It is said that everything is to be had in London. There is truth
enough in the observation; indeed, rather too much. The conviction
that everything is to be had, whether you are in want of it or not, is
forced upon you with a persistence that becomes oppressive; and you
find that, owing to everything being so abundantly plentiful, there is
one thing which is _not_ to be had, do what you will, though you would
like it, have it if you could--and that one thing is just one day's
exemption from the persecutions of Puff in its myriad shapes and
disguises. But it is not to be allowed; all the agencies that will
work at all are pressed into the service of pushing and puffing
traffic; and we are fast becoming, from a nation of shopkeepers, a
nation in a shop. If you walk abroad, it is between walls swathed in
puffs; if you are lucky enough to drive your gig, you have to 'cut in
and out' between square vans of crawling puffs; if, alighting, you
cast your eyes upon the ground, the pavement is stencilled with puffs;
if in an evening stroll you turn your eye towards the sky, from a
paper balloon the clouds drop puffs. You get into an omnibus, out of
the shower, and find yourself among half a score of others, buried
alive in puffs; you give the conductor sixpence, and he gives you
three pennies in change, and you are forced to pocket a puff, or
perhaps two, stamped indelibly on the copper coin of the realm. You
wander out into the country, but the puffs have gone thither before
you, turn in what direction you may; and the green covert, the shady
lane, the barks of columned beeches and speckled birches, of gnarled
oaks and rugged elms--no longer the mysterious haunts of nymphs and
dryads, who have been driven far away by the omnivorous demon of the
shop--are all invaded by Puff, and subdued to the office of his
ministering spirits. Puff, in short, is the monster megatherium of
modern society, who runs rampaging about the world, his broad back in
the air, and his nose on the ground, playing all sorts of ludicrous
antics, doing very little good, beyond filling his own insatiable maw,
and nobody knows how much mischief in accomplishing that.
Push is an animal of a different breed, naturally a thorough-going,
steady, and fast-trotting hack, who mostly keeps in the Queen's
highway, and knows where he is going. Unfortunately, he is given to
break into a gallop now and then; and whenever in this vicious mood,
is pretty sure to take up with Puff, and the two are apt to make wild
work of it when they scamper abroad together. The worst of it is, that
nobody knows which is which of these two termagant tramplers: both are
thoroughly protean creatures, changing shapes and characters, and
assuming a thousand different forms every day; so that it is a task
all but impossible to distinguish one from the other. Hence a man may
got upon the back of either without well knowing whither he will be
carried, or what will be the upshot of his journey.
Dropping our parable, and leaving the supposed animals to run their
indefinite career, let us take a brief glance at some of the
curiosities of the science of Puffing and Pushing--for both are so
blended, that it is impossible to disentangle one from the other--as
it is carried on at the present hour in the metropolis.
The business of the shopkeeper, as well as of all others who have
goods to sell, is of course to dispose of his wares as rapidly as
possible, and in the dearest market. This market he has to create, and
he must do it in one of two ways: either he must succeed in persuading
the public, by some means or other, that it is to their advantage to
deal with him, or he must wait patiently and perseveringly until they
have found that out, which they will inevitably do if it is a fact. No
shop ever pays its expenses, as a general rule, for the first ten or
twenty months, unless it be literally crammed down the public throat
by the instrumentality of the press and the boarding; and it is
therefore a question, whether it is cheaper to wait for a business to
grow up, like a young plant, or to force it into sudden expansion by
artificial means. When a business is manageable by one or two hands,
the former expedient is the better one, and as such is generally
followed, after a little preliminary advertising, to apprise the
neighbourhood of its whereabouts. But when the proprietor has an army
of assistants to maintain and to salarise, the case is altogether
different: the expense of waiting, perhaps for a couple of years,
would swallow up a large capital. On this account, he finds it more
politic to arrest the general attention by a grand stir in all
quarters, and some obtrusive demonstration palpable to all eyes, which
shall blazon his name and pretensions through every street and lane of
mighty London. Sometimes it is a regiment of foot, with placarded
banners; sometimes one of cavalry, with bill-plastered vehicles and
bands of music; sometimes it is a phalanx of bottled humanity,
crawling about in labelled triangular phials of wood, corked with
woful faces; and sometimes it is all these together, and a great deal
more besides. By this means, he conquers reputation, as a despot
sometimes carries a throne, by a _coup d'état_, and becomes a
celebrity at once to the million, among whom his name is infinitely
better known than those of the greatest benefactors of mankind. All
this might be tolerable enough if it ended here; but, unhappily, it
does not. Experiment has shewn that, just as gudgeons will bite at
anything when the mud is stirred up at the bottom of their holes, so
the ingenuous public will lay out their money with anybody who makes a
prodigious noise and clatter about the bargains he has to give. The
result of this discovery is, the wholesale daily publication of lies
of most enormous calibre, and their circulation, by means which we
shall briefly notice, in localities where they are likely to prove
most productive.
