[Illustration: THE HISTORY OF THE CATNACH PRESS, AND THE TWO CATNACHS,
JOHN & JAMES, FATHER & SON, _Printers_, 1769-1841.]
THE HISTORY OF THE CATNACH PRESS.
LARGE PAPER COPY.
Only Two Hundred and Fifty Printed. Each Copy
numbered and Signed
[Signature: Charles Hindley.]
No. ________
_Purchased by_
____________________________________________________
_of_
____________________________________________________
_on the ___________ day of ____________ 18_____
THE HISTORY OF THE CATNACH PRESS,
AT BERWICK-UPON-TWEED,
ALNWICK AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE,
IN NORTHUMBERLAND, AND
SEVEN DIALS, LONDON.
BY CHARLES HINDLEY, ESQ.,
_Editor of "The Old Book Collector's Miscellany;
or, a Collection of Readable Reprints of Literary
Rarities," "Works of John Taylor--the Water Poet,"
"The Roxburghe Ballads," "The Catnach Press," "The
Curiosities of Street Literature," "The Book of
Ready Made Speeches," "Life and Times of James
Catnach, late of the Seven Dials, Ballad Monger,"
"Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings," "A History of the
Cries of London--Ancient and Modern," etc._
London:
CHARLES HINDLEY
[THE YOUNGER,]
BOOKSELLERS' ROW, ST. CLEMENT DANES,
STRAND, W.C.
1886.
TO
MR. GEORGE SKELLY,
of
THE MARKET PLACE,
and
MR. GEORGE H. THOMPSON,
of
BAILIFFGATE, ALNWICK,
_In the County of_
NORTHUMBERLAND,
THE
HISTORY OF THE CATNACH PRESS.
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY
THE AUTHOR
[Signature: Charles Hindley.]
_St. James' Street, Brighton.
Lady Day, 1886._
[Illustration:
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
OR
A Pursuit of Knowledge
under Difficulties.]
[Illustration: THE CATNACH PRESS.]
"'Tis education forms the common mind;
Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined."--_Pope._
----There can be little doubt that Jemmy Catnach, the printer, justly
earned the distinction of being one of the great pioneers in the cause of
promoting cheap literature--he was for a long time the great Mæcenas and
Elzevir of the Seven Dials district. We do not pretend to say that the
productions which emanated from his establishment contained much that was
likely to enlighten the intellect, or sharpen the taste of the ordinary
reader; but, to a great extent, they served well in creating an impetus in
the minds of many to soar after things of a higher and more ennobling
character. Whilst for the little folk his store was like the conjuror's
bag--inexhaustible. He could cater to the taste and fancies of all, and it
is marvellous, even in these days of a cheap press, to look back upon the
time when this enterprising man was by a steady course of action, so
paving the way for that bright day in the annals of Britain's history,
when every child in the land should be educated.
[Illustration]
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION OR A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
----Knowledge is of two kinds. We know a subject ourselves, or we know
where we can find information upon it.--BOSWELL, _Life of Johnson_.
That history repeats itself is fairly and fully exemplified by the
reproduction of "THE CATNACH PRESS," the _first_ edition of which was
published in 1869, and "GUARANTEED ONLY TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES
PRINTED."--Namely: 175 on fine, and 75 on extra-thick paper. _Each copy
numbered._ The outer and descriptive title set forth that the work
contained:--
"A COLLECTION of Books and Wood-cuts of James Catnach, late of Seven
Dials, Printer, consisting of Twenty Books of the Cock Robin-Class,
from, 'This is the House that Jack Built,' to 'Old Mother Hubbard,'
(printed with great care) _specialite_ at THE CATNACH PRESS, from the
old plates and woodcuts, prior to their final destruction, to which is
added a selection of Catnachian wood-cuts, many by Bewick, and many of
the most anti-Bewickian character it is possible to conceive."
The announcement of the publication of the work was first made known
through the medium of the metropolitan press, some few days prior to the
copies being delivered by the book-binders, and so great was the demand
of the London and American trade, that every copy was disposed of on the
day of issue.
The work is now eagerly sought after by book collectors who indulge in
literary rarities.
While engaged in collecting information for "The Catnach Press," and
interviewing the producers of ballads, broadsides and chap-books, we met
with a vast assemblage of street-papers and of a very varied character,
which we proposed to publish in quarto form under the title of "The
Curiosities of Street Literature," and when in London in 1869, still
seeking for information on the subject, met by mere chance in the Strand
with the street ballad singer of our youth, one Samuel Milnes, who used
between the years of 1835 and 1842 to visit Fetter Lane every Thursday
with the newest and most popular ballad of the day. We so often met with
him at other times and places in and about London in after years that a
peculiar kind of a friendly feeling grew up towards him in preference to
all other street ballad singers of the time, so much so that at our
meetings--and friendly greetings, we invariably purchased the ballad he
was singing, or, gave him a few halfpence as a fee for having detained him
from his calling--or shall we say bawling, for to tell the truth, Samuel
Milnes was but a very indifferent vocalist.
Time rolled on--"still on it creeps, each little moment at another's
heels"--and we continued to meet our old ballad singer either in London or
Brighton. The meeting with him on this particular occasion was most
opportune for we wanted him. First we obtained from him "Wait for the Turn
of the Tide," and "Call her back and kiss her," then the following
information:--
"Oh, yes, I remember you, remember you well; particularly when I see
you down at Brighton: when you treated me to that hot rum and water;
when I was so wet and cold, at a little snug public-house in one of
the streets that leads off the main street. I don't remember the name
on it now, but I remembers the rum and water well enough; it was good.
You said it would be, and so it was, and no mistake. How old am I now?
