Curiosities of Civilization Part 3

A black boy, twelve years of age, fit to wait on a gentleman, to be disposed of at Denis's Coffee-house in Finch Lane, near the Royal Exchange.

Again, in the _Daily Journal_ of September 28th, 1728, we light upon another:--

To be sold, a negro boy, aged eleven years. Enquire of the Virginia Coffee-house in Threadneedle Street, behind the Royal Exchange.

These were the overflowings of that infamous traffic in negroes, commenced by Sir John Hawkins in the year 1680, which tore from their homes, and transferred to Jamaica alone, no less than 910,000 Africans between that time and the year 1786, when the slave-trade was abolished.

We have brought the reader up to the date of the final battle which extinguished the hopes of the Stuarts and settled the line of Brunswick firmly on the throne. The year 1745 witnessed the commencement of the _General Advertiser_, the t.i.tle of which indicates the purpose to which it was dedicated. This paper was the first successful attempt to depend for support upon the advertis.e.m.e.nts it contained, thereby creating a new era in the newspaper press. From the very outset its columns were filled with them, between fifty and sixty, regularly cla.s.sified and separated by rules, appearing in each publication; in fact, the advertising page put on for the first time a modern look. The departure of ships is constantly notified, and the engravings of these old high-p.o.o.ped vessels sail in even line down the column. Trading matters have at last got the upper hand. You see "a pair of leather bags," "a scarlet laced-coat," "a sword," still inquired after; and theatres make a show, for this was the dawning of the age of Foote, Macklin, Garrick, and most of the other great players of the last century; but, comparatively speaking, the gaieties and follies of the town ceased gradually from this time to proclaim themselves through the medium of advertis.e.m.e.nts. The great earthquake at Lisbon so frightened the people, that masquerades were prohibited by law, and the puppet-shows, the rope-dancing, the china-auctions, and public breakfasts henceforth grow scarcer and scarcer as the Ladies Betty and Sally, who inaugurated them, withdrew by degrees, withered, faded, and patched, from the scene.

The only signs of the political tendencies of the time to be gathered from the sources we are pursuing, are the party dinners, announcements of which are now and then to be met with as follows:--

To the Joyous.--The Bloods are desired to meet together at the house known by the name of the Sir Hugh Middleton, near Saddler's Wells, Islington, which Mr. Skeggs has procured for that day for the better entertainment of those Gentlemen who agreed to meet at his own house.

Dinner will be on the Table punctually at two o'clock.--_General Advertiser_, Jan. 13, 1748.

Or the following still more characteristic example from the same paper of April 12:--

Half-Moon Tavern, Cheapside.--Sat.u.r.day next, the 16 of April, being the anniversary of the Glorious Battle of Colloden, the Stars will a.s.semble in the Moon at Six in the evening. Therefore the Choice Spirits are desired to make their appearance and fill up the joy.--ENDYMION.

Within five-and-twenty years from this date most of the existing morning journals were established, and their advertising columns put on a guise closely resembling that which they now present. We need not therefore pursue our deep trenching into the old subsoil in order to turn up long-buried evidences of manners and fashions, for they have ceased to appear, either fossil or historical; we therefore boldly leap the gulf that intervenes between these old days and the present.

The early part of the present century saw the commencement of that liberal and systematic plan of advertising which marks the complete era in the art. Princely ideas by degrees took possession of the trading mind as to the value of this new agent in extending their business transactions.

Packwood, some thirty years ago, led the way by impressing his razor-strop indelibly on the mind of every bearded member of the empire. Like other great potentates he boasted a laureate in his pay, and every one remembers the reply made to the individuals curious to know who drew up his advertis.e.m.e.nts: "La, sir, we keeps a poet!"

By universal consent, however, the world has accorded to the late George Robins the palm in this style of commercial puffing. His advertis.e.m.e.nts were really artistically written. Like Martin, he had the power of investing every landscape and building he touched with an importance and majesty not attainable by meaner hands. He did perhaps go beyond the yielding line of even poetical license, when he described one portion of a paradise he was about to submit to public compet.i.tion as adorned, among other charms, with a "hanging wood," which the astonished purchaser found out meant nothing more than an old gallows. But then he redeemed slight manoeuvres of this kind by touches which really displayed a genius for puffing. On one occasion he had made the beauties of an estate so enchanting, that he found it necessary to blur it by a fault or two, lest it should prove too bright and good "for human nature's daily food." "But there are two drawbacks to the property," sighed out this Hafiz of the Mart, "the litter of the rose-leaves and the noise of the nightingales!"

