and spent, if not positively drunk, the motley | impure. Ballad-singing has been, and company salute the Sabbath morn. ever will be a favorite amusement of the workers, and if well managed and written, these ballads may address themselves to the noble, the domestic, the tender, nay the holy feelings of man's nature, just as well as to the sensual and low passions, which exist with the rich as well as the poor. "If one could follow that crowd home, one might moralize! Deep reflection, serious and calin thoughts, statesman and philanthropist, might be spent upon them. What time shall the parents have for thought or prayer, for cleanliness or godliness when they huddle to bed at such an hour, down some narrow court? Place down the tired and the fevered child; there let it dream its infant life away with the hoarse voice of Mr. Vox, the 'celebrated comic singer,' ringing in its cars. Wearied with misspent hours, and annoyed by wasted money, let the brutal quarrel now ensue between the shrew wife who begs her weekly pittance to keep house, and the brutal and inebriated husband. Spirits of evil, shut in my noisome cellars, or imprisoned in the squat casks above my bar! what once was part of you scours now the veins of hundreds of beings, and, whilst they lie in uneasy sleep, prepares the morbid apathy and the quick-coming disease of the morrow. Now, in our opinion, there can be no question but that such entertainments as these tend materially to demoralize the population; and yet the statesman and the Christian have been forced to discover that a people cannot subsist without amusement. And ignorant people tickled, pleased, and coquetted with, may for a long time submit to the most rapacious and wicked of governments. The Romans of the later empire have taught us this. So long as they could obtain panem et circenses, Didius Julianus might purchase the empire at an auction, or Elagabalus might disgust the world with his profligacy. But at the same time, it were unwise, because a vicious system of indulgence has paved the way for tyranny, to entirely destroy an innocent amusement. There is "a time to laugh," says Solomon, and the heathen poet echoes the sentiment. An occasional relaxation is wise and natural, and, therefore, virtuous and conformable with Christianity. When this is denied, the people rush into the opposite extreme; the puritanic severity of the Commonwealth, noble as it was, unfortunately induced with an uneducated people, the licentious pravity of the Restoration. In observing, therefore, on the "low life" of London a chapter might easily, indeed should be, set aside for their amusements and indulgences; and glancing for the last time at these, we assure the reader, that far from doing away with them, we would merely substitute the healthy and the elevating, for the low, the corrupt, the intoxicating and the In the same street in which the blazing temple of insobriety in which our author hath pictured Mr. Vox as singing, stands, there are also to be found hundreds of poor, wretched people, whose subsistence is so scanty, that it does not permit them to dream of so grand an entertainment as that of Mr. Vox and his company, any more than it would of sitting with her Majesty at the Haymarket opera-house, and of listening to the trills of Alboni. For them, the itinerant bållad-monger strikes up his quavering or roaring notes. With them, the little stunted child crying in weak voice some negro ballad, is a master in song. Doubtlessly they find beauty in such songsters, for they will reward him with farthings and halfpence; that is, those who are comparatively rich amongst them; and for the others, one may see them listening with pleasure and avidity to this eleemosynary concert, down the dark alley and the crowded court. That some of these songs are improper and nonsensical, there is no doubt; but that the large majority have a great deal of rude pathos, and even poetry and power in them, speaks volumes for the kindly hearts and feelings of that noble race, the British poor. Let the recollection of the melody be ever so faint, the words of the song ever so poor, you shall see the crowd listen-attentisque auribus adstant,-to the sorrows of Lucy Neal," or the troubles of" Ben Bolt." "Oh, don't you remember the wood, Ben Bolt, Near the green sunny slope of the hill, Where we oft have sung 'neath its wide-spreading shade, And kept time to the click of the mill? The mill has gone to decay, Ben Bolt, And a quiet now reigns all around, See, the old rustic porch with its roses so sweet, Lies scattered and fall'n to the ground." We present this verse to our country readers, who have often in quiet parlors listened to the same song, as a protest against the supposition, that the "low people" like everything that is low. The song is of itself not very fine, but it has about it an appeal to the heart which with those who listen to it, equals the tenderness of Chapelle, or the pastorals of Guarini. These songs, too, arise from the people, with whom they are so popular. After the battle of the Alma, one was bawled about the holes and corners of London, and eagerly bought by the denizens thereof, which we believe has not achieved the popularity of the middle-class drawing-room, but which spoke to many a widowed heart, and to many thousands of those whose true aspirations make the glory of the country. Its verses ran as follows: "Mother, is the battle over? Thousands have been slain, they say, Is my father coming?