Why, 59. How long have I been at it? Why, hard on fifty years. I was
about nine or ten year old--no, perhaps I might have been 12 year old,
when I come to think on it. Yes, about 12 year old; my mother was a
widow with five children, and there was a boy in our street as used to
go out singing ballads, and his mother said to my mother, 'Why don't
you let your boy (that's me) go out and sing ballads like my boy.' And
I said I didn't mind, and I did go out, and I've been at it ever
since, so you see 'aint far short of 50 year. How many do I sell in a
day? Well, not so many as I used to do, by a long way. I've sold me
four and five quires a-day, but I don't sell above two and three dozen
a-day now. That's all the difference you see, sir--dozens against
quires. How do I live then? Why, you see I am so well-known in
different parts of London, that lots and lots of people comes up to me
like you always do--and say's--'How do you do, old fellow? I remember
you when I was a boy, if it's a man, and when I was a girl, if it's a
woman.' And says, 'So you are still selling songs, eh?' Then they give
me a few coppers; some more and some less than others, and says they
don't want the songs. Some days--very often--I've had more money given
me than I've took for the ballads. Yes, I have travelled all over
England--all over it I think--but the North's the best--Manchester,
Liverpool, and them towns; but down Bath and Cheltenham way I was
nearly starved. I was coming back from that way, I now remember, when
I met you, sir, at Brighton that time. I buy my ballads at various
places--but now mostly over the water, because I live there now and
it's handiest. Mr. Such, the printer, in Union-street in the Borough.
Oh! yes, some at Catnach's--leastways, it ain't Catnach's now, it's
Fortey's. Yes, I remember 'old Jemmy Catnach' very well; he wa'n't a
bad sort, as you say; leastways, I've heard so, but I never had
anything of him. I always paid for what I had, and did not say much to
him, or he to me--Writing the life of him, are you indeed? No, I can't
give you no more information about him than that, because, as I said
before, I bought my goods as I wanted them, and paid for them, then
away on my own account and business. Well he was a man something like
you--a little wider across the shoulders, perhaps, but about such a
man as you are. I did know a man as could have told you a lot about
"old Jemmy," but he's dead now; he was one of his authors, that is, he
wrote some of the street-ballads for him, and very good ones they
used to be, that is, for selling. Want some old 'Dying Speeches' and
'Cocks,' do you indeed; well, I a'nt got any--I don't often 'work'
them things, although I have done so sometimes, but I mostly keep to
the old game--'Ballads on a Subject.' You see them other things are no
use only just for the day, then they are no use at all, so we don't
keep them--I've often given them away. You'd give sixpence a piece for
them, would you, indeed, sir; then I wish I had some of them. Now I
come to think of it I know a man that did have a lot of them bye him,
and I know he'd be glad to sell them, I don't know where he lives, but
I sometimes see him. Oh! yes, a letter would find me. My name is
Samuel Milnes, and I live at No. 81, Mint-street, that's in the
Borough; you know, Guagar is the name at the house. Thank you, sir,
I'm much obliged. Good day sir."
Our next adventure--in pursuit of knowledge under difficulties--occured at
Brighton in the month of August, 1869, and when we were winding our way
through a maze of small streets lying between Richmond and Albion Hills,
in the Northern part of the town, our ears voluntarily "pricked up," on
hearing the old familiar sounds of a 'street, or running patterer' with
the stereotyped sentences of "Horrible."--"Dreadful."--"Remarkable letters
found on his person."--"Cut down by a labouring man."--"Quite
dead."--"Well-known in the town."--"Hanging."--"Coroner's
Inquest."--"Verdict."--"Full particulars."--"Most determined
suicide."--"Brutal conduct."--&c., &c., _Only a ha'penny!--Only a
ha'penny!_ Presently we saw the man turn into a wide court-like place,
which was designated by the high-sounded name of "SQUARE," and dedicated
to RICHMOND; hither we followed him, and heard him repeat the same
detached sentences, and became a purchaser for--'_only a ha'penny!_' when
to our astonishment we discovered a somewhat new phrase in cock or
catchpenny selling. Inasmuch as our purchase consisted of the current
number (253) of the _Brighton Daily News_--a very respectable looking and
well printed Halfpenny Local Newspaper, and of that day's publication, and
did in reality contain an account of a most determined suicide of an old
and highly respected inhabitant of Brighton and set forth under the
heading of:--
THE DETERMINED SUICIDE OF AN AGED ARTIST.
REMARKABLE LETTERS OF DECEASED.
Calling the man aside, we ventured upon a conversation with him in the
following form:--
----"Well, governor, _how does the cock fight?_" "Oh, pretty well,
sir; but it ain't a cock; its a genuine thing--the days for cocks,
sir, is gone bye--cheap newspapers 'as done 'em up." "Yes; we see this
is a Brighton Newspaper of to-day." "Oh, yes, that's right enough--but
its all true." "Yes; we are aware of that and knew the unfortunate man
and his family; but you are vending them after the old manner."
"That's all right enough, sir,--you see I can sell 'em better in that
form than as a newspaper--its more natural like for me: I've sold
between ten and twelve dozen of 'em to-day." "Yes; but how about
to-morrow?" "Oh, then it will be all bottled up--and I must look for a
new game, I'm on my way to London, but a hearing of this suicide job,
I thought I'd work 'em just to keep my hand in and make a bob or two."