Certainly the force of exquisite puffing could no further go, and when he died the poetry of advertising departed. Others, such as Charles Wright of Champagne celebrity, have attempted to strike the strings; and Moses does, we believe, veritably keep a poet; but none of them have been able to rival George the Great, and we yawn as we read sonnets which end in the invariable "mart," or acrostics which refer to Hyam and Co.'s superior vests. Twenty years ago some of the daily newspapers admitted ill.u.s.trated advertis.e.m.e.nts into their columns; now it would be fatal to any of them to do so. Nevertheless, they are by far the most effective of their cla.s.s, as they call in the aid of another sense to express their meaning. All but the minors of the present generation must remember George Cruikshank's exquisite woodcut of the astonished cat viewing herself in the polished Hessian, which made the fortune of Warren. But in those days tradesmen only tried their wings for the flight. It was left to the present time to prove what unlimited confidence in the power of the advertis.e.m.e.nt will effect, and a short list of the sums _annually_ spent in this item by some of the most adventurous dealers will perhaps startle our readers.

"Professor" Holloway, Pills, etc. 30,000 Moses and Son 10,000 Rowland and Co. (Maca.s.sar oil, &c.) 10,000 Dr. De Jongh (cod-liver oil) 10,000 Heal and Sons (bedsteads and bedding) 6,000 Nicholls (tailor) 4,500

It does seem indeed incredible that one house should expend upon the mere advertising of quack pills and ointment a sum equal to the entire revenue of many a German princ.i.p.ality. Can it possibly pay? asks the astonished reader. Let the increasing avenue of a.s.sistants, to be seen "from morn to dewy eve" wrapping up pills in the "professor's" establishment within the shadow of Temple Bar, supply the answer.[2] Vastly as the press of this country has expanded of late years, it has proved insufficient to contain within its limits the rapid current of puffing which has set in.

Advertis.e.m.e.nts now overflow into our omnibuses, our cabs, our railway carriages, and our steamboats. Madame Tussaud pays 90_l._ monthly to the Atlas Omnibus Company alone for the privilege of posting her bills in their vehicles. They are inked upon the pavement, painted in large letters under the arches of the bridges and on every dead wall. Lloyd's weekly newspaper is stamped on the "full Guelph cheek" of the plebeian penny; the emissaries of Moses shower perfect libraries through the windows of the carriages which ply from the railway stations; and, as a crowning fact, Thackeray, in his "Journey from Cornhill to Cairo," tells us that Warren's blacking is painted up over an obliterated inscription to Psammetichus on Pompey's Pillar!

Having shown the reader the slow growth of the advertising column; having climbed, like "Jack in the Bean-stalk," from its humble root in the days of the Commonwealth up its still increasing stem in the succeeding hundred years, we now come upon its worthy flower in the shape of the sixteen-paged _Times_ of the present day. Spread open its broad leaves, and behold the greatest marvel of the age--the microcosm in type. Who can recognize in its ample surface, which reflects like some camera-obscura the wants, the wishes, the hopes, and the fears of this great city, the news-book of the Cromwellian times with its leash of advertis.e.m.e.nts?