―tell me, Have the English gained the day? Is he well, or is he wounded Mother, do you think he's slain? If you know I pray you tell me Will my father come again?" Of course the purport of the song requires that the father is slain; and the poet winds up in sad doggrel, but with a touch of true pathos: "He died for old England's glory; We repeat that these songs are infinitely purer and better than the songs of the drawing-room, sixty, fifty, ay, or forty years ago. In Doctor Johnson's timethe grave old fellow himself wrote love songs-ladies perpetrated compositions of a very curious tendency, and not only curious, but prurient. These have crept into our most modest collections, and some of them may be even found in Dr. Knox's "Elegant Extracts," and in Dodsley's "Collection of Poems;" in the books of fugitive poetry of the period they abound. The contrast is, therefore, much to be noted, is very pleasing, and gives us great hope for the people of England, for when purity and true feeling exists in "low life," there happiness will exist also. A great patriot declared, that he did not care who made the laws of a country so that he made the songs, and very often the happiness of a people is more endangered by a bad song than by a bad law. The literature of the lowest classes is worthy of our attention. Taken on the whole, in this year of 1856, the observation will not prove discouraging, nor shall we find the tone of morals, or the class of ideas instilled by cheap literature, so degrading as many would have us suppose. A long and a wide acquaintance with the subject, undertaken for a specific purpose, gives us the right to declare this ex cathedrâ. Impure literature circulates in its worst form amongst the roués and debauchés of high life. With the poor, literature and a taste for reading exist together with the very natural fact, that they purify and improve themselves. The act of writing novels and constructing tales, though rudely practised, is yet much better done now for the poor than it used to be. To be sure we have stupid young ladies who will write to more stupid editors and ask their advice, as to whether they shall marry the "fair gentleman" who is so "insinuating," or the "dark young man" whose eyes are so "romantic;" but very luckily these things are now confined to the kitchen and the milliner's workroom, and they in a few short months disgust their most ardent admirers. But there is much comfort in knowing that ladies of title a few years ago, passed through the same ordeal, and that the Ladies' Miscellany, and that little monthly, which Oliver Goldsmith edited for the bookseller, Griffith, contained precisely the same, and even much worse and more mischievous questions. In the library of the British Museum, are hundreds of such dead inanities, affording fine texts for one who should preach upon human folly and weakness, but also conveying consolation and hope, when we find that the mental epidemic rages now amongst the lowest and most ignorant classes, instead of the highest and most educated. The truth is, that the taste of our titled great-grandmothers was considerably worse than that of our untaught cooks and housemaids is at present. When we remember that the Bon Ton Magazine was very popular, and that the scandalous tête-à-têtes in the Town and Country Magazine were greedily perused, we shall not doubt the assertion. As regards the non-assertion of Christianity, and often, indeed, the strange way in which religion itself is ignored in the popular journals-one of these boasts of a sale of a quarter of a million copies, and of six times that number of readers— Sometimes it is a scandalous account of the elopement of Mrs. S-with Mr. T, both of the street or parish in which it is hawked. These often sell largely, especially in the country, but the Londoners are becoming awake to the ingenuity of the Seven Dials authors. In "low life" especially, is exhibited that morbid craving after excitement which always accompanies ignorance; accounts of "murders" and "last-dying speeches," printed on these broad sheets, are sold, not by thousands, but by tens of thousands of copies. we have only to say that the fact exists | outrageous kind, which is bawled about and is to be deeply deplored. With re- the streets by the stentorian gentlemen of gard to one of these journals the case is that profession, and which, out of mere perhaps worse. It is edited by a clever curiosity, calls the heads of the neighborman-one, indeed, of wide intelligence hood out of their houses. Sometimes it and information-but who is, unfortu- is a story of an uncommitted murder. nately, so latitudinarian that he doubts everything, and what is more, he suggests his doubts to other and weaker minds. The harm done by such a man is incalculable. But lower than these, by many, many fathoms' measure, are certain purveyors of literature for the poor, in the shape of last-dying speeches and songs. Copies of the songs, verses of which we printed above, proceeded from the same celebrated press in Seven Dials: for it is in that populous neighborhood, in the neighborhood of Monmouth Street, and in the region of the Jews and old clothesmen, that the muse populaire dwells and flourishes. Curiously, the place has suffered no change during a whole century. Fielding, in his exquisite burlesque of "Tom Thumb," places in the mouth of Lord Doodle the excellent apothegm: "What is honor? A Monmouth-street laced coat gracing to-day