first on my wages and then on my clothes, till all when the mob began to gather round, I felt all was gone but the few rags on my back. So I be- overish, and I turned my head to the frame instead gan to think that the Punch and Judy business was of the people. We had n't had no rehearsals aforebetter than starving, after all. Yes, I should think hand, and I did the patter quite promiscuous. anything were better than that-though it's a busi-There was not much talk, to be sure, required then ; ness that, after you 've once took to, you never can and what little there was consisted of merely callget out of people fancies you know too much, and ing out the names of the figures as they came up, won't have nothing to say to you. If I got a sit-and these my master prompted me with from inside uation at a tradesman's, why the boys would be the frame. But little as there was for me to do, I sure to recognize me behind the counter, and begin know I never could have done it if it hadn't been a shouting into the shop, (they must shout, you for the spirits-the false spirits, you see (a little know,) "O, there 's Punch and Judy-there's drop of gin)-as my master guv me in the mornPunch a sarving out the customers." Ah, it's ing. The fust time as ever I made my appearance great annoyance being a public keracter, I can in public, I collected as much as eight shillings, assure you, sir-go where you will it's "Punchy, and my master said, after the performance was Punchy!" As for the boys they'll never leave over, "You'll do!" You see, I was partly in me alone till I die, I know; and I suppose in my livery and looked a little bit decent like. old age I shall have to take to the parish broom. After this was over I kept on going out with my All our forefathers died in the workhouse. I don't master for two year, as I had agreed, and at the know a Punch's showman what has n't. One of end of that time I had saved enough to start a show my pardners was buried by the workhouse; and of my own. I bought the show of old Porsini, the even old Pike, the most noted showman as ever man as first brought Punch into the streets of Engwas, died in the workhouse. Pike and Porsini—land. To be sure there was a woman over here Porsini was the first original street Punch, and with it before him. Her name was I can't

Pike was his apprentice-their names is handed think of it just now, but she never performed in the down to prosperity among the noblemen and foot-streets, so we consider Porsini to be our real foremen of the land. They both died in the workhouse, father. It is n't much more nor seventy years and, in course, I shall do the same. Something since Porsini-he was a wery old man when he else might turn up, to be sure. We can't say what died, and blind-showed the hexhibition in the this luck of the world is. I'm obliged to strive streets of London. I've heerd tell that old Porsini wery hard-wery hard, indeed, sir-now, to get a used to take very often as much as £10 a day, and living, and then not get it after all at times-com- he used to sit down to his fowls and wine, and the pelled to go short often. Punch, you know, sir, very best of everything, like the first gennelman in is a dramatic performance, in two hacts. It's a the land-indeed, he made enough money at the play, you may say. I don't think it can be called business to be quite a tip-top gennelman, that he a tragedy hexactly: a drama is what we names it. did. But he never took care of a half penny he There is tragic parts, and comic and sentimental got. He was that independent that if he was parts too. Some families where I performs will wanted to perform, sir, he 'd come at his time, not have it most sentimental—in the original style-your'n. At last he reduced himself to want, and them families is generally sentimental theirselves. died in St. Giles' workhouse. Ah, poor fellow! Others is all for the comic, and then I has to kick he ought n't to have been allowed to die where he up all the games I can. To the sentimental folk I did, after amusing the public for so many years. am obliged to perform wery steady and wery slow, Every one in London knowed him. Lords, dukes, and leave out all comic words and business. They princes, squires and wagabonds-all used to stop won't have no ghost, no coffin, and no devil; and to laugh at his performance, and a funny, clever, that's what I call spiling the performance entirely. old fellow he was. He was past performing when It's the march of hintellect wots a doing all this I bought my show of him, and wery poor. He ere it is, sir. But I was a going to tell you about was living in the coal yard, Drury lane, and had my first jining the business. Well, you see, after scarcely a bit of food to eat. He had spent all he a good deal of persuading, and being druv to it, I had got in drink, and in treating friends—aye, any may say, I consented to go out with the young man one, no matter who. He did n't study the world, as I were a speaking about. He was to give me 12s. nor himself neither. As fast as the money came it a week and my keep, for two years certain, till I went, and when it was gone why he'd go to work could get my own show things together, and for that and get more. His show was a wery inferior one, I was to carry the show and go round and collect though it were the fust-nothing at all like them collecting, you know, sounds better than begging, about now-nothing near as good. If you only the pronunciation 's better like. Sometimes the had four sticks then, it was quite enough to make people says, when they sees us a coming round, plenty of money out of, so long as it was Punch. O, here they comes a begging"-but it can't be I gave him 35s. for the stand, figures and all. I begging, you know, when you 're a hexerting your-bought it cheap, you see, for it was thrown on one selves. I couldn't play the drum and pipes, so the young man used to do that himself, to call the people together before he got into the show. I used to stand outside, and patter to the figures.