To our question of "Have you got any real old 'cocks' by you?" He
replied, "No, not a bit of a one; I've worked 'em for a good many
years, but it 'aint much of a go now. Oh, yes, I know'd 'old Jemmy
Catnach' fast enough--bought many hundreds, if not thousands of quires
of him. Not old enough? Oh, 'aint I though; why I'm turned fifty, and
I've been a 'street-paper' seller all my life. I knows Muster Fortey
very well; him as is got the business now in the Dials--he knows his
way about, let him alone for that; and he's a rare good business man
let me tell you, and always been good and fair to me; that I will say
of him."
Having rewarded the man with a few half-pence to make him some recompense
for having detained him during his business progress, we parted company.
While still prosecuting our enquiries for information on the literature of
the streets, we often read of, and heard mention made of, a Mr. John
Morgan, as one of the "Seven Bards of the Seven Dials" and his being best
able to assist us in the matter we had in hand. The first glimpse we
obtained of the Poet! in print was in an article entitled "The Bards of
the Seven Dials and their Effusion" and published in "THE TOWN," of 1839,
a weekly journal, conducted by the late Mr. Renton Nicholson, better known
as "Baron Nicholson," of Judge and Jury notoriety:--
REVIEW.
_The Life and Death of John William Marchant_, who suffered the
extreme penalty of the law, in front of the Debtor's door, Newgate, on
Monday, July 8th, 1839, for the murder of Elizabeth Paynton, his
fellow servant, on the seventeenth of May last, in Cadogan Place,
Chelsea. By John Morgan. London: J. Catnach, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court,
7 Dials.
The work is a quarto page, surrounded with a handsome black border.
"Take no thought for to-morrow, what thou shalt eat, or what thou
shalt put on," says a certain writer, whose wisdom we all reverence,
and then he adds "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof"--a
remark particularly applicable to the bards of Seven Dials, whose pens
are kept in constant employment by the fires, rapes, robberies, and
murders, which, from one year's end to the other, present them with a
daily allowance of evil sufficient for their subsistence. But, at
present, it is only one of these poets, "John Morgan," as he modestly
signs himself, whom we are about to notice; and as some of our readers
may be curious to see a specimen of the poetry of Seven Dials, we
shall lay certain portions of John Morgan's last effusion before them,
pointing out the beauties and peculiarities of the compositions as we
go along. After almost lawyer-like particularity as to dates and
places, the poem begins with an invocation from the murderer in
_propria personæ_.
"Oh! give attention awhile to me,
All you good people of each degree;
In Newgate's dismal and dreary cell,
I bid all people on earth farewell."
Heaven forbid, say we, that _all_ the people on earth should ever get
in Newgate, to receive the farewell of such a blood-thirsty
miscreant.
"John William Marchant is my name,
I do confess I have _been to blame_."
And here we must observe that the poet makes his hero speak of his
offence rather too lightly, as if, indeed, it had been nothing more
than a common misdemeanour.
"I little thought, my dear parents kind,
I should leave this earth with a troubled mind."
Now this _is_ modest; he is actually surprised that his parents are at
all grieved at the idea of getting rid of such a scoundrel, and well
he might be.
"I lived as servant in Cadogan Place,
And never thought this would be my case,
To end my days on the fatal tree:
Good people, pray drop a tear for me."
There is a playfulness about the word "drop," introducing just here
after "the fatal tree," which, in our mind, somewhat diminishes the
plaintiveness of the entreaty; but we must not be hypocritical.
* * * * *
Then comes his trial and condemnation, the account of which is most
remarkable precise and pithy.
"At the Old Bailey I was tried and cast,
And the dreadful sentence on me was past
On a Monday morning, alas! to die,
And on the eight of this month of July."
A marvellous particularity as to dates, intended, doubtless, to show
the convicts anxiety that, although he died young, his name should
live long in the minds of posterity. Then follows his farewell to
father and mother, and an impudent expression of confidence that his
crime will be forgiven in heaven, an idea, by-the-by, which is
reported to have been confirmed by the Ordinary of Newgate, who told
him that the angels would receive him with great affection; and this
it was, perhaps, which induced our bard of Seven Dials to represent
his hero as coolly writing poetry up to the very last moment of his
existence; taking his farewell of the public in these words:--
"Adieu, good people of each degree,
And take a warning, I pray, by me;
The bell is tolling, and I must go,
And leave this world of misery and woe."
But we cannot exactly see what business the fellow--"a pampered
menial," had to speak ill of the world, when he was very comfortably
off in it, and might have lived long and happily if it had not been
for his own wickedness; a hint which we throw out for the benefit of
Mr. John Morgan, in his future effusions, trusting he will not make
his heroes die grumby, when poetic justices does not require it.
But we must now take our leave, with a hearty wish to the whole
fraternity of Seven Dials' bards, that they may never go without a
dinner for want of the means of earning it, or that, in other words,
though they seem somewhat contradictory, "Sufficient unto the day may
be the evil thereof."
Again, the writer of an article on "Street Ballads," in the "National
Review," for October, 1861, makes the following remarks:--
"This Ballad--'Little Lord John out of Service'--is one of the few
which bear a signature--it is signed 'John Morgan' in the copy which
we possess. For a long time we believed this name to be a mere
_nom-de-plume_; but the other day in Monmouth Court, we were informed,
in answer to a casual question that this is the real name of the
author of some of the best comic ballads. Our informant added that he
is an elderly, we may say old, gentleman, living somewhere in
Westminster; but the exact whereabouts we could not discover. Mr.