And cast-off garments and vamped boots Our readers will not, perhaps, be surprised to find that the criminal population of London, although existing within the limits inhabited by the poor and needy, are yet not of them, but a totally distinct class. The fact is, that the very poor of this great city, are "destroyed for lack of knowledge," (Hosea 4 : 6)-of any kind of education, whereas the thieves of London are an educated class, indeed learnedlearned in deceit, in a knowledge of man, and in their business and art. Mr. Mayhew, who has devoted a great deal of time to this particular branch of study, has arranged for us the different kinds of people who form in London, as in all great cities, a distinct class of beings, but who have an essential connection with "low life :" obtain their living constitute the essential points "The means by which the criminal classes of difference among them, and form, indeed, the methods of distinction among themselves. The 'Rampsmen,' the 'Drummers,' the 'Mobsmen,' the 'Sneaksmen,' and the 'Shofulmen,' which are the terms by which the thieves themselves designate the several branches of the 'profession,' are but so many expressions indicating the several modes of obtaining the property of which they become possessed. "The Rampsman,' or 'Cracksman,' plunders by force-as the burglar, footpad, etc. "The Drummer,' plunders by stupefaction as the 'hocusser.' "The Mobsman,' plunders by manual dexterity as the pickpocket. "The Sneaksman,' plunders by stealth-as the petty-larceny boy. And "The Shofulman' plunders by counterfeits -as the coiner. "Now, each and all of these are a distinct species of the criminal genus, having little connection with the others. The cracksman,' or housebreaker, would no more think of associating with the 'sneaksman,' than a barrister would dream of sitting down to dinner with an attorney. The perils braved by the housebreaker or the footpad, makes the cowardice of the sneaksman contemptible to him; and the one is distinguished by a kind of bull-dog insensibility to danger, while the other is marked by a low, cat-like cunning. | "The ‘Cadgers,' by begging and exciting false sympathy. "The Vagrants,' by declaring on the casual ward of the parish workhouse. "Each of these, again, are unmistakably distinguished from the rest. The Flat-catchers' are generally remarkable for great shrewdness, especially in the knowledge of human character, and ingenuity in designing and carrying out their several schemes. The 'Charley Pitchers' appertain more to the conjuring or sleight-ofhand and black-leg class. "The 'Cadgers,' on the other hand, are to the class of cheats what the 'Sneaksman' is to the thieves-the lowest of all-being the least distinguished for those characteristics which mark the other members of the same body. As the 'Sneaksman' is the least daring and expert of all the 'prigs,' so is the 'Cadger' the least intellectual and cunning of all the cheats. A Shallow cove'-that is to "The 'Mobsinan,' on the other hand, is more say, one who exhibits himself half-naked in the of a handicraftsman than either, and is com- streets, as a means of obtaining his living-is paratively refined, by the society he is obliged looked upon as the most despicable of all creato keep. He usually dresses in the same elabo- tures, since the act requires neither courage, inrate style of fashion as a Jew on a Saturday (intellect, nor dexterity for the execution of it. which case he is more particularly described by Lastly, the Vagrants' are the wanderers—the the prefix 'swell',) and 'mixes' generally in the English Bedouins-those who, in their own 'best of company,' frequenting for the purpose words, 'love to shake a free leg'-the thoughtof business, all the places of public entertain- less and the careless vagabonds of our race.' ment, and often being a regular attendant at church, and the more elegant chapels-especially during charity sermons. The mobsman takes his name from the gregarious habits of the class to which he belongs, it being necessary for the successful picking of pockets that the work be done in small gangs or mobs, so as to 'cover' the operator. Among the 'Sneaksmen,' again, the purloiners of animals (such as the horse-stealers, the sheep-stealers, &c.) all, with the exception of the dog-stealers, belong to a particular tribe; these are agricultural thieves, whereas the mobsmen are generally of a more civic charac ter. "The 'Shofulmen,' or coiners, moreover, constitute another species; and upon them, like the others, is impressed the stamp of the peculiar line of roguery they may chance to follow as a means of subsistence. "Such are the most salient features of that portion of the habitually dishonest classes who live by taking what they want from others. The other moiety of the same class, who live by getting what they want given to them, is equal ly peculiar. These consist of the Flat-catchers,' the Hunters,' and 'Charley Pitchers,' the 'Bouncers,' and 'Besters,' the 'Cadgers,' and the 'Vagrants.' "The Flat-catchers' obtain their means by false pretences as swindlers, duffers, ring-droppers and cheats of all kinds. "The Hunters,' and 'Charley Pitchers,' live by low gaming-as thimblerig-men. "The Bouncers' and 'Besters,' by betting, intimidating, or talking people out of their pro perty. ་ These descriptions, in the main true, are distinguished by that spirit of exaggeration which attaches to Mr. Mayhew's writings. The classes are not so distinct as he