sell, just in the same way she handed him every
item of the family's property, and they disposed
of it in their own imaginations from morning
to night. At last the old gentleman, lying
bedridden in the same room with the old lady, cries
out in the old patter, fluent, after having been
silent for two days and nights: "Now here, my
jolly companions every one—which the
Nightingale club in a village was held, At the sign of
the Cabbage and Shears, Where the singers no
doubt would have greatly excelled, But for
want of taste voices and ears—now here, my
jolly companions every one, is a working model
of a used-up old Cheap Jack, without a tooth
in his head, and with a pain in every bone: so
like life that it would be just as good if it
wasn't better, just as bad if it wasn't worse,
and just as new if it wasn't worn out. Bid
for the working model of the old Cheap Jack,
who has drunk more gunpowder-tea with the
ladies in his time than would blow the lid off
a washerwoman's copper, and carry it as many
thousands of miles higher than the moon as
nought nix nought, divided by the national
debt, carry nothing to the poor-rates, three
under, and two over. Now my hearts of oak
and men of straw, what do you say for the
lot? Two shillings, a shilling, tenpence, eightpence,
sixpence, fourpence. Twopence? Who
said twopence? The gentleman in the
scarecrow's hat? I am ashamed of the gentleman
in the scarecrow's hat. I really am ashamed of
him for his want of public spirit. Now I'll tell
you what I'll do with you. Come! I'll throw
you in a working model of a old woman that
was married to the old Cheap Jack so long ago,
that upon my word and honour it took place in
Noah's Ark, before the Unicorn could get in
to forbid the banns by blowing a tune upon his
horn. There now! Come! What do you say
for both? I'll tell you what I'll do with you.
I don't bear you malice for being so backward.
Here! If you make me a bid that'll only
reflect a little credit on your town, I'll throw you
in a warming-pan for nothing, and lend you a
toasting-fork for life. Now come; what do you
say after that splendid offer? Say two pound,
say thirty shillings, say a pound, say ten shillings,
say five, say two and six. You don't say
even two and six? You say two and three?
No. You shan't have the lot for two and three.
I'd sooner give it you, if you was good looking
enough. Here! Missis! Chuck the old man
and woman into the cart, put the horse to, and
drive 'em away and bury 'em!" Such were the
last words of Willum Marigold, my own father,
and they were carried out, by him and by his
wife my own mother on one and the same
day, as I ought to know, having followed as
mourner.

My father had been a lovely one in his time
at the Cheap Jack work, as his dying observations
went to prove. But I top him. I don't
say it because it's myself, but because it has
been universally acknowledged by all that has
had the means of comparison. I have worked
at it. I have measured myself against other
public speakers, Members of Parliament, Platforms,
Pulpits, Counsel learned in the law—and
where I have found 'em good, I have took a bit
of imitation from 'em, and where I have found
'em bad, I have let 'em, alone. Now I'll tell
you what. I mean to go down into my grave
declaring that of all the callings ill used in
Great Britain, the Cheap Jack calling is the
worst used. Why ain't we a profession? Why
ain't we endowed with privileges? Why are
we forced to take out a hawkers' license, when
no such thing is expected of the political
hawkers? Where's the difference betwixt us?
Except that we are Cheap Jacks and they are
Dear Jacks, I don't see any difference but
what's in our favour.

For look here! Say it's election-time. I am
on the footboard of my cart in the market-place
on a Saturday night. I put up a general
miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here my free and
independent woters, I'm a going to give you
such a chance as you never had in all your born
days, nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll
show you what I am a going to do with you.
Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer
than the Board of Guardians, here's a flat-iron
worth its weight in gold, here's a frying-pan
artificially flavoured with essence of beefsteaks
to that degree that you've only got for the rest
of your lives to fry bread and dripping in it
and there you are replete with animal food,
here's a genuine chronometer watch in such a
solid silver case that you may knock at the door
with it when you come home late from a social
meeting and rouse your wife and family and
save up your knocker for the postman, and
here's half a dozen dinner plates that you may
play the cymbals with to charm the baby when
it's fractious. Stop! I'll throw you in another
article and I'll give you that, and it's a rolling-pin,
and if the baby can only get it well into its
mouth when its teeth is coming and rub the
gums once with it, they'll come through double,
in a fit of laughter equal to being tickled. Stop
again! I'll throw you in another article,
because I don't like the looks of you, for you
haven't the appearance of buyers unless I lose
by you, and because I'd rather lose than not
take money to-night, and that's a looking-glass
in which you may see how ugly you look
when you don't bid. What do you say now?
Come! Do you say a pound? Not you, for
you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings?
Not you, for you owe more to the tallyman.
Well then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you.
I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of the cart—
there they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan,
chronometer watch, dinner plates, rolling-pin,
and looking-glass—take 'em all away for four
shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your
trouble!" This is me, the Cheap Jack. But
on the Monday morning, in the same marketplace,
comes the Dear Jack on the hustings—
his cart—and what does he say? "Now my free
and independent woters, I am a going to give
you such a chance" (he begins just like me) "as
you never had in all your born days, and that's