couldn’t do this, and I only said it to attract notice. Then
I’d do my card-tricks, and make a collection, and, after that, remark
that as the ceiling-walking performance was a dangerous one, I must
have a sovereign; of course they wouldn’t give this, and I’d take my
leave.
“One night, in Oxford-street, I met a singer, and he says, ‘Where are
you going?’ I told him I was hunting for a good parlour, and he told
me he had just left a good company at such and such a house. I thanked
him, and I went there. It was up a long passage, and I entered the room
without asking the landlord’s permission, and I called for a glass of
porter. As soon as I saw the waiter out of the room I made my appeal
to the company. They were all of them agreeable and most happy to
see my performances. After I’d done my performance I went to make a
collection, and they said, ‘Oh, certainly not; we thought you’d done it
for your own amusement; we never give anything to anybody.’ I lost one
hour of the best time of the night. I said, ‘Very good, gentlemen, I’m
satisfied if you are.’ It was an agreed plan with the landlord, for he
came into the room; and he says, ‘What, another one!’ and he seized me
by the neck and pushed me out. As soon as I got outside I met another
conjurer, and he asked where I’d been. I thought I’d let him be served
the same as I was, so I showed him the house, and told him he could
make a second ‘nobbings’ as we term it. I stopped outside peeping over
the glass, and presently I see him being pushed out by the landlord
as I had been. We had a hearty laugh, and then we started off to
Regent-street, to one of our principal houses, but there wasn’t a soul
in the room. It was a house in a back-street, where none but grooms and
footmen resort to. But we was determined to have some money that night,
as both our families wanted it--both him and me did.
“Passing a tobacconist’s shop in Regent-street, we saw three gents
conversing with the lady behind the counter. I told him I’ll go in, get
a pickwick here, and see if I can’t have a performance in the front of
this counter. These things only wants an introduction; so I looks at my
pickwick, and says I, ‘This a pickwick? why I swallows such as these;’
and I apparently swallowed it. One of them says, ‘You don’t mean to say
you swallowed it?’ ‘Certainly I did, sir,’ I replied; and then he makes
me do it again. Then I told them I’d show them something more wonderful
still, so I said, ‘Have you gentlemen such a thing as a couple of
half-crowns about you?’ they gave me the money, and I did the trick of
passing the money from hand to hand. I said to them, ‘Can you tell me
which hand the money’s in?’ says he, ‘Why, anybody can see it’s in that
one.’ ‘No, sir,’ says I, ‘I think not.’ ‘If it ain’t,’ says he, ‘you
may keep ’em.’ Then I opened both hands, and they were in neither, and
he asked where they was then; so I told him I’d given him them back
again, which of course he denied, and appeared much surprised. Then
I took ’em out of his cravat. It’s a very clever trick, and appears
most surprising, though it’s as simple as possible, and all done by
the way in which you take them out of the cravat; for you keep them
palmed, and have to work ’em up into the folds. Of course I returned
the half-crowns to him, but when I heard him say you may keep them I
did feel comfortable, for that was something to the good. My friend
outside was looking through the window, and I could see him rubbing his
hands with glee; I got another half-crown out of them gentlemen before
I’d done with them, for I showed ’em a trick with some walking-sticks
which were lying on the counter, and also cut the tape in two and made
it whole again, and such-like performances. When a fellow is on his
beam-ends, as I was then, he must keep his eyes about him, and have
impudence enough for anything, or else he may stop and starve. The
great art is to be able to do tricks with anything that you can easily
get hold of. If you take up a bit of string from a counter, or borrow
a couple of shillings of a gentleman, your tricks with them startles
him much more than if you had taken them out of your own pocket, for he
sees there’s been no preparation. I got ten shillings out of these two
gents I spoke of, and then I and my mate went and busked in a parlour,
and got fivepence more; so that we shared five and twopence-ha’penny
each.
“I have often made a good deal of money in parlours by showing how
I did my little tricks, such as cutting the tape and passing the
half-crowns. Another thing that people always want to know is the
thimble-rig trick. Of course it doesn’t matter so much showing how
these tricks are done, because they depend upon the quickness and
dexterity of handling. You may know how an artist paints a picture, but
you mayn’t be able to paint one yourself.