The first time that ever I went out with Punch was in the beginning of August, 1825. I did all I could to awoid being seen. My dignity was hurt at being hobligated to take to the streets for a living. At fust I fought shy, and used to feel queer-somehow you don't know how like-whenever the people used to look at me. I remember wery well the first street as ever I performed in. It was off Gray's inn, one of them quiet, genteel streets, and

side, and was of no use to any one but such as myself. There was twelve figures and the other happoratus, such as the gallows, ladders, horse, bell, and stuffed dog. The characters were-Punch, Judy, Child, Beadle, Scaramouch, Nobody, Jack Ketch, the Grand Senoor, the Doctor, the Devil, (there was no ghost used then,) Merry Andrew, and the Blind Man. These last two keracters are quite done with now. The heads of the keracters was all carved on wood, and dressed in the proper costume of the country. There was, at that time, and is now, a real carver for the Punch business. He was dear, but wery good and hexcellent. His

Punch's head was the best I ever seed. The nose
and chin used to meet quite close together. A set
of new figures, dressed and all, would come to
about £15. Each head costs 5s. for the bare carv-
ing alone, and every figure that we has takes at
least a yard of cloth to dress him, besides orna-
ments and things that comes wery expensive.
good show at the present time will cost £3 odd for
the stand alone-that 's including baize, the frontis-
piece, the back scene, the cottage, and the letter
cloth, or what is called the drop-scene at the
theatres.

66

67

a practising I used to go into the parks and fields and out-of-the-way places, so as to get to know how to use it in the hopen hair. Now I'm reckoned one of the best speakers in the whole purfession.

