With all the tricks and dodges of beggars, the man that owns a pedlar's certificate—which is known as "a brief"—is, taking it all the year round, the most successful. It matters not to him whether the police in a town are strict or not, and he is little interested when he hears street-singers or downright beggars approve or disapprove of the police in certain towns. Armed with this authority, he is a man of cool courage and impudence, and, when he produces his "brief," he makes the inquisitive constable that interferes with him, flush painfully. "Is that all the stock you have?" asks the constable sternly, glancing at the man's paltry few laces, and knowing well that he is using them for begging purposes—"Is that all the stock you carry?" "It is all I need," the other often answers impudently, shaking his laces in one hand, and his certificate in the other. All towns are not favourable to the street-singer, even though they may be good for the more silent beggar; and the downright beggar is apt at any moment to have the door answered by a policeman, and where is he then? But the licensed beggar is safe.

Now it is often very difficult to get this pedlar's certificate, although the man has the five shillings to buy it; especially in London, where a man has to be a resident in one place for six months, and must also give reasons for his request, that he is physically unfit to follow his trade or to do rough labour. But beggars know of small towns in the provinces where they only have to show five shillings and tell a lie or two, and the certificate is theirs at once. And when a man has one, the difficulty is over for all time, for he can get it renewed at the most particular town, without trouble or question.

A man may pursue his calling for a very long time without being asked to show his license, and another man may be asked to show his several times in one month, perhaps twice in one day. I knew one man that went all through the year without interference, but the very first week that his license expired and he had not renewed it, he was accosted by a policeman and arrested. This luckily turned out to his advantage, for when he explained to the magistrate his inability to save five shillings for its renewal, that gentleman generously gave him the amount out of the poor-box, and the license was renewed. Of course the man had begged enough during the week to be independent of this aid, for one lady had given him two shillings towards that end, and from several others he had received small silver instead of pennies to enable him—as he told them—"to earn an honest livelihood by selling laces, instead of begging." Yes, many a dear lady highly commended this fine, fat fellow for such a noble resolution. As I have said, he had received more than twice five shillings in the week by showing ladies his expired license, but a terrible thirst was on him, and he could not possibly pass a public-house.

It will, no doubt, be interesting news to the police, and even a number of beggars, to know that men often hide their licenses in the lining of their clothes, taking out a few stitches, and sewing up again. Quite a number of beggars sew up their valuables in their clothes, as a safeguard against loss; but the licensed beggar has another motive for doing so. The reason why he hides his license is that when he exhausts his very small stock, in an hour or two, he then takes to downright begging for the rest of the day, as he does not wish to waste time; and there may not be a swag-shop (a shop where hawkers are supplied), near, or there may not be one in the town. Now if he is arrested for begging, he will get ten days' imprisonment and, if a pedlar's license is found on him, he will receive the extra punishment of having it taken from him, and not returned. So he serves his ten days, happy to think that his "brief" is safe in the lining of his clothes. He can safely rely on this being so, for a common beggar is never subjected to a severe search.

I knew one man that had a wife and three very small children, and, on the day I made their acquaintance, she and the children remained in the lodging-house all day, so that she could do some washing. When the husband went out that morning, rather late, all his stock-in-trade consisted of was six pairs of cheap mohair laces, which cost him threepence, and with these he went to work. Soon he returned with one shilling and ninepence in coppers, four parcels of food, and two pairs of laces still left. Eighteen pence had to be paid for their night's lodging, without a question of food for five bodies. Giving his wife the money, he again sailed forth for the afternoon. In four hours he returned with one and eleven pence, and no laces. After which she, having finished her washing, went out shopping, and soon returned with bread, tea, sugar, milk, mutton chops, and a fresh stock of laces; also two separate half-ounces of tobacco, one for him and one for herself. With this supply, and the contents of her husband's pockets—he regretted that he could not carry more—the family could do very well for tea, supper, and breakfast the next morning. This industrious couple were always very successful on Sunday mornings, when they sang hymns in the street, with the three small children at their side.

One of the most versatile beggars that I have ever met was Harry the Whistler, who was so resourceful that he was indifferent whether his wife remained idle at home in the lodging-house or not. He also carried a "brief," with a few pins and needles, for the benefit of odd houses scattered here and there; but when he saw a number of houses close together, or anything that looked like a street, he would immediately make a stand and blow a tin whistle. Sometimes, to relieve the monotony, he and his wife sang together, but more often than not she stood silently at his side, and received the reward of his playing.

The first time I met this couple, Harry the Whistler had to go to bed early, so that his wife could mend the bottom of his trousers. They almost came to blows on this occasion, for the wife maintained that she would not sit up late night after night to mend his trousers, and that if he would still persist in blowing a tin whistle, and having the bottom of his trousers torn by dogs, instead of going in for chanting, peddling, or straight begging, she would no longer travel with him. After he had cursed dogs to his heart's content, he confessed that it was no more pleasure for him to go to bed early than it was for her to sit up late and mend his trousers, and that in the future he would cease playing as soon as his notes were answered by a dog's bark.

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