is provided, and wages of so much per dozen
pairs are paid for the making. Not that one
man wholly makes a pair of boots and shoes;
far otherwise. There is the shoe-closer,
who works the upper leather; the shoe-man,
who attaches the unders to the uppers; the
boot-closer, and the boot-man, who do in
respect to boots what the others do to shoes;
the blocker, the runner, the clicker, and the
cleaner-up. And then for women's boots
and shoes, there are the women's-man, the
binder, the sew-round-man, the welt-man,
and others whose separate duties could hardly
be described except in very roundabout
terms. As these busy workers use up much
leather, tanners and leather-dressers must be
resorted to; and accordingly we meet with
such in the Northamptonshire towns. And
as the men must each have his kit, or
grinders, there are the so-called grinders'
warehouses, whence awls, lapstones, pincers,
nippers, hammers, hemp, flax, wax, horse-hair,
tips, clout nails, sparables, sprigs, pegs, and
all the other odds and ends of the workbench
may be had. But Northampton would be
offended if only the coarse rough work were
attributed to it; it can and does produce the
more polished elegancies. It may be stated
that there is rather more approach to a kind
of factory system at Northampton than in
London, among the sons of Crispin. The
cheap sale shop boots for Northampton are
often undertaken by men who have a number
of boys under them—younkers who either
obtain very small wages, or who give their
services in return for the apprentice instruction.
So much do the workmen accustom
themselves to children's labour, that there is
a sort of saying, " every child in Northampton
has a leather apron."  It must not be
supposed that " French " boots necessarily come
from the other side of the Channel; except
those sold at the best shops, they are of
Northampton origin.

St. Crispin's trade is very much divided
in our principal towns. In London, we know
that there are shops in which the boots and
shoes are not ticketed, and others in which
the temptation of low prices is blazoned forth;
the former are the bespoke, and the latter the
sale shops. But behind the scenes we should
find many other grades—principally relating
to the old shoe trade, and of singular
character. In the new work, however, we all
know how much importance is attached to
fit, shape, ton, ease without slovenliness; and
we may readily believe that a good cutter-out
is valued. And was it not so in the
olden time? Gay, in his Trivia, makes the
muse do duty in the service of well-fitting
boots and shoes:—

   "Should the big last extend the shoe too wide,
    Each stone will wrench th' unwary step aside;
    The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,
    Thy cracking joints unhinge, or ankle sprain;
    And when too short the modish shoes are worn,
    You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn."

And Chaucer:

   " Of shoon and bootes new and fair,
    Look at the least thou have a pair,
    And that they fit so fetously,
    That these rude men may utterly
    Marvel, sith that they sit so plain,
    How they come on and off again."

The Buenos Ayres gauchos, or native
horsemen, procure a close-fitting rider's boot
in an original way. The rider kills a young
colt and takes off the skin of the hind legs,
from the fetlock up to the middle of the
thigh. He removes the hair; and, while the
skin is moist and flexible, he fits it to his
own leg and foot. The part from the
hamstring downwards forms the foot of the
boot, the rest forming the leg. In shaping
the hide, so as to make it fit comfortably, one
part becomes extended, whilst another part
is contracted. In this way the foot is entirely
covered, except the first three toes, which
remain with no other covering than Nature
gave them.

The stray sale-shop boots and shoes are
met with mostly in some particular localities.
There is an old ballad relating to Bartholomew
Fair, written just about two centuries
ago, which says:—

   "Then at Smithfield Bars, 'twist the ground and the stars,
   There's a place they call Shoemaker's Eow,
    Where that you may buy shoes every day,
    Or go barefoot all the year I trow."

Whether this particular Shoemaker Row is
still left we doubt; but, about Saffron Hill
and Clerkenwell, there are many shops where
are sold the double-everlasting, much-enduring,
weather-defying, lace-up boots and shoes,
whose soles exhibit rows of most formidably-
headed hob-nails.

One by one the relics of old-fashioned
London are taken from us; but we still
retain the genuine cobbler who stitches
away at old shoes, and talks radical politics
with much English independence in his little
stall beneath a shop-window. How the men
manage to creep into these boxes is a perfect
marvel. We know one whose workshop has
no door whatever; he can only get into his
establishment through the window, the total
height of which is somewhat under three feet.
Crooked he must get into it, crooked remain
there, and crooked get out again; for to stand
upright is an impossibility. His factory is
scooped out of one of the old-school public-
houses now passing away under the influence
of plate-glass splendours. Fire-place he has
none; so that his only caloric must be derived
from the warmth of his own heart. And yet
here does Crispin stitch away, year after year.

Mr. Deulin who, a bootmaker himself, has
shown that he knows something about literature
as well as boots, tells us, in his little
book on Shoemaking, that in France there
are itinerant cobblers who go about from