Morgan followed no particular visible calling, so far as our informant
knew, except writing ballads, by which he could not earn much of a
livelihood, as the price of an original ballad, in these buying-cheap
days, has been screwed down by the publishers to somewhere about a
shilling sterling. Something more like bread-and-butter might be made,
perhaps, by poets who were in the habit of singing their own ballads,
as some of them do, but not Mr. Morgan. Should this ever meet the eye
of that gentleman (a not very probable event, we fear), we beg to
apologise for the liberty we have taken in using his verses and name,
and hope he will excuse us, having regard to the subject in which we
are humble fellow-labourers. We could scarcely avoid naming him, the
fact being that he is the only living author of street-ballads whose
name we know. That self-denying mind, indifferent to worldly fame,
which characterised the architects of our cathedrals and abbeys, would
seem to have descended on our ballad-writers; and we must be thankful,
therefore, to be able to embalm and hand down to posterity a name here
and there, such as William of Wykeham, and John Morgan. In answer to
our inquiries in this matter, generally, we have been told, 'Oh,
anybody writes them,' and with that answer we have had to rest
satisfied. But in presence of that answer, we walk about the streets
with a new sense of wonder, peering into the faces of those of our
fellow-lieges who do not carry about with them the external evidence
of overflowing exchequers, and saying to ourselves, 'That man may be a
writer of ballads.'"
At every enquiry we made for information in regard to street-literature,
we still continued to be referred to Mr. John Morgan as the most likely
person living to supply what we needed on the subject.
But the grave question arose in our own minds of the How, When, and Where:
could we find out and interview this said Mr. John Morgan, Poet! First we
made enquiry at the office of Mr. Taylor, Printer of Ballads, &c., 92 and
93, Brick Lane, Spitalfields, but, they "had not the least idea where we
could find him. In fact they had only heard of him as a ballad-writer, and
knew nothing about where he lived, never having employed him: had perhaps
printed some of his ballads. Thought Mr. Such, of the Borough, might give
some information, but, sure to find out all about him in the Seven Dials
district."
Mr. H. Such, Machine Printer and Publisher, 177, Union Street, Borough,
S.E., on being applied to could give us no positive information as to the
whereabout of Mr. John Morgan--he knew him, but where he lived he could
not tell. Mr. Fortey or Mr. Disley, in the Dials-way, would be most likely
to know.
Mr. William S. Fortey, (late A. Ryle, successor to the late J. Catnach),
Printer, Publisher, and Wholesale Stationer, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court,
Seven Dials, London, W., on being applied to could not exactly tell where
Mr. John Morgan did live, it was somewhere Westminster-way: it was very
uncertain when he should next see him, because he did not sometimes call
in for weeks together, yet he might by chance see him to-morrow, or the
next day. Anyway, we felt that we had no right to press the question any
further, more particularly so because Mr. Fortey had been very civil and
obliging to us on other occasions--in fact we have been under great and
lasting obligations to him, so changed the conversation.
Mr. Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles', London, who we
found to be a very genial sort of a man, and that he had formerly been in
the service of James Catnach; he was working in his front shop at a small
hand-press on some cards relative to a forthcoming FRIENDLY LEAD,[1] to be
held at a public-house in the immediate neighbourhood, while Mrs. Disley
was hard at work colouring some Christmas Carols, and which she did with a
rapidity that was somewhat astonishing. In answer to our inquiry whether
he knew of one John Morgan--who was--as we described him, "something of a
song writer." Well! both Mr. and Mrs. Disley together--"did know
him--should think they did." But when we came to enquire about his private
address they knew nothing about that. He (Mr. Morgan) wrote ballads for
them at times: often called on them--whenever he did it was always to sell
a _good_ ballad he had on hand, or to tell them what _bad_ times it was
with him: but as to where he lived, beyond that it was somewhere
Westminster-way, they did not know--in fact, had not the least idea. But,
most likely, Mr. Fortey, him in Monmouth Court, did. Yes! come to think of
it, he would be sure to know.
The very unsatisfactory and evasive answers received in reference to the
address of Mr. John Morgan gave a zest to our zeal in the matter--so much
so, that we then determined "to work the oracle" out in our way.
At this time we had a near relative occupying chambers in Barnard's Inn,
which we held to be a good central and lawyer-like address--one that had
the "true ring," of business and substantiality about it. Yes! Barnard's
Inn, Holborn, London, E.C., looked to our mind to be likely to serve our
stratigical purpose to the point we desired. Having made all the
preparatory arrangements, we then procured from a neighbouring stationer's
shop a sheet of mourning note-paper and an envelope of large proportions,
each having the very blackest and broadest of black borders we could find
in stock. Then we wrote in a law-like hand:--
_No. 6, Barnard's Inn,
Holborn, London, E.C.,
February 26, 1870._
_THIS IS TO GIVE NOTICE:--If Mr. John Morgan, ballad-writer, &c., will
call at the above address on or after Wednesday next. He will hear
something greatly to his advantage._
_(Signed)_
[Signature: Charles Hindley.]
_Mr. John Morgan,
care of............
..............London._
The above document having been duly intrusted to Her Majesty's Post Master
General for delivery, we had to abide our time for the result. We had not
to wait long, for although we had appointed the next following Wednesday
to communicate "_something greatly to the advantage of Mr. John Morgan_,"
he turned up a little sooner than we expected, or desired, by reason of
his putting in an appearance at Barnard's Inn on Tuesday evening, where he
arrived "happy and glorious," and made earnest enquiries for "the
gentleman who had sent him a letter to say he had got a something to his
advantage--perhaps a fortune! For sometimes he thought somebody would die
and leave him one. Where was the gentleman who wrote him the letter? He
says that I am to call here. He sent it in a black-bordered envelope for
him. Where is the gentleman? See here is the letter, and all in
black--black as your hat--look for yourself, sir."