performer of Punch, on my own account, I did feel When I made my first appearance as a regular the people could n't see me behind the baize, still A uncommon narvous to be sure; though I knowed I felt as if all the eyes of the country were upon me. the words out and keep the figures from shaking. It was as much as hever I could do to get In the old ancient style the back scene used to so as I thought I should never be able to get to the When I struck up the fust song my woice trembled pull up and change into a gaol scene, but that's all hend of the fust hact. I soon, however, got over altered now. We've got more upon the comic that there, and at present I'd play before the whole business, and tries to do more with Toby than with bench of bishops as cool as a cowcumber. We the prison scene. The prison is what we calls the always have a pardner now to play the drum and sentimental style. Formerly Toby was only a pipes, and collect the money. This, however, is stuffed figure. It was Pike who first hit upon hin- only a recent dodge. troducing a live dog, and a great hit it were; it about with a trumpet-that was Porsini's ancient made a grand alteration in the exhibition, for now style; but now that 's stopped. Only her majesty's In older times we used to go the performance is called that of Punch and Toby mails may blow trumpets in the streets at present. as well. There is one Punch about the streets at The fust person who went out with me was my present that tries it on with three dogs, but that aint wife. She used to stand outside and keep the boys much of a go-too much of a good thing, I calls it. from peeping through the baize whilst I was perPunch, as I said before, is a drama in two hacts. forming behind it, and she used to collect the money We don't drop the scene at the hend of the fust-arterwards as well. I carried the show and trumthe drum and pipes strikes up instead. The first pet, and she the box. She's been dead these five act we consider to end with Punch being taken to year now. prison for the murder of his wife and child. The the year, I should say I made then £5 regular. I Take one week with another all through great difficulty in performing Punch consists in the have taken as much as £2 10s. in one day in the speaking, which is done by a the mouth, such as this here. [He then produced at that time if I only took £1. You can see call," or whistle in streets, and I used to think it a bad day's business the call from his waistcoat pocket. It was a small Punch has been good work-a money-making busiflat instrument, made of two curved pieces of metal ness-and beat all mechanics right out. about the size of a knee-buckle, bound together take as much as I did when I first began, what with black thread. Between these was a thin must my forefathers have done when the business If I could plate of some substance (apparently silk) which he was five times as good as ever it were in my time? said was a secret. The call, he told me, was tuned Why I leaves you to judge what old Porsini and to a musical instrument, and took a considerable Pike must have made. time to learn. He afterwards took from his pocket often and often got 7s. and 8s. for one hexhibition two of the small metallic plates unbound. He said in the streets-2s. and 3s. I used to think low to Twenty year ago I've the composition they were made of was also one of get at one collection-and many time I'd perform the "secrets of the purfession." They were not eight or ten times in a day. tin nor zinc, because both of them metals were about work then, for we could get money fast pisons in the mouth, and hinjurious to the consti- enough, but now I often show twenty times in the We did n't care much tution." These calls (he continued) we often sell day, and get scarcely a bare living at it arter all. to gennelmen for a sovereign a piece, and for that That shows the times, you know, sir-what things we give 'ein a receipt how to use them. They aint was and is now. whistles, but calls, or unknown tongues, as we of a day we used to attend private parties in the sometimes names 'em, because with them in the hevening, and get sometimes as much as £2 for Arter performing in the streets mouth we can pronounce each word as plain as any the hexhibition. This used to be at the juvenile parson. We have two or three kinds-one for out-parties of the nobility, and the performance lasted of-doors, one for indoors, one for speaking and for about an hour and a half. For a short performance singing, and another for selling. I've sold many of half an hour at a gennelman's house we never a one to gennelmen going along, so I generally had less than £1. A performance houtside the keeps a hextra one with me. calls into this country with him from Italy, and we 10s. for it. I have performed afore almost all the Porsini brought the house was 2s. 6d., but we often got as much as who are now in the purfession have all larnt how nobility. Lord to make and use them, either from him or those as and one of our greatest patronizers. At the time he had taught 'em to. I larnt the use of mine from of the Police Bill I met him at Cheltenham on my was particular partial to us, Porsini hunself. My master, whom I went out travels, and he told me as he had saved Punch's with at first, would never teach me, and was wery neck once more; and it 's through him principally particklar in keeping it all secret from me. Por- that we are allowed to hexhibit in the streets. sini taught me the call at the time I bought his Punch is exempt from the Police Act. If you read show of him. I was six months in perfecting my- the hact throughout you won't find Punch menself in the use of it. I kept practising away night tioned in it. and morning with it until I got it quite perfect. It was no use trying at home-'cause it sounds quite different in the hopen hair. Often when I've made 'em at home I'm obliged to take the calls to pieces, after trying 'em out in the streets-they 've been made upon too weak a scale. When I was

ness as it was.
But all I've been telling you is about the busi-
consarn.
yond five shillings, and that's between myself and
What it is is a wery different
A good day for us now seldom gets be-
my pardner, who plays the drum and pipes. Often
we are out all day, and get a mere nuffing. Many

can there besides.) Bond street an't no good now. Oxford street, up by Old Cavendish street, or Oxford market, or Wells street, are all favorite pitches for Punch. We don't do much in the city. People has their heads all full of business there, and them as is greedy after the money an't no friend

and all the henwirons of London is pretty good. Hampstead, though, an't no good; they 've got too poor there. I'd sooner not go out at all than to Hampstead. Belgrave square, and all about that part, is uncommon good; but where there are many chapels Punch won't do at all. I did once, though, strike up hopposition to a street preacher wot was a holding forth in the New road, and did uncommon well. All his flock, as he called 'em, left him and come over to look at me. Punch and preaching is two different creeds-hopposition par