The advertisement in the daily or weekly papers, the placard on the
walls or boardings, the perambulating vans and banner-men, and the
doomed hosts of bottle-imps and extinguishers, however successful each
may be in attracting the gaze and securing the patronage of the
multitude, fail, for the most part, of enlisting the confidence of a
certain order of customers, who, having plenty of money to spend, and
a considerable share of vanity to work upon, are among the most
hopeful fish that fall into the shopkeeper's net. These are the female
members of a certain order of families--the amiable and genteel wives
and daughters of the commercial aristocracy, and their agents, of this
great city. They reside throughout the year in the suburbs: they
rarely read the newspapers; it would not be genteel to stand in the
streets spelling over the bills on the walls; and the walking and
riding equipages of puffing are things decidedly low in their
estimation. They must, therefore, be reached by some other means; and
these other means are before us as we write, in the shape of a pile of
circular-letters in envelopes of all sorts--plain, hot-pressed, and
embossed; with addresses--some in manuscript, and others in
print--some in a gracefully genteel running-hand, and others decidedly
and rather obtrusively official in character, as though emanating from
government authorities--each and all, however, containing the bait
which the lady-gudgeon is expected to swallow. Before proceeding to
open a few of them for the benefit of the reader, we must apprise him
of a curious peculiarity which marks their delivery. Whether they come
by post, as the major part of them do, not a few of them requiring a
double stamp, or whether they are delivered by hand, one thing is
remarkable--_they always come in the middle of the day_, between the
hours of eleven in the forenoon and five in the afternoon, when, as a
matter of course, the master of the house is not in the way. Never, by
any accident, does the morning-post, delivered in the suburbs between
nine and ten, produce an epistle of this kind. Let us now open a few
of them, and learn from their contents what is the shopkeeper's
estimate of the gullibility of the merchant's wife, or his daughter,
or of the wife or daughter of his managing clerk.
The first that comes to hand is addressed thus: 'No.
2795.--DECLARATIVE NOTICE.--_From the Times, August 15, 1851._' The
contents are a circular, handsomely printed on three crowded sides of
royal quarto glazed post, and containing a list of articles for
peremptory disposal, under unheard-of advantages, on the premises of
Mr Gobblemadam, at No. 541 New Ruin Street. Without disguising
anything more than the addresses of these puffing worthies, we shall
quote _verbatim_ a few paragraphs from their productions. The
catalogue of bargains in the one before us comprises almost every
species of textile manufacture, as well native as foreign--among which
silks, shawls, dresses, furs, and mantles are the most prominent; and
amazing bargains they are--witness the following extracts:
'A marvellous variety of fancy silks, cost from 4 to 5
guineas each, will be sold for L.1, 19s. 6d. each.
Robes of damas and broche (foreign), cost 6 guineas, to be
sold for 2-1/2 guineas.
Embroidered muslin robes, newest fashion, cost 18s. 9d., to
be sold for 9s. 6d.
Worked lace dresses, cost 35s., to be sold at 14s. 9d.
Do. do. cost 28s. 6d., to be sold at 7s. 6d.
Newest dresses, of fashionable materials, worth 35s., to be
sold for 9s. 9d.
Splendid Paisley shawls, worth 2-1/2 guineas, for 16s.
Cashmere shawls (perfect gems), cost 4 guineas, to be sold
for 35s.'