All the above was spoken to a friend of ours who lived on the ground-floor
at the particular house in Barnard's Inn, where Mr. John Morgan had been
requested to call on Wednesday. It was then only Tuesday, and that fact
had to be explained; also, that the gentleman in question was not at
present in his chambers on the third-floor, but would be in the morning up
to 10 o'clock. Our friend on the first-floor--who had received
instructions from us in the event of Mr. John Morgan turning-up while we
were not at home--informed us of all that had taken place when we arrived
a little later on in the evening.
On the next morning preparations were made for the reception of our
expectant friend--a good fire, a good breakfast, and a half-pint of "Old
Tom" from Carr's well-known Establishment, St. Clement Danes, Strand.
Very soon after the old clock of the ancient hall of Barnard's Inn, and
all the public clocks in the surrounding neighbourhood had proclaimed
aloud that the hour of 10 a.m. of that Wednesday morning had arrived,
there was heard a knock at the outer door of our chamber-rooms, and on the
same being opened, Mr. John Morgan announced himself as the party to whom
the gentleman had sent a black-bordered letter and envelope for him to say
there was a something to his advantage to be had. Then Mr. John Morgan,
full of bows and scrapes, was ushered into our presence.--He was the party
who had received the letter. Oh! yes, Mr. Morgan we added: take a seat
sir. Yes, sir, and thank you to, he replied, at the same time sitting down
and then very carefully despositing his somewhat delapidated hat
under--far under--the chair. We then enquired whether he would have
anything to eat, or have a cup of coffee. No! it was a little too early in
the morning for eating, and coffee did not always agree with him. Or, a
drop of good "Old Tom," we somewhat significantly suggested. Mr. John
Morgan would very much like to have a little drop of gin, for it was a
nasty raw cold morning: In answer to our enquiry whether he would prefer
hot or cold water, elected to have it neat if it made no difference to us.
Mr. John Morgan at our suggestion having "wet the other eye," _i.e._,
taken the second glass, the real business part of the question we had met
upon commenced thus:--"We have been informed that you were acquainted
with, and used to write for the late James Catnach, who formerly lived in
the Seven Dials, and that you can give us much of the information that we
require towards perfecting a work we have in hand treating on Street
Literature. If you are willing to do so, we are prepared to treat with you
in a liberal manner, and that, please to at once to understand is the
'_Something greatly to your advantage_ that is mentioned in the note we
addressed to you.'" Here Mr. John Morgan hinted that he thought it was--or
he had hoped it was, a little fortune some one had been kind enough to
leave him, he always expected that old Jemmy Catnach would--after what he
had done for him, have left him a bit, however small, but no such luck.
Mr. Morgan expressed his willingness to give all the information he could
on the subject and leave it to our generosity to pay him what we pleased,
and adding that he had no doubt that we should not fall out on that score.
And so we proceeded, we talked and took notes. Mr. Morgan talked and took
gin. Mr. Morgan got warm--warmer and warmer--and very entertaining, his
conversational powers increased wonderfully, he became very witty and
laughed _ha! hah!!_ he joked and made merry at some old reminiscences in
connection with old Jemmy Catnach--and admitted, that after all old Jemmy
wasn't a particular bad sort--that is, when you knew him, and could handle
him properly--then old Jemmy was as right as my leg! Still we continued to
talk and take notes, still Mr. Morgan talked and took gin, until he
emulated the little old woman who sold "Hot Codlings," for of her it is
related that--"the glass she filled and the bottle she shrunk and that
this little old woman in the end got----."
At length it became very manifest that we should not be able to get any
more information out of Mr. John Morgan on that day, so proposed for him
to call again on the morrow morning and at the same time and place to
pursue the thread of our narrative. Then having presented him with a
portrait of Her most gracious Majesty Queen Victoria, set in gold, we
volunteered to see him down stairs which we observed were very
crooked--Mr. Morgan thought they were very old and funny ones: up and down
like--in fact what old Charley Dibdin would have called regular "whopping
old stairs!" Being safely landed from the last stone step on to the
stone-paved way, we thought it advisable, for appearance sake, to conduct
our friend out of Barnard's Inn by a sideway leading into Fetter-lane.
After that it occurred to us that it would perhaps be better to see him to
the Fleet-street end of the lane and then to put him into a Westminster
omnibus, but we had reached Somerset House before one going that way came
in sight. Then it was Mr. John Morgan suddenly recollected that he could
not pass his old friend Short--who was Short? why surely you know
Short--old Short, him as sells the wine so good and so cheap, there over
the way--that's Short's--"WINES FROM THE WOOD," that's out of the cask you
know, you remind me to-morrow, sir, and I'll tell you a good tale about
old Short before he made such a lot of money as he has got now.--Capital
chap old Short, he knows me--it's all about a song I wrote--but I'll tell
you all about it to-morrow. Besides I must have change ye know for there's
no one got any at my home--my landlord--There's no change about him, Oh!
dear no--He's never got any change but he's always got an old account, do
you see? an old account--but no matter let's go in!
Respectfully, but firmly declining the kind and very pressing invitation
to have "only just one drop with old Short." We left Mr. John Morgan to
take care of himself for the day and to be sure to meet us on the next
morning in Barnard's Inn at 10 o'clock--sharp.
At length the wishful morrow came, also ten of the clock, but not so Mr.
John Morgan, nor did he call at any hour during the day. But soon after 11
o'clock the next day he made his appearance, but being so stupidly drunk
we gave him some money and told him to call again to-morrow. And he did,
but still so muddled that we could make nothing out of him, so we somewhat
curtly dismissed him and returned to Brighton.
The next day the letter--of which we give a _verbatim et literatim_
copy--was received and then forwarded on to us.
90 Great Peter Street
Westminister, S.W.
Saturday the 5th of March 1870.