days we have been out and taken nuffing at all-street is uncommon good, and there's a good publithat's wery common when we dwells upon horders. By dwelling on horders I mean looking out for gennelmen what wants us to play in front of their houses. When we strike up in the open street we take upon a haverage only 3d. a show. In course, we may do more, but that 's about the sum, take one street performance with another. Them of Punch's. Tottenham court road, the New road, kind of performances is what we calls "short showing. We gets the half pence and hooks it. A long pitch is the name we gives to performances that lasts about half an hour or more. Them long pitches we confine solely to street corners in public thoroughfares, and then we take about a shilling upon a haverage, and more if it's to be got-we never turns away nuffing. "Boys, look up your fardens," says the houtside man, "it ain't half over yet, we'll show it all through." The short shows we do only in private bye streets, and of them we can get through about twenty in the day-ties, I may say. that 's much as we can tackle-ten in the morning We in generally walks from twelve to twenty and ten in the arternoon. Of the long pitches we mile every day, and carries the show, which weighs can only do eight in the day. We start on our a good half hundred at least. Arter great exertion rounds at nine in the morning, and remain out till our woice wery often fails us; for speaking all dark at night. We gets a snack at the publics on day through the "call" is wery trying, especially our road. The best hours for Punch are in the when we are chirrupping up so as to bring the morning from nine till ten, because then the chil-children to the vinders. The boys is the greatest dren are at home. Arter that, you know, they nuisances we has to contend with. Wherever goes out with the maids for a walk. From twelve we goes we are sure of plenty of boys for a hautill three is good again, and, then, from six till nine dience; but they 've got no money, bother 'em, and -that is because the children are mostly at home they'll follow us for miles, so that we 're often at them hours. We make much more by horders compelled to go miles to awoid 'em. Many parts for performance houtside the gennelmen's houses is swarming with boys-such as Vhitechapelthan we do by performing in public in the hopen Spitalfields; that's the worst place of all for boys I streets. Monday is the best day for street busi- ever came anear-they 're like flies in summer there, ness; Friday is no day at all, because then the only much more thicker. I never shows my face poor people has spent all their money. If we was within miles of them parts. Chelsea, again, has to pitch on a Friday we should n't take a halfpenny an uncommon lot of boys, and wherever we know in the streets, so we in generall on that day goes the children swarm, them's the spots we makes a round for horders. Wednesday, Thursday, and point of awoiding. Why, the boys is such a hobFriday is the best days for us with horders at gen- struction to our performance that often we are nelmen's houses. We do much better in the spring obliged to drop the curtain for 'em. They'll than at any other time in the year, excepting holi- throw one another's caps into the frame while I'm day time, at Midsummer and Christmas. That's inside on it, and do what we will we can't keep what we calls Punch's season. We do most at 'em from poking their fingers through the baize and evening parties in the holiday time, and if there's making holes to peep through. Then they will a pin to choose between them, I should say Christ- keep tapping the drum-but the worst of all is, mas holidays was the best. For attending heven- the most of 'em ain't got a farden to bless theming parties now we generally get £1 and our re-selves with, and they will shove into the best places. freshments-as much more as they like to give us. But the business gets slacker and slacker every season. Where I went to ten parties twenty year ago, I don't go to two now. People is n't getting tired of our performances, but stingier-that's it. Everybody looks at their money now afore they parts with it, and gennelfolks haggles and cheapens us down to shillings and sixpences, as if they was guineas in the holden time. Our business is wery much like hackney-coach work; we do best in vet veather. It looks like rain this evening, and I'm uncommon glad on it to be sure. You see the vet keeps the children in doors all day, and then they wants something to quiet 'em a bit, and the mothers and fathers, to pacify the dears, gives us a horder to perform. It must n't rain cats and dogs-that 's as bad as no vet at all. What we likes is a regular, good, steady, Scotch mist, for then we takes double what we does on other days. In summer we does little or nothing; the children are out all day enjoying themselves in the Parks. The best pitch of all in London is Leicester square; there's all sorts of classes, you see, passing there. Then comes Regent street (the corner of Burlington

Soldiers again we don't like, they've got no money-no, not even so much as pockets, sir. Nusses ain't no good. Even if the mothers of the dear little children has given 'em a penny to spend, why the nusses takes it from 'em and keeps it for ribbins. Sometimes we' can coax a penny out of the children, but the nusses knows too much to be gammoned by us. Indeed, servants in generally don't do the thing what's right to us-some is good to us, but the most of 'em will have poundage out of what we gets. About sixpence out of every half crown is what the footman takes from us.