A long list of similar bargains closes with a declaration that,
although these prices are mentioned, a clearance of the premises,
rather than a compensation for the value of the goods, is the great
object in view; that the articles will be got rid of regardless of
price; and that '_the disposal will assume the character of a
gratuitous distribution, rather than of an actual sale_.' This is
pretty well for the first hap-hazard plunge into the half-bushel piled
upon our table. Mr Gobblemadam may go down. Let us see what the next
will produce.
The second is addressed thus: '_To be opened within two hours after
delivery._--SPECIAL COMMISSION.--_Final Audit, 30th October 1851._'
The contents are a closely-printed extra-royal folio broadside, issued
by the firm of Messrs Shavelass and Swallowher, of Tottering Terrace
West. It contains a voluminous list of useful domestic goods,
presenting the most enormous bargains, in the way of sheetings,
shirtings, flannels, diapers, damasks, dimities, table-cloths, &c. &c.
The economical housewife is cautioned by this generous firm, that to
disregard the present opportunity would be the utmost excess of folly,
as the whole stock is to be peremptorily sold considerably _under half
the cost price_. The following are a few of the items:
'Irish lines, warranted genuine, 9-1/2d. per yard.
Fine cambric handkerchiefs, 2s. 6d. per dozen.
Curtain damask, in all colours, 6-1/2d. per yard.
Swiss curtains, elegantly embroidered, four yards long, for
6s. 9d. a pair--cost 17s. 6d.
Drawing-room curtains, elaborately wrought, at 8s. 6d. a
pair--cost 21s.'
The bargains, in short, as Messrs Shavelass and Swallowher observe,
are of such an astounding description, as 'to strike all who witness
them with wonder, amazement, and surprise;' and 'demand inspection
from every lady who desires to unite superiority of taste with genuine
quality and economy.'
The next is a remarkably neat envelope, with a handsomely embossed
border, bearing the words, 'ON ESPECIAL SERVICE' under the address,
and winged with a two-penny stamp. The enclosure is a specimen of fine
printing on smooth, thin vellum, in the form of a quarto catalogue,
with a deep, black-bordered title-page, emanating from the dreary
establishment of Messrs Moan and Groan, of Cypress Row. Here commerce
condescends to sympathy, and measures forth to bereaved and afflicted
humanity the outward and visible symbols of their hidden griefs. Here,
when you enter his gloomy penetralia, and invoke his services, the
sable-clad and cadaverous-featured shopman asks you, in a sepulchral
voice--we are not writing romance, but simple fact--whether you are to
be suited for inextinguishable sorrow, or for mere passing grief; and
if you are at all in doubt upon the subject, he can solve the problem
for you, if you lend him your confidence for the occasion. He knows
from long and melancholy experience the agonising intensity of wo
expressed by bombazine, crape, and Paramatta; can tell to a sigh the
precise amount of regret that resides in a black bonnet; and can match
any degree of internal anguish with its corresponding shade of colour,
from the utter desolation and inconsolable wretchedness of dead and
dismal black, to the transient sentiment of sorrowful remembrance so
appropriately symbolised by the faintest shade of lavender or French
gray. Messrs Moan and Groan know well enough, that when the heart is
burdened with sorrow, considerations of economy are likely to be
banished from the mind as out of place, and disrespectful to the
memory of the departed; and, therefore, they do not affront their
sorrowing patrons with the sublunary details of pounds, shillings, and
pence. They speed on the wings of the post to the house of mourning,
with the benevolent purpose of comforting the afflicted household.
They are the first, after the stroke of calamity has fallen, to mingle
the business of life with its regrets; and to cover the woes of the
past with the allowable vanities of the present. Step by step, they
lead their melancholy patrons along the meandering margin of their
flowing pages--from the very borders of the tomb, through all the
intermediate changes by which sorrow publishes to the world its
gradual subsidence, and land them at last in the sixteenth page,
restored to themselves and to society, in the frontbox of the Opera,
glittering in 'splendid head-dresses in pearl,' in 'fashionably
elegant turbans,' and in 'dress-caps trimmed with blonde and Brussels
lace.' For such benefactors to womankind--the dears--of course no
reward can be too great; and, therefore, Messrs Moan and Groan, strong
in their modest sense of merit, make no parade of prices. They offer
you all that in circumstances of mourning you can possibly want; they
scorn to do you the disgrace of imagining that you would drive a
bargain on the very brink of the grave; and you are of course obliged
to them for the delicacy of their reserve on so commonplace a subject,
and you pay their bill in decorous disregard of the amount. It is
true, that certain envious rivals have compared them to birds of prey,
scenting mortality from afar, and hovering like vultures on the trail
of death, in order to profit by his dart; but such 'caparisons,' as
Mrs Malaprop says, 'are odorous,' and we will have nothing to do with
them.
