THESE street-sellers are less numerous than might be imagined, when—according to my present division—the class is confined to the sellers of articles which they do not manufacture. The metal wares thus sold I have already enumerated, and I have now to describe the characteristics of the sellers.

The result of my inquiries leads me to the conclusion, that the street-vendors of any article which is the product of the skill of the handicraftsman, have been, almost always, in their outset in a street life, connected in some capacity or other with the trade, the manufactures of which they vend.

elderly man, long familiar with this branch of the street-trade, expressed to me his conviction that when a mechanic sought his livelihood in the streets, he naturally "gave his mind to sell what he understood. Now, in my own case," continued my informant, "I was born and bred a tinman, and when I was driven to a street-life, I never thought of selling anything but tins. How could I, if I wished to do the thing square and proper?—it would be like trying to speak another language. If I'd started on slippers—and I knew a poor man who was set up in the streets by a charitable lady on a stock of gentlemen's slippers—what could I have done? Why, no better than he told me he did. He was a potter down at Deptford, and knew of nothing but flower-pots, and honey-jars for grocers, and them red sorts of pottery. Poor fellow, he might have died of hunger, only the cholera came quickest. But when I'm questioned about my tins, I'm my own man; and it's a great thing, I'm satisfied, in a street-trade, when there's so many cheap shops, and the police and all again you, to understand the goods you're talking about."

This statement, I may repeat, is undoubtedly correct, so far as that a "beaten-out" mechanic, when driven to the streets, in the instance offers to the public wares of which he understands the value and quality. Afterwards, in the experience or vagaries of a street-life, other commodities may be, or may appear to be, more remunerative, and for such the mechanic may relinquish his articles of street-traffic. "Why, sir," I was told, "there was man who left razors for cabbages; 'cause day a costermonger wot lived in the same house with him and was taken ill, asked him to go out with a barrow of summer cabbages—the costermonger's boy went with him—and they went off so well that Joe [the former razor-seller] managed to start in the costering line, he was so encouraged."

The street-trade in metal manufactured articles is principally itinerant. Perhaps during the week upwards of -fourths of those carrying it on are itinerant, while on a Saturday night, perhaps, all are stationary, and almost always in the street-markets. The itinerant

The metal sold in the street may be divided into street-hardware, street-tinware, and streetjewellery. I shall begin with the former.

The street-sellers of hardware are, I am assured, in number about , including single men and families; for women "take their share" in the business, and children sell smaller things, such as snuffers or bread-baskets. The people pursuing the trade are of the class I have above described, with the exception of some or who formerly made a living as servants to the gaming-booths at Epsom, Ascot, &c., &c., and "managed to live out of the races, somehow, most of the year;" since the gaming-booths have been disallowed, they have "taken to the street hardware."

All these street-sellers obtain their supplies at "the swag-shops;" of which I shall speak hereafter. The main articles of their trade are tea-boards, waiters, snuffers, candlesticks, breadbaskets, cheese-trays, Britannia metal tea-pots and spoons, iron kettles, pans, and coffee-pots. The most saleable things, I am told by a man who has been years in this and similar street trades, are at present -in. tea-boards, bought at "the swags" at from a doz., to each; -in. boards, from the doz. to each; bread-baskets, the doz.; and Britannia metal tea-pots, the doz. These tea-pots have generally what is called "loaded bottoms;" the lower part of the vessel is "filled with composition, so as to look as if there was great weight of metal, and as if the pot would melt for almost the which is asked for it, and very often got."

I learned from the same man, however, and from others in the trade, that it is far more difficult now than it was a few years ago, to sell "rubbish." There used to be also, but not within these or years, a tolerable profit realised by the street-sellers of hardware in the way of "swop." It was common to take an old metal article, as part payment for a new ; and if the old article were of good quality, it was polished and tinkered up for sale in the Saturday evening street-markets, and often "went off well." This traffic, however, has almost ceased to exist, as regards the streetsellers of hardware, and has been all but monopolised by the men who barter "crocks" for wearing-apparel, or any old metal. Some hardware-men who have become well known on their "rounds"—for the principal trade is in the suburbs —sell very good wares, and at moderate profits.

It's a poor trade, sir, is the hardware," said one man carrying it on, "and street trades are mostly poor trades, for I've tried many a one of them. I was brought up a clown, I may say; my father died when I was a child, and I might have been a clown still but for an accident (a rupture). That's long ago,—I can't say how long; but I know that before I was fifteen, I many a time wished I was dead, and I have many a time since. Why the day before yesterday, from 9 in the morning to 11 at night, I didn't take a farthing. Some days I don't earn 1s., and I have a mother depending upon me who can do little or nothing. I'm a teetotaller; if I wasn't we shouldn't have a meal a day. I never was fond of drink, and if I'm ever so weary and out of sorts, and worried for a meal's meat, I can't say I ever long for a drop to cheer me up. Sometimes I can't get coffee, let alone anything else. O, I suffer terribly. Day after day I get wet through, and have nothing to take home to my mother at last. Our principal food is bread and butter, and tea. Not fish half so often as many poor people. I suppose, because we don't care for it. I know that our living, the two of us, stands to less than 1s. a day,—not 6d. a piece. Then I have two rents to pay. No, sir, not for two places; but I pay 2s. a week for a room, a tidy bit of a chamber, furnished, and 1s. a week rent, —I call it rent, for a loan of 5s. I've paid 1s. a week for four weeks on it, and must keep paying until I can hand over the 5s., with 1s. for rent added to it, all in one sum. If I could tip up the 5s. the day after I'd paid the last week's 1s., I must pay another shilling. The man who lends does nothing else; he lives by lending, and by letting out a few barrows to costermongers, and other street-people. I wish I could take a farewell sight of them.

The principal traffic carried on by these street-sellers is in the suburbs. Women constitute their sole customers, or nearly so. Their profits fluctuate from per cent. to per cent. The bread-baskets, which they buy at the doz., they retail at each; for it is very difficult, I have frequently been told, to get a price between and This, however, relates only to those things which are not articles of actual necessity. Half of these street-sellers, I am assured, take on an average from to weekly the year through; a quarter take , and the remaining quarter from to Calculating an average taking of each per week, throughout the entire class, men, women, and children, we find expended in streetsold hardwares. years ago, I am told, the takings were not less than

The following is an extract from accounts kept, not long ago, by a street-seller of hardware. His principal sale was snuffers, knives and forks, iron candlesticks, padlocks, and bedscrews. His stock cost him on the Monday morning, and his week was his , which I here subjoin:

The following is the week in the accountbooks. The street-seller after this (about half a year ago) sold his stock to a small shopkeeper, and went into another business.