We in generally goes into the country in the summer time for two or three months. Wateringplaces is wery good in July and August. Punch mostly goes down to the seaside with the quality. Brighton, though, ain't no account; the Pavilion's done up with, and therefore Punch has discontinued his wisits. We don't put up at the trampers' houses on our travels, but in generally inns is where we stays, because we consider ourselves to be above the other showmen and mendicants. At one lodging house as I stopped at once in Warwick there was as many as fifty staying there what got

their living by street performance-the greater | Fantoccini in the summer. The Shades don't do part were Italian boys and girls. There are alto- in the summer, because it is a night exhibition, gether as many as sixteen Punch and Judy frames and the days are long then. I was originally in England. Eight of these is at work in London, brought up to the artificial flower business, and and the other eight in the country, and to each of had, as a boy, 3s. 6d. a week for veining the leaves. these frames there are two men. We are all ac- I was then ten years old. I stopped working at quainted with one another; are all sociable to- this after five years, during which time my wages gether, and know where each other is, and what had risen to 7s. 6d. per week, and I had learnt mythey are doing on. When one comes home another self to play the Pandæan pipes, and after that to goes out-that's the way we proceed through life. beat the drum, much to the annoyance of my It would n't do for two to go to the same place. mother, who was a religious keracter. At last I If two on us happens to meet at one town, we jine made acquaintance with a person belonging to a and shift pardners, and share the money. One goes street band, and he proposed that I should go out one way and the other another, and we meet at with him of an evening to play at the hotels. I night and reckon up over a social pint or a glass. thought I would try, and I got for my first night's We shift pardners so as each may know how much share 7s. 6d.; there were four of us in the band, the other has taken. It's the common practice for and all played the pipes. Street bands then were the man what performs Punch to share with the very different to what they are now. They were one what plays the drum and pipes—each has half much worse, but thought a great deal better of than of what is collected; but if the pardner can't play at present. I considered the 7s. 6d. that I got by the drum and pipes, and only carries the frame and playing the pipes for one evening in the street was collects, then his share is but a third of what is much easier arned than the 7s. 6d. that I got for taken until he larns how to perform himself. The working the whole week through at the artificial street performers in London lives mostly in little flower business, so I knocked off work, and took to rooms of their own; they has generally wives and the street band altogether. My share at that time one or two children, who are brought up to the (I am speaking of thirty years ago) used very often business. Some lives about the Westminster road to come to 15s. and 18s. per night, and there were and St. George's in the east. A great many are three of us who had as much as myself. We used in Lock's fields; they are all the old school that to play outside the hotels chiefly. Sometimes we way. Then some, or rather the principal part of took as much as a sovereign from one house, somethe showmen, are to be found up about Lisson times 5s., and sometimes only 2s. 6d. Soon after Grove. In this neighborhood there is a house of this I saw a Fantoccini show, and was so much call, where they all assembles in the evening. taken with it that I made up my mind to get a set There are a wery few in Brick lane, Spitalfields; of the figures, and start in the business. I bought that is mostly deserted now by showmen. The a common set for practice, and those I larnt myself West end is the great resort of all, for it's there upon. After that I went to a regular maker, and the money lays, and there the showmen abound. had a good set made on purpose for me. I gave We all know one another, and we can tell in what him 7s. 6d. a figure. I had seven of them to start part of the country the others are. We have intel-with. There was the Sailor for the hornpipe ligence, by letters, from all parts. There's a dancer-that was one; the Pole-andrew, to perform Punch I know on now is either in the Isle of Man, backwards and forwards over two chairs with a or on his way to it. pole; the Magic Turk, who danced the fandango; then there was the Clown, the Indian Juggler with The proprietor of the Fantoccini was less com- the balls, the Skeleton that tumbles all to pieces, municative than that of Punch. "He was afraid," and Tom and Jerry's larks, which consisted of four he told me, "that telling so much would do the figures-African Sal, Dusty Bob, Billy Waters, purfession harm. It was letting the public know and Tom and Jerry. Each of these figures were too much-and they were quite 'cute enough of Mr. Gray's, who was the first that introduced about a foot high, and were made for me by a pupil already." He spoke all throughout very guarded- the Fantoccini into the streets; and that is just ly. He said, it looked quite fearful-like to have upon twenty-five years ago. Before Mr. Gray's every word as he uttered written down. On in- time the same figures, upon a larger scale, were quiry, however, I found that he had spoken nothing shown by Mr. Myddleton in a booth, and called but the truth. He was a short, spare man, with" the Puppets.' Myddleton worked his figures in sharp features. His dress consisted of an old blue a different way to those in the Fantoccini, and pilot coat, that had turned to a bright plum-color My stock in trade, puppets and all, cost me about being much larger, they were not near so nimble. with age, and two waistcoats-one an old shiny £10. The frame was £3 of the money. The black satin "vest," that almost covered what ap-heads of the figures were carved in wood, and the peared to be the remains of a crimson plush. His trowsers were corduroy, and very greasy down the front of the thigh, apparently with the friction of the big drum. He appeared to be a well-meaning man, and particularly anxious not to say anything that could be taken amiss by the nobility and gentry, who, he said, were his best customers. He "did n't care about the streets; but the houses," he saidhe "would n't offend for a good deal."