My Dear and Kind Sir:--I return you my most sincere and heartfelt
thanks for the Kindness I received from you and deeply I regret if I
caused you any displeasure the fact is I have been greatly put about
And you having been so kind as to give me refreshments it overpowered
me I fell and hurt myself. And I am now destitute without a penny in
the world or a friend to help me. I feel as though I offended you I
hope not I think by the Little conversation we had I may be able to
please you I have been considering in my doleful moments matters of
importance if my kind and good friend you can favour me with a Line
this Saturday Evening I will be most grateful I shall not go out
waiting to hear from you I am placed in a most Sad position accept my
thanks write Me a Line in answer to this Befriend me if it is possible
And I will make all right and with gratitude,
Anxiously waiting your kind and I trust favourable reply.
[Signature: Your Hum{ble} Servt
John Morgan]
Charles Hindley, Esq
6 Barnard's Inn
Holborn
W.C.
Having no desire to incur the expense of another journey to London in the
matter, and believing that we had obtained sufficient information on the
subject, we published, in the year 1871, a limited number of copies of our
work under the title of:--
CURIOSITIES OF STREET LITERATURE:
COMPRISING "COCKS," OR "CATCHPENNIES,"
A Large and Curious Assortment of
STREET DROLLERIES, SQUIBS, HISTORIES, COMIC STORIES
IN PROSE AND VERSE,
BROADSIDES ON THE ROYAL FAMILY,
POLITICAL LITANIES, DIALOGUES, CATECHISMS, ACTS OF PARLIAMENT,
STREET POLITICAL PAPERS.
A VARIETY OF "BALLADS ON A SUBJECT,"
_DYING SPEECHES AND CONFESSIONS_,
TO WHICH IS ATTACHED THE ALL-IMPORTANT AND NECESSARY
AFFECTIONATE COPY OF VERSES, AS
"Come, all you feeling-hearted Christians, wherever you may be,
Attention give to these few lines, and listen unto me;
It's of this cruel murder, to you I will unfold,
The bare recital of the same will make your blood run cold."
"What hast here? ballads? I love a ballad in print, or a life; for then
we are sure they are true."--_Shakespeare._
"There's nothing beats a stunning good murder, after all."--_Experiences
of a Running Patterer._
LONDON:
REEVES AND TURNER
196, STRAND,
1871.
CURIOSITIES OF STREET LITERATURE.
Guaranteed only Four Hundred and Fifty Six Copies Printed,
NAMELY,--
£ s. d.
250 on Fine Toned Demy 4to Published at 1 1 0
100 on Large Post 4to, printed on one side of the
paper only " 1 5 0
100 on Fine French Linear Writing Paper, printed
on one side only,
and in imitation of the Catnachian tea-like
paper of old " 1 11 6
6 on Yellow Demy 4to paper " 2 2 0
---
456
[Symbol: Pointing hand] EACH COPY OF EACH EDITION NUMBERED.
Our work on the Curiosities of Street Literature soon ran out of print.
But we continued to gather from time to time fresh information on the
subject of the "Two Catnachs--John and James," and in the early part of
1876 we determined on publishing a work, to be entitled "The Life and
Times of James Catnach--late of Seven Dials--Ballad Monger." And for the
purpose of obtaining the verification, amendment, or denial to the several
scraps of information we had obtained, we wrote to our old friend, Mr.
John Morgan, on the subject, and from him we received the letters that
follow:--
No. 1, Model Cottages, Little St. Anne's Lane,
Great Peter Street, Westminster,
London, S.W.
_16th February, 1876._
Sir,
I received your Letter this Morning: I have removed to above address
two years and seven months, I have been in Bed seven weeks suffering
from Bronchitis; but am now recovering and shall get up to-day, but
the Doctor will not permit me to go out.
Whatever you may require I am ready and willing to do to the utmost of
my abilities, and be happy to serve you, and much regret I have not
the strength to venture to ---- Street. If anything can be done by
Letter or otherwise, I will willingly attend to your request, your
reply will greatly oblige,
[Signature: Your Hum{ble} Servt
John Morgan]
P.S.--Please excuse the illegible scribble as I write this in Bed.
Charles Hindley, Esq.,
76, Rose Hill Terrace, Brighton.
No. 1, Model Cottages, Little St. Ann's Lane,
Great Peter Street, Westminster, London, S.W.
_17th February, 1876._
Sir,
I have just received yours, 7 p.m., and in reply I beg to say that
when I came to London in 1818 Catnach's Father was not living.
Catnach, his Mother, and Sister Julia the youngest, resided at 2,
Monmouth Court, the old woman and Julia worked at a small hand
press--I joined him about 1818--his father died before.--I understood
Julia went astray--the Mother Died about 1826. Anne Ryle was the widow
of an Officer: a Waterloo man--with one child--had a pension.
Catnach had but little type, and no stock to speak of: he had a Sister
at Portsea the wife of a mate of a ship in harbour, and kept a
song-shop. His Mother lived with him 7 or 8 years.--I understand about
the "Horses-heads." Cox and Kean, I forget except the title and
chorus:--
COX _versus_ KEAN;
OR
LITTLE BREECHES.
"With his ginger tail he did assail, and did the prize obtain,
This Merry Little Wanton Bantam Cock of Drury Lane--
LITTLE BREECHES."
Ann Stanton was tried for cutting the Cock's Head off there was no
verses.
As regards the Sausages, Catnach printed a few lines on a
quarter-sheet, that caused a great uproar, he was taken to Bow Street.