The next, and the last we shall examine ere Betty claims the whole
mass to kindle her fires, is a somewhat bulky envelope, addressed in a
neat hand: _To the Lady of the House_. It contains a couple of very
voluminous papers, almost as large as the broad page of _The Times_,
one of which adverts mysteriously to some appalling calamity, which
has resulted in a 'most DISASTROUS FAILURE, productive of the most
_intense excitement_ in the commercial world.' We learn further on,
that from various conflicting circumstances, which the writer does not
condescend to explain, above L.150,000 worth of property has come into
the hands of Messrs Grabble and Grab, of Smash Place, 'which they are
resolute in summarily disposing of _on principles commensurate with
the honourable position they hold in the metropolis_.' Then follows a
list of tempting bargains, completely filling both the broad sheets.
Here are a few samples:
'Costly magnificent long shawls, manufactured at L.6, to be
sold for 18s. 6d.
Fur victorines, usually charged 18s. 6d., to sell at 1s. 3d.
2500 shawls (Barège), worth 21s. each, to sell at 5s.
Embroidered satin shawls (magnificent), value 20 guineas
each, to be sold for 3 guineas.'
The reader is probably satisfied by this time of the extraordinary
cheapness of these inexhaustible wares, which thus go begging for
purchasers in the bosoms of families. It is hardly necessary to inform
him, that all these enormous pretensions are so many lying delusions,
intended only to bring people in crowds to the shop, where they are
effectually fleeced by the jackals in attendance. If the lady reader
doubt the truth of our assertion, let her go for once to the
establishment of Messrs Grabble and Grab last named. An omnibus from
any part of the city or suburbs will, as the circular informs you, set
you down at the door. Upon entering the shop, you are received by a
polite inquiry from the 'walker' as to the purpose of your visit. You
must say something in answer to his torrent of civility, and you
probably name the thing you want, or at least which you are willing to
have at the price named in the sheet transmitted to you through the
post. Suppose you utter the word 'shawl.' 'This way, madam,' says he;
and forthwith leads you a long dance to the end of the counter, where
he consigns you over to the management of a plausible genius invested
with the control of the shawl department. You have perhaps the list of
prices in your hand, and you point out the article you wish to see.
The fellow shews you fifty things for which you have no occasion, in
spite of your reiterated request for the article in the list. He
states his conviction, in a flattering tone, that _that_ article would
not become you, and recommends those he offers as incomparably
superior. If you insist, which you rarely can, he is at length sorry
to inform you that the article is unfortunately just now out of stock,
depreciating it at the same time as altogether beneath _your_ notice;
and in the end succeeds in cramming you with something which you don't
want, and for which you pay from 15 to 20 per cent. more than your own
draper would have charged you for it.
The above extracts are given in illustration of the last new discovery
in the science of puffing--a discovery by which, through the agency of
the press, the penny-post, and the last new London Directory, the
greatest rogues are enabled to practise upon the simplicity of our
better-halves, while we think them secure in the guardianship of home.
We imagine that, practically, this science must be now pretty near
completion. Earth, air, fire, and water, are all pressed into the
service. It has its painters, and poets, and literary staff, from the
bard who tunes his harp to the praise of the pantaloons of the great
public benefactor Noses, to the immortal professoress of crochet and
cross-stitch, who contracts for L.120 a year to puff in 'The Family
Fudge' the superexcellent knitting and boar's-head cotton of Messrs
Steel and Goldseye. It may be that something more is yet within the
reach of human ingenuity. It remains to be seen whether we shall at
some future time find puffs in the hearts of lettuces and
summer-cabbages, or shell them from our green-peas and Windsor beans.
It might be brought about, perhaps, were the market-gardeners enlisted
in the cause; the only question is, whether it could be made to pay.