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.