“I never practised thimble-rigging myself, for I never approved of it
as a practice. I’ve known lots of fellows who lived by it. Bless you!
they did well, never sharing less than their 4_l._ or 5_l._ every day
they worked. This is the way it’s done. They have three thimbles, and
they put a pea under two of ’em, so that there’s only one without the
pea. The man then begins moving them about and saying, ‘Out of this one
into that one,’ and so on, and winds up by offering to ‘lay anything,
from a shilling to a pound,’ that nobody can tell which thimble the
pea is under. Then he turns round to the crowd, and pretends to be
pushing them back, and whilst he’s saying, ‘Come, gentlemen, stand
more backwarder,’ one of the confederates, who is called ‘a button,’
lifts up one of the thimbles with a pea under it, and laughs to those
around, as much as to say, ‘We’ve found it out.’ He shows the pea two
or three times, and the last time he does so, he removes it, either
by taking it up under his forefinger nail or between his thumb and
finger. It wants a great deal of practice to do this nicely, so as not
to be found out. When the man turns to the table again the button says,
‘I’ll bet you a couple of sovereigns I know where the pea is. Will any
gentleman go me halves?’ Then, if there’s any hesitation, the man at
the table will pretend to be nervous and offer to move the thimbles
again, but the button will seize him by the arm, and shout as if he was
in a passion, ‘No, no, none of that! It was a fair bet, and you shan’t
touch ’em.’ He’ll then again ask if anybody will go him halves, and
there’s usually somebody flat enough to join him. Then the stranger is
asked to lift up the thimble, so that he shouldn’t suspect anything,
and of course there’s no pea there. He is naturally staggered a bit,
and another confederate standing by will say calmly, ‘I knew you was
wrong; here’s the pea;’ and he lifts up the thimble with the second pea
under it. If nobody will go shares in the ‘button’s’ bet, then he lifts
up the thimble and replaces the pea as he does so, and of course wins
the stake, and he takes good care to say as he pockets the sovereign,
‘I knew it was there; what a fool you was not to stand in.’ The second
time they repeat the trick there’s sure to be somebody lose his money.
There used to be a regular pitch for thimble-riggers opposite Bedlam,
when the shows used to put up there. I saw a brewer’s collector lose
7_l._ there in less than half-an-hour. He had a bag full of gold,
and they let him win the three first bets as a draw. Most of these
confederates are fighting-men, and if a row ensues they’re sure to get
the best of it.
“A very good place where I used to go busking was at Mother Emmerson’s
in Jermyn-street. There used to be all sorts of characters there,
jugglers, and singers, and all sorts. It was a favourite house of
the Marquis of Waterford, and he used to use it nearly every night.
I’ve seen him buy a pipe of port, and draw tumblers of it for any
body that came in, for his great delight was to make people drunk. He
says to Mrs. Emmerson, ‘How much do you want for that port, mother?’
and then he wrote a cheque for the amount and had it tapped. He was
a good-hearted fellow, was my Lord; if he played any tricks upon
you, he’d always square it up. Many a time he’s given me half-a-pint
of brandy, saying, ‘That’s all you’ll get from me.’ Sometimes I’d
say to him, ‘Can I show you a few tricks, my Lord?’ and then, when
I’d finished, I knew he never gave money if you asked him for it,
so I’d let him abuse me, and order me out of the house as a humbug;
and then, just as I’d got to the door, he’d call me back and give me
half-a-sovereign. I’ve seen him do some wonderful things. I’ve seen him
jump into an old woman’s crockeryware-basket, while she was carrying
it along, and smash everything. Sometimes he’d get seven or eight cabs
and put a lot of fiddlers and other musicians on the roofs, and fill
’em with anybody that liked, and then go off in procession round the
streets, he driving the first cab as fast as he could and the bands
playing as loud as possible. It’s wonderful the games he’d be up to.
But he always paid handsomely for whatever damage he did. If he swept
all the glasses off a counter, there was the money to make ’em good
again. Whenever I did any tricks before him, I took good care not to
produce any apparatus that I cared for, or he’d be sure to smash it.