Herein we see how fierce is the struggle of two millions and a half of people for dear existence. Every advertis.e.m.e.nt writhes and fights with its neighbour, and every phase of society, brilliant, broken, or dim, is reflected in this battle-field of life. Let us tell off the rank and file of this army of announcements. On the 24th of May, 1855, the _Times_, in its usual sixteen-paged paper, contained the incredible number of 2,575 advertis.e.m.e.nts. Amazing as this total appears, we only arrive at its full significance by a.n.a.lyzing the vast array. Then, indeed, we feel what an important power is the great British publie. Of old the antechambers of the n.o.ble were thronged with poets, artists, publishers, tradesmen, and dependants of all kinds, seeking for the droppings of their favour; but what lordly antechamber ever presented such a crew of place-hunters, servitors, literary and scientific men, schemers, and shopkeepers as daily offer their services to the humblest individual who can spare a penny for an hour's perusal of the _Times_? Let us take this paper of the 24th of May and examine the crowd of persons and things which cry aloud through its pages, each attempting to make its voice heard above the other. Here we see a n.o.ble fleet of ships, 129 in number, chartered for the regions of gold, for America, for India, for Africa--for every port, in fact, where cupidity, duty, or affection holds out an attraction for the British race. Another column wearies the eye with its interminable line of "Wants." Here in long and anxious row we see the modern "mop" or statute-fair for hiring; 429 servants of all grades, from the genteel lady's-maid or the "thorough cook," who will only condescend to accept service where two footmen are kept, to the humble scullery-maid, on that day pa.s.sed their claims before us for inspection. Another column is noisy with auctioneers; 136 of whom notify their intention of poising their impatient hammers when we have favoured them with our company. Here we see a crowd of booksellers offering, hot from the press, 195 new volumes, many of which, we are a.s.sured by the appended critique, "should find a place in every gentleman's library." There are 378 houses, shops, and establishments presented to us to select from; and 144 lodging-house keepers, "ladies having houses larger than they require," and medical men who own "retreats," press forward with genteel offers of board and lodging. Education pursues her claims by the hands of no less than 144 preceptors, male and female; whilst the hair, the skin, the feet, the teeth, and the inward man are offered the kind attention of thirty-six professors who possess infallible remedies for all the ills that flesh is heir to. The remainder is made up of the miscellaneous cries of tradesmen, whose voices rise from every portion of the page like the shouting of chapmen from a fair. In the midst of all this struggle for gold, place, and position, which goes on every day in this wonderful publication, outcries from the very depths of the heart, pa.s.sionate tears, bursts of indignation, and heartrending appeals, startle one as they issue from the second column of its front page. Here the father sees his prodigal son afar off and falls upon his neck; the heartbroken mother implores her runaway child to return; or the abandoned wife searches through the world for her mate. It is strange how, when the eye is saturated with the thirst after mammon exhibited by the rest of the broadsheet, the heart becomes touched by these plaintive but searching utterances, a few of which we reproduce:--

The one-winged Dove must die unless the Crane returns to be a shield against her enemies.--_Times_ of 1850.

Or here is another which moves still more:--

B. J. C.--How more than cruel not to write. Take pity on such patient silence.--_Times_, 1850.

The most ghastly advertis.e.m.e.nt which perhaps ever appeared in a public journal we copy from this paper of the year 1845. It is either a threat to inter a wrong body in the "family vault," or an address to a dead man:--

To the Party who Posts His Letters in Prince's Street, Leicester Square.--Your family is now in a state of excitement unbearable. Your attention is called to an advertis.e.m.e.nt in Wednesday's _Morning Advertiser_, headed, "A body found drowned at Deptford." After your avowal to your friend as to what you might do, he has been to see the decomposed remains, accompanied by others. The features are gone; but there are marks on the arm; so that, unless they hear from you to-day, it will satisfy them that the remains are those of their misguided relative, and steps will be directly taken to place them in the family vault, as they cannot bear the idea of a pauper's funeral.

Sometimes we see the flashing eyes of indignation gleaming through the very words. The following is evidently written to an old lover with all the burning pa.s.sion of a woman deceived:--

It is enough; one man alone upon earth have I found n.o.ble. Away from me for ever! Cold heart and mean spirit, you have lost what millions--empires--could not have bought, but which a single word truthfully and n.o.bly spoken might have made your own to all eternity.

Yet you are forgiven: depart in peace: I rest in my Redeemer.--_Times_, Sept. 1st, 1852.