Catnach had six months. There was no verses, it was quickly done. He
printed the life of Mother Cummins, of Dyot Street--now, George
Street, and that was knocked into "pye" in quick sticks. There was a
change after he went to Alnwick in Northumberland, where he carried a
small press and printed the state of the poll every day, while there
he took up his freedom.[2] He came home and printed "Cubitt's
Treadmill":--
"And we're all treading, tread, tread, treading,
And we're all treading at fam'd Brixton Mill."
and kept going forward--retired and went to Barnet, left the business
to James Paul and Ann Ryle. That is many years ago. I seldom go near
the Seven Dials, perhaps once in 3, 4, 5, or six months. I remember
many occurrances but 56 years is a long time, I have just entered my
77th year. Anything you require as far as I can I will send and
remain,
[Signature: Your Hum{ble} Servt
John Morgan]
Charles Hindley, Esq.,
76, Rose Hill Terrace, Brighton.
1 Model Cottages, Little Ann's Lane,
Great Peter Street, Westminster, London, S.W.
_29th February, 1876._
Dear Sir:--
If I was to go back and think of passing events it would fill a
volume. First in 1820--Catnach then being very poor--at the death of
George the third, and the Duke of Kent he printed an Elegy:
"Mourn, Britons mourn! Your sons deplore,
Our royal Sovereign is now no more."
Then comes the election for Westminster: Burdett, Hobhouse, and Lamb.
He had a song:--
"Oh, Cammy Hobby is the man,
And so is daddy Sir Franky, O;
The Hon. W. Lamb is going mad
And kicking like a donkey, O."
"Oh, the naughty Lamb--
The miserable sinner, O
We'll have him roast and boil'd
And cut him up for dinner, O."
During the whole time of the election party spirit ran very high. A
real lamb's head with a real rat in its mouth, was stuck upon the top
of a pole. From the rat's tail hung a cock's comb. On the lamb's head
was placed a lawyer's wig, surmounted with a fool's cap. On a board
immediately below the head, was inscribed in front--"Behold the
ratting lamb, with a cock's comb at his tail." On the other side, the
inscription was--
"If silly lambs will go ratting,
'Tis fit they get this sort of batting."[3]
Then came The Dog's Meat Man-Founded on fact:--
In Gray's Inn Lane, not long ago.
An old maid lived a life of woe;
She was fifty-three, with a face like tan,
When she fell in love with a dogs'-meat man.
Much she loved this dogs'-meat man,
He was a good-looking dogs'-meat man;
Her roses and lilies were turn'd to tan,
When she fell in love wi' the dogs'-meat man.
Every morning when he went by,
Whether the weather was wet or dry,
And right opposite her door he'd stand,
And cry "dogs'-meat," did this dogs'-meat man.
Then her cat would run out to the dogs'-meat man,
And rub against the barrow of the dogs'-meat man,
As right opposite to her door he'd stand,
And cry "Dogs' Meat," did this dogs'-meat man.
He said his customers, good lord!
Owed him a matter of two pound odd;
And she replied, it was quite scan-
Dalous to cheat such a dogs'-meat man.
"If I had but the money," says the dogs'-meat man,
"I'd open a tripe-shop," says the dogs'-meat man,
"And I'd marry you to-morrow."--She admired the plan,
And she lent a _five-pound note_ to the dogs'-meat man.
He pocketed the money and went away,
She waited for him all next day,
But he never com'd; and then she began
To think she was diddled by the dogs'-meat man;
She went to seek this dogs'-meat man,
But she couldn't find the dogs'-meat man;
Some friend gave her to understan'
He'd got a wife and seven children--this dogs'-meat man.
Mother Cummins lived and kept Brothels in Dyot Street, Bloomsbury
Square, after, and still called George Street, named after the Prince
Regent George 4th, at that time "Beggar's Opera" where the Prince and
nobles resorted was at the Rose and Crown, Church Lane, St. Giles.
Catnach printed her life. In the Beggar's Opera, were assembled
matchmakers, beggars, prigs and all the lowest of the low. There was
old black Billy Waters, with his wooden leg, dancing and playing his
fiddle, and singing:--
Polly will you marry me--Polly don't you cry,
Polly come to bed with me; and get a little boy.
some were dipping matches, some boiling potatoes and salt herrings,
some swearing, some dancing--all manners of fun, _&c._
Then comes Queen Caroline's trial; Catnach gets out a song:--
As I walked down the Greenwich-road one evening in June,
I never saw so fine a sight as on that afternoon.
I never saw so fine a sight, or, one half so good,
As for to see Queen Caroline supported by a Wood.
That Wood shall never be cut down, but stand for ever more;
And he'll protect our innocent Queen Sweet Caroline on our shore.
which was followed by a skit on George IVth called:--
"THE GREAT BABE IN A MESS."
then another on Queen Caroline's _crin con_ case with Bergami who
couldn't _remember_ nothing at all.
"BERGAMI, THE _Non mi recordo_."
[Illustration]
Who are you? "_Non mi recordo._"
What countryman are you--a foreigner or an Englishman? "_Non mi
recordo._"
There was something fresh everyday until the end of the Trial. Catnach
then prints some "papers" belonging to J. Pitts, Printer, Gt. Saint
Andrew-street, which causes a flare-up and a bother.
Then comes the sheet of "Horses Heads" which heads were like Eldon,
Peel, Canning, &c. Just before they were out Mr. Rockcliff, a Printer
in Old Gravel Lane, Radcliff-Highway sends for me--there was bottles
of whisky. Rockcliff had engaged with a man called Oliver Cromwell to
get him one of the first sheets printed off Catnach's press of the
"Horses Heads" and he would give him half-a-crown. Rockcliff then
requested me to bring him the first sheet of "Horses Heads" and get
the half-a-crown. I went and got the sheet and meets Oliver Cromwell
going into Catnach's as I came out, so I got the half-a-crown.
