There are now, at the National Gallery, three guidebook-sellers plying their trade in the streets; eight at the British Museum; two at Westminster Abbey; one at the House of Lords, but only on Saturdays, when the House is shown, by orders obtained gratuitously at the Lord Chamberlain’s office, or “when appeals are on;” one at the Vernon Gallery; two at Dulwich (but not regularly, as there are none at present), two at Hampton Court, “one near each gate;” and one, and sometimes three, at Windsor (generally sent out by a shopkeeper there). There used to be one at the Thames Tunnel, but “it grew so bad at last,” I was told, “that a rat couldn’t have picked up his grub at it—let alone a man.”
Among all these sellers I heard statements of earning a most wretched pittance, and all attributed it to the same cause. By the National Gallery is a board, on which is an announcement that the only authorized catalogue of the works of art can be obtained in the hall. There are similar announcements at other public places. One man who had been in this street trade, but had abandoned it, spoke of these “boards,” as he called them, with intense bitterness. “They’re the ruin of any trade in the streets,” he said. “You needn’t think because I’m out of it now, that I have a pleasure in abusing the regulations; no, sir, I look at it this way. Mr. Hume had trouble enough, I know, to get the public a cheap catalogue, and poor men were allowed to earn honest bread by selling them in the streets, and honest bread they would earn still, if it weren’t for the board. I declare solemnly a man can’t get a living at the trade. The publishers can’t prepare their catalogues without leave, and when they’ve got leave, and do prepare and print them, why isn’t a man allowed to sell them in the streets, as I’ve sold second editions of the Globe without ever the office putting out a notice that the only authorized copy was to be had within? God bless your soul, sir, it’s shocking, shocking, poor men being hindered every way. Anybody that looks on the board looks on us as cheats and humbugs, and thinks that our catalogues are all takes-in. But I’ve heard gentlemen, that I’m sure knew what they were talking about, say, in case they’d bought in the street first, and then seen the board and bought within after, so as to be sure of the real thing—I’ve heard gentlemen, say, sir,—‘Why what we got in the street is the best after all.’ Free trade! There’s plenty said about free trade, but that board, sir, or call it what you please, gives a monopoly against us. What I have said, when I was starving on catalogues, is this: Kick us out of the streets, commit us for selling catalogues, as rogues and vagabonds; or give us a fair chance. If we may sell, why is the only authorised catalogue sold only within? I wish Mr. Hume, or Mr. Cobden, either, only understood the rights of the matter—it’s of no account to me myself now—and I think they’d soon set it to rights. Free trade! Over the left, and with more hooks than one.”
I have no doubt that this representation and this opinion would have been echoed by the street catalogue-sellers, but they were evidently unwilling to converse freely on this branch of the subject, knowing the object for which I questioned them, and that publicity would follow. I attribute this reluctance chiefly to the fact that, all these poor men look forward to the opening of the Great Exhibition with earnest hope and anxiety that the influx of visiters will add greatly to their sale and profits; and they are unwilling to jeopardise their privilege of sale.
One man told me that he believed, from his own knowledge, for he had not always “sold outside,” that the largest buyers of these publications were country people, sight-seeing in London, for they bought the book not only as an explanatory guide, but to preserve as a memento of their visit. Such customers, however, I heard from several quarters, the moment they saw a “notice” as to the only authorised copy, looked upon the street-sellers as a systematised portion of the London sharpers, seeking whom they might devour, and so bought their catalogues “within.”
The best customers in the streets for the catalogues are, I am assured, the working-classes, who visit the national exhibitions on a holiday. “I’ve oft enough heard them say,” one man stated, “‘I’d rather pay a poor man 2d. any day, when I can spare it, than rich people 1d. I know what it is to fight for a crust.’”
At the National Gallery, the street-sold catalogues are 1d., 3d., and 6d.; in the hall, the authorised copy is sold at 4d. and 1s. At the British Museum, the street-charges are 3d. and 6d.; there were 1d. catalogues of this institution, but they have been discontinued for the last half-year, being found too meagre. At the Vernon Gallery, the charge is 1d.; but the 6d. guide-book to the National Gallery contains also an account of the pictures in the Vernon Gallery. At Westminster Abbey the price is 6d., and the same at the House of Lords. At Hampton-court it is 2d., 4d., and 6d., and at the same rate as regards the other places mentioned. At Hampton-court, I was told, the street-sellers were not allowed to approach the palace nearer than a certain space. One man told me that he was threatened with being “had in for trespassing, and Mr. G—— would make him wheel a roller. Of course,” the man continued, “there’s an authorised catalogue there.”
The best sale of catalogues in the streets was at the exhibition of the works of art for the Houses of Parliament. The sellers, then—about 20 in number, among whom were four women—cleared 2s. and 2s. 6d. each daily. At present, I am assured, that a good week is considered one in which 5s. is made, but that 3s. is more frequently the weekly earning. It must be borne in mind, that at the two places most resorted to—the National Gallery and the British Museum—the street sale is only for four days in the week at the first mentioned, and three days at the second. “You may think that more is made,” said one man, “but it isn’t. Sweeping a good crossing is far better, far. Bless your soul, only stand a few minutes looking on, any day, and see what numbers and numbers of people pass in and out of a free admission place without ever laying out 1d. Why, only last Monday and Wednesday (March 17 and 19, both very rainy days) I took only 5d. I didn’t take more than 5d., and I leave you to judge the living I shall clear out of that; and I know that the man with the catalogue at another place, didn’t take 1d. It’s sad work, sir, as you stand in the wet and cold, with no dinner for yourself, and no great hope of taking one home to your family.”
These street-sellers contrive, whenever they can, to mix up other avocations with catalogue selling, as the public institutions close early. One, on every occasion, sells second editions of the newspapers; another has “odd turns at portering;” a third sells old umbrellas in the streets; some sold exhibition cards in the Park, on Sundays, until the sale was stopped; another sells a little stationery; and nearly the whole of them resort, on favourable opportunities, to the sale of “books of the play,” or of “the opera.”
Reckoning that there are regularly sixteen street-sellers of guide-books—they do not interfere with each other’s stations—and that each clears 4s. weekly, we find £832 expended in this street traffic. I have calculated only on the usual bookseller’s allowance of 25 per cent., though, in some instances, these sellers are supplied on lower terms—besides having, in some of the catalogues, thirteen to the dozen; but the amount specified does not exceed the mark.
The greatest number of these guide-books which I heard of as having been sold, in any one day, was four dozen, disposed of on a fine Whit-Monday, and for these the street-seller only took 6s. 8d. There are, I was informed, half as many more “threepennies” as “sixpennies” sold, and three times as many “pennies” as the other two together.