Sometimes it is more confiding love "wafting a sigh from Indus to the pole," or, finger on lip, speaking secretly, and as he thinks securely, through the medium of cipher advertis.e.m.e.nts to the loved one. Sweet delusion! There are wicked philosophers abroad who unstring the bow of harder toil by picking your inmost thoughts! Lovers beware! intriguers tremble! Many a wicked pa.s.sage of illicit love, many a joy fearfully s.n.a.t.c.hed, which pa.s.sed through the second column of the first page of the _Times_ as a string of disjointed letters, unintelligible as the correspondents thought, to all the world but themselves, have we seen fairly copied out in plain if not always good English in the commonplace books of these cunning men at cryptographs. Here, for instance, we give an episode from the life of "Flo," which appeared in the _Times_ of 1853-54, as a proof:--

Flo.--Thou voice of my heart! Berlin, Thursday. I leave next Monday, and shall press you to my heart on Sat.u.r.day. G.o.d bless you!--_Nov. 29, 1853._

Flo.--The last is wrong. I repeat it. Thou voice of my heart. I am so lonely, I miss you more than ever. I look at your picture every night.

I send you an Indian shawl to wear round you while asleep after dinner. It will keep you from harm, and you must fancy my arms are around you. G.o.d bless you! how I do love you!--_Dec. 23, 1853._

Flo.--My own love, I am happy again; it is like awaking from a bad dream. You are, my life; to know that there is a chance of seeing you, to hear from you, to do things to enough. [There is some error here.]

I shall try to see you soon. Write to me as often as you can. G.o.d bless you, thou voice of my heart!--_Jan. 2, 1854._

Flo.--Thou voice of my heart! How I do love you! How are you? Shall you be laid up this spring? I can see you walking with your darling.

What would I give to be with you! Thanks for your last letter. I fear nothing but separation from you. You are my world, my life, my hope.

Thou more than life, farewell! G.o.d bless you!--_Jan. 6, 1854._

Flo.--I fear, dearest, our cipher is discovered: write at once to your friend "Indian Shawl" (P.O.), Buckingham, Bucks.--_Jan. 7, 1845._

The advertis.e.m.e.nt of January 7th is written in a great fright, and refers to the discovery and exposure of the cipher in the _Times_ newspaper; for whenever the aforesaid philosophers perceive that a secret correspondence has arrived at a critical point they charitably insert a marplot advertis.e.m.e.nt in the same cipher. The "Flo" intrigue was carried on in figures, the key to which is as follows:--

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 y. u. o. i. e. a. d. k. h. f.

s. t. n. m. r. l. d. g. w. p.

x. c. b.

v.

The reader will perhaps remember another mad-looking advertis.e.m.e.nt which appeared in the year 1853, headed "Cenerentola." The first, dated Feb.

2nd, we interpret thus:--

Cenerentola, I wish to try if you can read this, and am most anxious to hear the end, when you return, and how long you remain here. Do write a few lines, darling, please: I have been very far from happy since you went away.

One of the parties cannot frame an adequate explanation of some delicate matter clearly, as we find on the 11th the following:--

Cenerentola, until my heart is sick have I tried to frame an explanation for you, but cannot. Silence is safest, if the true cause is not suspected; if it is, all stories will be sifted to the bottom.

Do you remember our cousin's first proposition?--think of it.

The following, which appeared on the 19th of the same month, is written in plain language, and is evidently a specimen of the marplot advertis.e.m.e.nt before alluded to:--

Cenerentola, what nonsense! Your cousin's proposition is absurd. I have given an explanation--the true one--which has perfectly satisfied both parties--a thing which silence never could have effected. So no more such absurdity.

The secret of this cipher consisted in representing each letter by the twenty-second onward continually. One more specimen of these singular advertis.e.m.e.nts and we have done. On Feb. 20, 1852, there appeared in the _Times_ the following mysterious line:--

Tig tjohw it tig jfhiirvola og tig psgvw.--F. D. N.

The general reader, doubtless, looked upon this jumble of letters with some such a puzzled air as the mastiff gives the tortoise in a very popular French bronze; but not being able to make anything out of it, pa.s.sed on to the more intelligible contents of the paper. A friend of ours, however, was curious and intelligent enough to extract the plain English out of it, though not without much trouble, as thus:--If we take the first word of the sentence, Tig, and place under its second letter i the one which alphabetically precedes it, and treat the next letters in a similar manner, we shall have the following combination:--

T i g h f e

Reading the first letters obliquely we have the article "The;" if we treat the second word in the same manner, the following will be the result:--

T j o h w i. n. g. v.

m. f. u.

e. t.