I go out with the Fantoccini sometimes, (he said,) and sometimes with the Chinese Shades. The Shades I work in the winter season, and the

bodies dressed so as to be supple and easy. The working of them is a secret, and requires a great deal of practice; they are moved principally by the fingers. It would not do for a person with the Sailor dances as nat'ral as T. P. Cooke, and the gout or rheumatism to try his hand at it. The Indian Juggler flings the balls about as nimbly as Rammy Sammy. The exhibition is the same as it was in Gray's time, with the exception of some new figures, such as the maid with the milkingpails and the enchanted Turk, whose limbs come all to pieces. The Skeleton is the most difficult to work, but, perhaps, the Pole-andrew requires the greatest practice and nimbleness in the fingers.

70

When the Fantoccini first came up, a great deal Assembly Rooms. I also performed at the Royal of money was taken by it. Gray could not attend Gardens at Vauxhall, and there I exhibited the at the gentlemen's houses fast enough. Very often Shades, Fantoccini, and Punch, for many years. he would have to perform at two or three different Nobody but Mr. Pike and myself have ever shown parties in the course of the evening, and get a there of late years; our business is all gone to the To show you the impression our street He gave his musician dogs now. pound or more at each. who played the pipes 7s. a day, and the inan that performances makes on some folks, I will just tell When I first took to the you about one party who was so struck with Punch carried his frame 5s. Fantoccini business I used to make £5 a week that wherever the exhibition went there he was at throughout the Christmas and Midsummer holidays. our heels. Miles upon miles he travelled after us; After that I used to take about £3 a week. Some he never lost a performance; day after day, and weeks of course was bad, but take it altogether 1 week after week, he stuck to us as close as wax. got on very well till about eight years after 1 He was a dealer in books, and used to hawk them started. There are only four regular Fantoccini froin house to house, but he was so struck with the Among our men in the country, and these seldom work that performance of Punch that he gave up his business alone. If you can't change your hand in the to follow the show wherever it went. If we told him to go street-exhibition line from one thing to another, it profession he was nicknamed the Ghost, because won't do now-a-days. People grows tired of see-he positively haunted us. ing the same thing, and they want something fresh. away, he would disappear for a short time, and When I goes round to the gentlemen's houses with then shoot into sight again the very next performFrom our first exhibition in the morning the Fantoccini, if I am not wanted I comes home. ance. I charge half-a-crown if ordered to play in front of till our last at night he was at our heels; and if a house. Sometimes I play at the corners of the we were ordered to play before a gentleman's streets, like Punch. We depend more upon the house, there he was sure to be standing in the front. orders from gentlemen's houses than we do on the Not so much as a farthing did he ever give us ; Take upon an average we make about and if we went into a public house to dinner, we should find him waiting outside for us when we came away, let us stay as long as we would. It was quite a hinfatuation. We used to tell him to At last his friends, finding go about his business, or hold horses; but no, would never leave us. how he was taken up with the show, and that he would not do anything else, purchased a frame and a set of figures for him from one of our regular Then he had to be taught the performance men. before he could make any use of it. He is now travelling the country with this same show, but he is not much of a hand at it to this day. You see, sir, he has great taste for Punch, but no lungs.