would make out, and "cracksmen” and 66 sneaksmen" are to be found together, just as barristers and attorneys congregate at the same table. The bar has its etiquette, but it is often broken through, and "low life" like haut ton, not only sometimes, but often lays aside its rules, and submits to necessity. The earnings of these men whom Mr. Mayhew has classed for us, are frequently very high, but the devil is a bad paymaster, and the gains of vice are precarious. "I'd rather," said a reformed thief to the narrator, "live upon a pennorth o' bread a day, got honestly, than have lots of grub the other way-that I would; not but what there's a deal to be made, particularly by handkerchiefs, but you're always in fear, your conscience won't let yer rest, every sound you bears, it may be on the passage or on the stairs when you're a-bed, any how, you starts up they was always poor, poor as he was, with not a sixpence to bless themselves with." The money earned by thieves is always, or almost always, spent in low debauchery, and dissipated as soon as acquired. Around them there are ever cunning and brutal flatterers and hangers-on; the burglar is more secret now, but still he has his courtiers and admirers, just as he did when Jack Sheppard made himself famous, and Jonathan Wild was employed by a weak and infamous government as a thief-catcher. Thieves themselves are shunned as much by the honest poor, as by the honest rich, but there is a bond between them which keeps them very much together, and that bond is the persecution experienced from the police. From these men in office, whether at a fire, a review, a crowd, or in their own dark alley, the poor of London get but rough treatment. Brought up in a hard school, frequently untaught themselves, and imported from the country into London, the policemen regard everybody who is not a "householder" as one of the "dangerous classes" whom he must "put down." The phrase used, is and has been a favorite with the officer and police magistrate; and some years ago a London alderman, dressed in a little brief authority, talked grandly about the wickedness of self-murder, and assured a miserable and ruined girl, who had attempted to drown herself, that he had determined, "with the aid of the police, to put down suicide." Such a speech, smacking more of magisterial zeal than of Christian sympathy, is yet remembered and repeated by the poor and miserable. Suicide is, however, much less frequent among the "low" people than the high. They are often so poor that they have not spirit enough to kill themselves, and they endure unheard-of hardships. If any one is curious about this fact let him station himself, upon a bitter night, of which our climate affords many even in spring and early summer, at one of those refuges for the homeless and the outcast, which private charity has established in many portions of the town. He will there meet such haggard, downcast, miserable wretches, such faded, troubled, and worn-out specimens of humanity, that he will wonder at that persistence in life which, for so long a time, keeps body and soul together. If Dives ever in a repentant mood, touched by a wandering gleam of Christian charity, or by a sermon from some conscientious minister of Christ, should go forth to meet his Lazarus, he would not in London have very far to wander. Mr. Vanderkiste, in his deeply interesting work, tells us the trials which poor people endure before they attempt suicide. He is merely relating the every-day experience of a London City Missionary. 66 "These people" (he is speaking of an industrious family, the support of which was discharged upon a reduction of hands) were actually starving; they had been without food for two days. I immediately gave them some money for food, which was instantly procured, and on eating it the wind in both the parents occasioned so much hysterics that I was really alarmed. Another poor man," he continues, "described to me the effects of his fasting for three days. The first day,' said he, "taint so werry bad if you has a bit of 'baccer; the second, it's horrid, it is sich gnawing; the third day 'taint so bad again, you feel sinkish like and werry faintish." Another man he visited was "gnawing something black," which proved to be a bone picked from a dunghill, and in a state of decomposition. He adds, "I could fill a volume with accounts of cases of extreme distress and actual starvation." The misery thus experienced tells upon the poor creatures at last; and at the door of every police court hangs a black board, upon which printed formula, headed 66 FOUND DEAD," are pasted, which are filled up in the hand-writing of the police inspector. Many of these (about twelve cases are constantly "before the public ") are no doubt instances of accidental death, &c., such as drowning, but many, too many, alas! are evidently those of starvation and exhaustion: the back room, garret, or ditch, where they are found, the scant clothing, the sunken cheeks and eyes, all betoken it; the parish doctor, who is called in to view the corpse, never doubts it. The dwellings of the poor and low in London, are perhaps more wretched, miserable, and contagious, than those of any people in the world. Modern improvement has done something to remedy this, but there is yet much to do. Every summer, cholera and typhus make lanes among the "low life;" and although Field Lane and many of its adjacent courts have been pulled down, yet the police are continually |