“One night I hadn’t a penny in the world, and at home I knew they
wanted food; so I went out to busk, and I got over in the Old
Kent-road, and went to a house there called the Green Man. I walked
into the parlour; and though I hadn’t a penny in my pocket, I called
for four pen’orth of rum and water. I put my big dice down upon the
table by the side of me, and begun sipping my rum, and I could see
everybody looking at this dice, and at last, just as I expected,
somebody asked what it was. So I says--‘Gentlemen, I get my living
this way, and if you like, I shall be happy to show you a few of my
deceptions for your entertainment.’ They said, ‘Certainly, young man,
we are perfectly agreeable.’ Ah! I thought to myself, thank heaven
that’s all right, for I owed for the rum and water you see, and if
they’d refused, I don’t know what I should have done. I pulled out my
nice clean cloth and laid it upon the table, and to work I went. I had
only done one or two tricks, when in comes the waiter, and directly
he sees me he cries out, ‘We don’t allow no conjurers or anything of
that kind here,’ and I had to pack up again. When he’d gone the company
said, ‘Go on, young man, it’s all right now;’ so I out with my cloth
again; then in came the landlord, and says he, ‘You’ve already been
told we don’t allow none of you conjurer fellows here,’ and I had to
put up a second time. When he’d gone, the gents told me to begin again.
I had scarcely spread my cloth when in comes the landlord again, in a
towering rage, and shouts out, ‘What, at it again! Now you be off;’
so I said, ‘I only did it to oblige the company present, who were
agreeable, and that I hadn’t yet finished my rum and water, which
wasn’t paid for.’ ‘Not paid for?’ says he; ‘No,’ says I: ‘but I’m
waiting here for a friend, and he’ll pay for it.’ You may imagine my
feelings, without a penny in my pocket. ‘Don’t let me catch you at it
again, or I’ll give you in charge,’ says he. Scarcely had he left again
when the company began talking about it, and saying it was too bad to
stop me; so one of them rings the bell, and when the landlord comes
in he says, ‘Mr. Landlord, this young person has been very civil, and
conducted himself in a highly respectable manner, and has certainly
afforded us a great deal of amusement; now why should you object to his
showing us some tricks?’ ‘Thank heavens,’ thought I to myself, ‘I’m
saved, and the rum will be paid for.’ The landlord’s manner altered all
of a sudden, and says he, ‘Oh, certainly, gentlemen! certainly! if it’s
your wish, I don’t mind the young man’s being here; though I make it
a rule to keep my parlour select.’ Then I set to work and did all my
tricks comfortably, and I made a collection of 7_s._ 6_d._ Then I rang
the bell like a lord, and I put down a shilling to pay for the rum and
water, and saying, ‘Gentlemen, I’m very much obliged to you for your
patronage,’ to which they replied, ‘Not at all, young man,’ I walked
past the bar to leave. Then the landlord comes up to me and says,
shaking his fist, and blue in the face with rage, ‘If ever I catch you
here again, you d---- rogue, I’ll give you to a policeman.’ So, without
more ado, I walks round to the other door, and enters the parlour again
and tells the company, and they had in the landlord and blowed him well
up. This will just show you the risks we have to run when out busking
for a living, and what courage is wanted to speculate upon chances.
“There are very few conjurers out busking now. I don’t know above
four; one of ’em has had the best chances in the world of getting on;
but he’s a very uneducated man, and that has stood in his way, though
he’s very clever, and pr’aps the best hand at the cups and balls of
any man in England. For instance, once he was at a nobleman’s party,
giving his entertainment, and he says such a thing as this:--‘You see,
my lords and ladies, I have a tatur in this hand, and a tatur in that;
now I shall pass ’em into this handkercher.’ Of course the nobleman
said to himself, ‘Tatur! handkercher! why, who’s this feller?’ You
may depend upon it he was never asked there any more; for every thing
in a wizard’s business depends upon graceful action, and his style of
delivery, so that he may make himself agreeable to the company.
“When a conjurer’s out busking, he may reckon upon making his 20_s._
a-week, taking the year round; pr’aps, some weeks, he won’t take more
than 12_s._ or 15_s._; but then, at other times, he may get 6_s._
or 8_s._ in one parlour alone, and I have taken as much as 1_l._ by
teaching gentlemen how to do the tricks I had been performing. I have
sometimes walked my twenty miles a-day, and busked at every parlour I
came to, (for I never enter tap-rooms,) and come home with only 1_s._
6_d._ in my pocket. I have been to Edmonton and back and only earned
1_s._, and then, pr’aps, at eleven the same night, when I was nearly
done up, and quite dispirited with my luck, I’ve turned into one of the
parlours in town and earned my 6_s._ in less than an hour, where I’d
been twelve only earning one.”
[Illustration: STREET CONJURER PERFORMING.]