streets.

the same as Punch.

he

The Chinese Shades is a different affair-it is a It consists of a frame like night exhibition. Punch's, with a transparent curtain in front. Behind this the shadows of movable figures are shown. There are about six of these in London, and there may be more in different parts of the country. They were first brought into the public streets by a man named Brown, who used to show them in a wagon forty years ago. In former years they were shown at Astley's Theatre, upon a much larger scale; at least, I know the Broken-bridge and Billy Button was, which are both parts of our A short-set man, with small puckered-up eyes, entertainment to the present day. Since its first introduction into the streets we have added the female dancer on the tight-rope, as well as the per- and dressed in an old brown velveteen shooting formance of the west-country Bull-bait, Spring-jacket, gave me an account of some by-gone exhiheel Jack, and Monsieur Kline. In the Chinese bitions and the Galantee Show:Shades there is a great deal of talking, but in the Fantoccini nothing is said. The nights of the fore We seldom part of the week are much the best. go out in the latter part if things pay us in the day -except one gets an order to 'tend a gentleman's house. Our audience in the streets consist chiefly of working-men, but the Shades pleases the children a great deal. Last Christmas night, as ever was, I performed in St. Giles' Union. I showed the parish boys and girls the Fantoccini, the Chinese Shades, and Mr. Punch as well. It was the clergyman of the parish as engaged me, and it seemed Each of them to be a treat to the poor children. had an orange in their hand; and you should have heard them laugh-good Lord! Fine evenings we do pretty well, but in wet weather it is no use to We go out with show our faces in the streets. the Shades about six in the evening, and come home about ten; we manage to show about four long performances during that time.

The Chinese Shades is a deal more labor and exertion for the lungs than the Fantoccini. I don't know that we make more money at it. I should say, taking it all the year round, I make, upon an average, from 15s. to 20s. a week, but in former times I could make more in a day than I can in a week now. I had two guineas a week about twenty years back along with Diavolo Antonio, at Norwich, for playing half an hour of a night at the

My father was a soldier, (he said,) and was away in foreign parts, and I and a sister lived with my mother in St. Martin's workhouse. I was fiftyfive last New Year's day. My uncle, a bootmaker in St. Martin's-lane, took my mother out of the workhouse, that she might do a little washing and pick up a living for herself, and we children went to live with my grandfather, a tailor. After his , the sweep, coaxed me death, and after many changes, we had a lodging in the Dials, and there with pudding one day, and encouraged me so well, that I did n't like to go back to my mother; and at last I was apprenticed to him from Hatton-garden, on a month's trial. I liked chimley-sweeping for that month; but it was quite different when I was regularly indentured. I was cruelly treated then, and poorly fed, and had to turn out barefooted, between three and four, many a morning in frost and snow. In first climbing the chimleys, a man stood beneath me and pushed me up, telling me how to use my elbows and knees; if I slipped he was beneath me, and ketched me, and shoved me up again. I suffered a great deal, as The skin came off my knees and elbows; here's the marks still, you see. well as Dan Duff, a fellow-sweep, a boy who died. I've been to Mrs. Montagu's dinner in the square, on the 1st May, when I was a sweep boy; it was a dinner in honor of her son having been stolen