Rockcliff copies the sheet, then engaged with Lowe the Printer in
Compton-street to supply all the West-end. So it went on and made
plenty of bother between them.
Catnach got on like a house on fire printing Religious Sheets, then
came the murder of William Weare Esq. by John Thurtell, Hunt and
Probert. I remember all that affair well,--Then the execution of
Thurtell. A twelve-month after Probert was hanged for horsestealing.
Then came the trial of Henry Fauntleroy a banker in Berner's Street
Oxford Street executed for forgery. Then came Corder and Maria Marten
and the Red Barn, so that is the way Catnach got on from a poor man to
be a gentleman. There is many little things I may think of but close
for the present and remain:--
[Signature: Your Hum{ble} Servt
John Morgan]
1, Model Cottages, Little St. Ann's Lane,
Great Peter Street, Westminster,
London. _17th March, 1876._
Sir,
I received yours. My recollection is not so good as I would wish.
I think to the best of my recollection in 1819 there were some old men
who had been forty-years in the streets at that time, their names were
old Jack Smith, Tom Caton, old Jack Rush, Tom Anderson and a few
others. When they wanted anything they made up fresh reports, and
things were done without the least hesitation. As respects Mr. Pizzy
the Pork Butcher, it was some of these men that went to Blackman
Street, Clare Market, and created an uproar about the sausages, crowds
assembled, and windows were broken, they were charged with rioting and
taken to Bow Street, before--as they told me, Sir Richard Burnie, and
I think Mr. Minshull. Catnach was sent to Clerkenwell for trial, and
was afterwards sentenced to six months, and he served the full time.
Then there was the trial of the four poor Irishmen for coining, in the
first year of the mayorality of the late Sir Matthew Wood, and a lot
of other things which I think would answer the purpose.
About twenty-six years ago Henry Mayhew sent for me, and he began a
work something like yours, but by some means it stopped. There is
matters that would help to fill up a Book without going to much
expense.
[Signature: Your Hum{ble} Servt
John Morgan]
Charles Hindley, Esq.,
76, Rose Hill Terrace, Brighton.
At this date we were through the instrumentality of Mrs. Paul, widow of
Mr. James Paul--formerly in the service of Catnach, introduced to Mrs.
Elizabeth Benton, the last surviving daughter of John and Mary Catnach.
Mr. Benton was assistant treasurer, and box-book keeper to Mr. Alfred
Bunn, of Covent Garden and Drury Lane Theatres, Mrs. Benton, at the time
being wardrobe-mistress and _costumier_. At one period Mr. and Mrs. Benton
lived with Mr. Bunn in St James' Place, St. James' Street, Mrs. Benton
acting in the capacity of housekeeper. During several seasons Mr. Benton
was also treasurer for the proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens, afterwards he
filled the same office for E. T. Smith--_Dazzle Smith!_ at Cremorne
Gardens. He died abroad in 1856. The interview we had with Mrs. Benton led
up to receiving the two letters that follow:--
5, Sonderburg Road,
Seven Sisters' Road, Holloway.
London. _November, 13th, 1876._
Dear Sir,
In reply to your letter, in which you ask if I know where my Father
and mother were married, I regret to say I do not know for certain if
it was in Edinburgh or Berwick-on-Tweed, but I am certain it was not
in Alnwick.
* * * * *
I shall feel obliged for the [Alnwick] Journal, and also for the
Register of Baptisms.
I always understood that my father was a descendant of Catnach, King
of the Picts.
[Signature: I remain yours &
E Benton]
P.S.--The paper has not arrived--shall be glad to hear from you by
return of Post.
Charles Hindley, Esq.,
76, Rose Hill Terrace, Brighton.
5, Sonderburg Road,
Seven Sisters' Road, Holloway,
London. _November 18, 1876._
Dear Sir,
I am sorry I have not answered your letter before, but I have been
very ill.
I am sorry I can give you no more information than I have already
given you, but about Mrs. Ryle and Mr. ---- I cannot exactly say, and
as my niece Mrs. Harding was but a girl when her uncle died I should
not like to apply to her as it would be painful.
My father was dead when the Battle of Waterloo was fought, but was in
Alnwick at the Battle of Trafalgar, and for some time after. My Father
had 3 residences in London. 1. (only a shop) in Wardour Street, Soho
Square, and ditto also Gerrard Street, and also in Charlotte Street,
Fitzroy Square (apartments).
My Father had a severe illness, also a fever of which he died. I
should feel very much obliged if you could find me a copy of the
Hermit of Warkworth, and I will willingly pay for it, and also Blair's
Grave.
I am very much obliged for the Registers, and if I can supply you with
further information I will do so with pleasure. I have not heard from
Mr. [Mark] Smith.
[Signature: I remain Yours &c.
E Benton]
P.S.--I received the Paper [Alnwick Journal] with thanks.
C. Hindley, Esq.,
76, Rose Hill Terrace, Brighton.
It was at this particular date of our history--1876--that we had the good
fortune to get acquainted with Mr. George Skelly, of Alnwick--who, like
ourselves, is possessed of the _cacoethes scribendi_, and was at the time
supplying, _con amore_, an article to the _Alnwick Journal_, entitled
"John and James Catnach," which we found to contain certain information
relative to the elder Catnach, and also of the earlier portion of the life
of James, of which we had no previous knowledge. At our solicitation to be
allowed to make a selection from the same, we received a most courteous
and gentlemanly letter, which, in addition to containing several pieces of
information and answers to many queries we had put to Mr. Skelly, he wound
up by saying:--"You have full liberty to make use of anything that I have
written, and it will afford me much pleasure if I can further your
intentions in any way."