OF the way of trading of a travelling-pedlar I had the following account from of the body. He was well dressed, and a good but keen-looking man of about , slim, and of rather short stature, with quick dark eyes and bushy whiskers, on which it was evident no small culture was bestowed. His manners were far from obtrusive or importunate—to those whom he sought to make customers—for I happened to witness a portion of his proceedings in that respect; but he had a quiet perseverance with him, which, along with perfect civility, and something like deference, might be the most efficient means of recommending himself to the maid-servants, among whom lay his chief customers. He showed a little of the pride of art in describing the management of his business, but he would not hear that he "pattered:" he talked to his customers, he declared, as any draper, who knew his business well, might talk to

When I saw him, his pack, which he carried slung over shoulder, contained a few gownpieces of printed cotton, nearly all with pink grounds; a few shawls of different sizes; and rolls firmly packed, each with a card-label on which was neatly written, "French Merino. Full duty paid. A.B.—L.F.———. French Chocolate." There were also neat paper packages, ed "worked collars," , "gauze handkerchiefs," and the other "beautiful child's gros de naples." The latter consisted of yards of black silk, sufficient for a child's dress. He carried with him, moreover, umbrellas, inclosed in a bright glazed cover, while from its mother-of-pearl handle hung a card addressed—"The Lady's Maid, Victoria Lodge, "

"This is a very small stock," he said, "to what I generally carry, but I'm going on a country round to-morrow, and I want to get through it before I lay in a new . I tell people that I want to sell off my goods cheap, as they're too good for country sale; and that's true, the better half of it."

On my expressing some surprise that he should be leaving London at this particular time, he answered:—

I go into the country because I think all the hawkers will be making for town, and there'll be plenty of customers left in the country, and fewer to sell to them at their own places. That's my opinion.

"I sell to women of all sorts. Smart-dressing servant-maids, perhaps, are my best customers, especially if they live a good way from any grand ticketing shop. I sold of my umbrellas to of them just before you spoke to me. She was standing at the door, and I saw her give half a glance at the umbrellas, and so I offered them. She agreed to buy a very nice at (which should have been ), but I persuaded her to take at (which should have been ). 'Look here, ma'am,' said I, 'this umbrella is much bigger you see, and will carry double, so when you're coming from church of a wet Sunday evening, a friend can have share of it, and very grateful he'll be, as he's sure to have his best hat on. There's been many a question put under an umbrella that way that's made a young lady blush, and take good care of her umbrella when she was married, and had a house of her own. I look sharp after the young and pretty ladies, Miss, and shall as long as I'm a bachelor.' 'O,' says she, 'such ridiculous nonsense. But I'll have the bigger umbrella, because it's often so windy about here, and then must have a good cover if it rains as well.'

That's my way, sir. I don't mind telling that, because they do the same in the shops. I've heard them, but they can't put love and sweethearting so cleverly in a crowded shop as we can in a quiet house. It's that I go for, love and sweet-hearting; and I always speak to any smart servant as if I thought she was the mistress, or as if I wasn't sure whether she was the mistress or the lady's-maid; three times out of four she's house-maid or maid of all work. I call her 'ma'am,' and 'young lady,' and sometimes 'miss.' It's no use offering to sell until a maid has tidied herself in the afternoon—not a bit. I should make a capital draper's shopman, I know, only I could never bear the confinement. I never will hear such words as 'I don't want it,' or, 'nothing more to-day,' no more than if I was behind a counter.

The great difficulty I have is to get a chance of offering my goods. If I ring at a gate—for I always go a little way out of town—they can see who it is, and I may ring half an hour for nothing. If the door's opened it's often shut again directly, and I just hear 'bother.' I used to leave a few bills, and I do so still in some parts of the country, with a list of goods, and 'this bill to be called for' printed at the bottom. But I haven't done that in town for a long time; it's no good. People seem to think it's giving double trouble. One of the prettiest girls I ever saw where I called one evening, pointed—just as I began to say, 'I left a bill and'—to some paper round a candle in a stick, and shut the door laughing.

In selling my gown-pieces I say they are such as will suit the complexion, and such like; and I always use my judgment in saying so. Why shouldn't I? It's the same to me what colour I sell. 'It's a genteel thing, ma'am,' I'll say to a servant-maid, 'and such as common people won't admire. It's not staring enough for them. I'm sure it would become you, ma'am, and is very cheap; cheaper than you could buy at a shop; for all these things are made by the same manufacturers, and sold to the wholesale dealers at the same price, and a shopkeeper, you know, has his young men, and taxes, and rates, and gas, and fine windows to pay for, and I haven't, so it don't want much judgment to see that I must be able to sell cheaper than shopkeepers, and I think your own taste, ma'am, will satisfy you that these here are elegant patterns.'

That's the way I go on. No doubt there's others do the same, but I know and care little about them. I have my own way of doing business, and never trouble myself about other people's patter or nonsense.

Now, that piece of silk I shall, most likely, sell to the landlady of a public-house, where I see there's children. I shall offer it after I've got a bit of dinner there, or when I've said I want a bit. It's no use offering it there, though, if it isn't cheap; they're too good judges. Innkeepers aren't bad customers, I think, taking it altogether, to such as me, if you can get to talk to them, as you sometimes can at their bars. They're generally wanting something, that's one step. I always tell them that they ought to buy of men, in my way, who live among them, and not of fine shop-keepers, who never came a-near their houses. I've sold them both cottons and linens, after such talk as that. I live at public-houses in the country. I sleep nowhere else.

My trade in town is nothing to what it was ten or a dozen years back. I don't know the reason exactly. I think so many threepenny busses is one; for they'll take any servant, when she's got an afternoon, to a thoroughfare full of ticket-shops, and bring her back, and her bundle of purchases too, for another 3d. I shall cut it altogether, I think, and stick to the country. Why, I've known the time when I should have met from half-a-dozen to a dozen people trading in my way in town, and for these three days, and dry days too, I haven't met one. My way of trading in the country is just the same as in town. I go from farm-house to farm-house, or call at gentlemen's grand seats—if a man's known to the servants there, it may be the best card he can play—and I call at every likely house in the towns or villages. I only go to a house and sell a mistress or maid the same sort of goods (a little cheaper, perhaps), and recommend them in the same way, as is done every day at many a fine city, and borough, and West-End shop. I never say they're part of a bankrupt's stock; a packfull would seem nothing for that. I never pretend that they're smuggled. Mine's a respectable trade, sir. There's been so much dodging that way, it's been a great stop to fair trading; and I like to go on the same round more than once. A person once taken--in by smuggled handkerchiefs, or anything, won't deal with a hawker again, even though there's no deception. But 'duffing,' and all that is going down fast, and I wish it was gone altogether. I do nothing in tally. I buy my goods; and I've bought all sorts, in wholesale houses, of course, and I'd rather lay out 10l. in Manchester than in London. O, as to what I make, I can't say it's enough to keep me (I've only myself), and escape the income-tax. Sometimes I make 10s. a week; sometimes 20s.; sometimes 30s.; and I have made 50s.; and one week, the best I ever did, I made as much as 74s. 6d. That's all I can say.

Perhaps it may be sufficiently accurate to compute the average weekly earnings of a smart trader like my informant, at from to in London, and from to in the country.