THE ART OF BLACKING BOOTS.
Dear Mr. Punch,
You'll be glad most likely to hear what's going on in the boot-blackin' world, of which I'm now a honarery member, havin' bin thirty-five years at it come next Chrismas, and now retired to Camberwell to do the rest of my life easy. Fact is, Sir, there's a many young 'uns come on, and scarcely sufficient boots for 'em to get a livin out of, more partikler with them new yaller boots, which is pison to the honest boot-black. So thinks I to myself, I've bin polishin' a long time and knows all the tricks of it, why shouldn't I lend a 'and to them as is startin'. I'll write down what I knows myself, and I'll get all the best blackers of the day to tell me what they knows about it, and then I'll set the lot together and get it printed. Fact is, I got put on the job by a feller who come to see me 'tother day—a tidy young sprig, full of all them new notions. Says 'e to me, "Bill," 'e says, "'ow do you walk?" "Why," I say, "on two legs like the rest of 'em; what do you think?" "No," 'e says, "that ain't what I mean, you Juggins" (there's a pretty word to use to one old enough to be his father); "what is the process you go through in walking?" "Well," I says, "if that's what you're up to, I mostly puts one foot in front of 'tother, and arterwards brings the back foot forrard and leaves 'tother behind." "Ah," says 'e, "that's jest where you make a bloomin' errer. Your brain sends a message through your nerves, and then you set to work, movin' the extenser mussels and the glutyus maksimus, and there you are." Well, I thought about that a lot, and on the top of it I got 'old of a book called the Art of Authorship, by Mister George Bainton, who's agoin' to teach everybody 'ow to write things pretty and proper, and make no end of money out of it. Pr'aps, thinks I to myself, there's more in blackin' boots than meets the eye. I'll write about that on the same plan, gettin' all the fellers I know to 'elp me. Fust, I drew up a lot of questions, and I sent 'em round. Then when the ansers come in I got a young chap, who writes for the Camberwell Star, to polish 'em up a bit with grammar and spellin', asking 'im to do it like Mister George Bainton. I've jest dropped in a word or two of my own 'ere and there, to show what I mean. So 'ere they are, Sir, and quite at your servis; and I knows if you prints 'em, there's many a boot-black unborn, as'll bless your name, not forgettin',
Yours truely,
the Author,
Bill the Bootblack.
Introduction.
In putting these notes together, I have been animated solely by the desire to enable those, whom motives of self-interest, or of ambition, or the irresistible impulse of innate genius, may induce to enter upon the profession of blacking, to acquire by living examples of acknowledged ability, a true and genuine perfection in the art. For art it is. Let nobody undertake it lightly. There is no room in the busy throng of ardent blackers for the idler or the fribble. Such men may write books, they cannot black boots. Style is everything, style which colours the boots, roots itself in them, and uplifts them to the highest pinnacle of Art. (N.B.—I took this sentens nearly strait from George Bainton.—B. the B.) Therefore, my young friends, study style. Whenever you see a well-blacked boot in the street, in the counting-house, or in the sanctity of home, fix your eyes upon it. Thus you will learn, and may in time black boots as well as I do myself.
(N.B.—George writes the most extronery fine English, I'm told, and o' course 'e wants the young 'uns to do the same. Same with me and the boots.—B. the B.)
My first answer is from James Huggins, who as is well-known, polishes the foot-coverings of the innumerable visitors who throng to the Transcontinental Hotel. He says, "you ask me how I acquired my unquestioned ability as a blacker. I answer, 'by constantly studying the best models.' When I was quite a small boy I used to polish all the boots within reach, and I well remember my father humorously remonstrating with me, when he found me blacking an old pair of worsted slippers given him by my mother. There is a method of breathing on some boots and of spitting on others, which can only be acquired by long practice. A large boot with many knobs, is best for a beginner."
Next I addressed my inquiries to George Brewsher, more generally known under his nick-name of Dandy Geordie. No man has a wider reputation. His reply is instructive. "It is useless," he says, "to study models. I tried that, and the result was that I used to black all the patent leathers, and varnish the ordinary ones. So I gave up study and relied upon my own talents. At the present day, nobody in the whole world can put a truer shine on the dampest boot. I scarcely know how I do it. I only know I do it. I always keep my brushes in good order, drink a toothful of gin at bed-time, and never let a single day pass without blacking something."
My next reply was from Lemuel D. Dodge, of New York, a boot-polisher whose delicate and refined style has won him admirers in this country as well as his own. "Character," he observes, "is everything. I always analyse my blacking three times over, and then lay it on thin with a camel's hair-brush. I find this method much more satisfactory and less tiring than the rough and ungainly scrubbing so much in vogue with your English artists."
Miss Sally Pippin, who officiates in The Metropolitan Ladies' Boot Emporium, kindly sends me the following notes. "I have had no education at all. I find it quite useless. All you require is to make a shine. It's as easy as shelling peas. By the way, I always wear my hair brought up at the back. This hint may be useful to intending bootblacks."
(That's enough for one go, I rayther fancy. There's lots more o' the same sort all ekally valuble, but I mustn't let you have it all at once.—B. the B.)
