utility of their own, and are meant (this is noted for the information of posterity, for the living generation know it well enough) to serve the purposes of advertising for the interests of individuals, as well as of amusing the public at large.

A strange chapter in the history of man might be written on the subject of Advertisements. They became necessary as soon as any tribe became numerous enough for any one member of it to be hid in a crowd. The heralds of whom we read in Homer were the first "advertising mediums," and in remote country towns the class still exists in the shape of town drummers and town bellmen, employed to proclaim orally to the citizens all impending auctions, and many perpetrated larcenies, with losings and findings of every possible category. Manuscript placards seem to have been next in order: some fossilized specimens of them have been preserved on the walls of Pompeii, under the showers of moistened ashes with which that town was potted for the inspection of posterity. Of this system of advertising existing samples may occasionally be seen in rural districts, where manuscript announcements of hay crops for sale and farms to let are from time to time stuck up on the gates of the churchyard; or even in the suburbs of the metropolis, in the guise of exhortations to purchase " Warren's Blacking," or try somebody's "Gout and Rheumatic Oil." The invention of printing naturally caused printed placards and posting bills in a great measure to supersede the written ones; with the increased circulation of newspapers the practice gained ground of making them the vehicle of advertisements; and finally all sorts of periodicals, and even books published once for all, have been made to carry along with them a prefix or an appendix of these useful announce

ments.

With every increase in the multiplicity of industrial avocations, and in the density of population, increases the necessity of devising new vehicles of advertisements, and alluring forms for them. In order to live, a man must get employment; in order to get employment, his existence and his talents must be known; and, in proportion to the numbers by whom he is surrounded must be his efforts to distinguish himself among the crowd. In a company of half-a-dozen, the man who is an inch taller than his fellows is distinguished by this slight difference; but, in a congregation of ten thousand, it requires the stature of the Irish giant to make a man conspicuous. It might easily be imagined, therefore, even though the proofs were not before our eyes, to what a degree of refined perfection the art of advertising has been carried in our crammed and busy London. There are advertisements direct and indirect, explicit and by innuendo; there is the newspaper advertisement, the placard, and the hand-bill; there is the advertisement literary and the advertisement pictorial; there is the advertisement in the form of a review or of a newspaper paragraph; there is the advertisement (most frequently of some milliner, or tailor, or jeweller, or confectioner) lurking in the pages of a fashionable novel. Some people write books merely to let the world in general, or at least those who have official appointments to bestow, know that they are there, and, in trading phrase," open to an engagement." Nay, some there are who, by constantly forcing their personal presence on public notice, convert themselves into ambulatory placards, making their lives, not what the sentimentalist calls "one long-drawn sigh," but one incessantly repeated and wearisome advertisement.

It would be equally futile and tedious to attempt to enumerate and classify all the vehicles of advertisements, and all the forms which advertisements assume in London in the present high and palmy state of the art of advertising. It will suffice to run over a few of the most striking and characteristic in a cursory manner. The appearance of the external paper-hangers' stations has already been described. The external paper-hangers themselves are a peculiar race; well known by sight from their fustian jackets with immense pockets, their tin paste-boxes suspended by a strap, their placard-pouches, their thin rods of office, with cross-staff at the extremity, formed to join into each other and extend to a length capable of reaching the loftiest elevations at which their posting-bills are legible. A corporate body they are, with consuetudinary bye-laws of their own, which have given rise to frequent litigations in the police courts. The sage judges of these tribunals have found ere now the title of an external paperhanger to his station as puzzling as that of a sweeper to his crossing. Then there seems to be a kind of apprenticeship known amongst them, though, from several recent cases at Bow Street, there is room to doubt whether the rights and duties of master and 'prentice have hitherto been defined with sufficient precision. The period for which a placard must be exposed to public view before it is lawful to cover it over with a new one is a nice question, but seems settled with tolerable certainty. And, to the honour of London external paper-hangers be it said, that there is rarely found (even at the exciting period of an election) among them that disregard of professional etiquette, or rather honour, which leads the mere bill-sticker of the provinces to cover over the posting-bills of a rival before the latter have well dried on the wall. Great judgment is required, and its possession probably is the best mark of distinction between the real artist and the mere mechanical external paper-hanger, in selecting the proper exposures (to borrow a phrase from horticulture) for bills. Some there are whose broad and popular character laughs out with most felicitous effect from the most conspicuous points-others, calculated for a sort of private publicity, ought to be affixed in out-of-the-way nooks and corners, retired but not unseen, provoking curiosity the more from the very circumstance of their being only half seen, each a semi-reducta Venus. The profession of an external paper-hanger, it will be seen, requires intellect as well as taste—it is rather superior to that of an upholsterer, and rather inferior to that of an artist: in regard to the degree of tact and talent required to exercise it with effect, the profession is as nearly as possible on a level with the Hanging Committee of the Royal Academy, and the spirit which animates the two bodies seems as similar as their occupations.

Another class of advertising agents is more completely distinct from the external paper-hangers than cursory observers would suppose the bill-distributers. The point of precedence is not very satisfactorily adjusted between the two sets of functionaries. The bill-sticker (we beg pardon for using the almost obsolete and less euphonious name, but really its new substitute is too lengthy), with his tin paste-box and wallet of placards, has a more bulky presence-occupies a larger space in the world's eye-and the official appearance of his bunch of rods adds to the illusion. He is apt to swagger on the strength of this when he passes the mere bill-distributer. On the other hand, there can be no doubt that the bill-distributer regards his calling as more private, less ostentatious-in short,

more gentlemanlike than that of the bill-sticker.

66

Any man," said an eminent member of the profession, with whom we had once the honour to argue the question, “any man can stick a bill upon a wall, but to insinuate one gracefully and irresistibly into the hands of a lady or gentleman, is only for one who, to natural genius, adds long experience." In short (for his harangue was somewhat of the longest), it was clear our friend conceived his profession to stand in the same relation to that of a bill-sticker that the butler out of livery does to the footman in it. And, in corroboration of his views, it must be admitted that there is an air of faded gentility about many of the bill-distributers of the metropolis. There is one of them in particular, whose most frequent station is in front of Burlington House, whose whole outward man and manner resemble so closely those of a popular member of Parliament-the same flourishing whiskers, the same gracious bend of his slim person-that, in St. Stephen's, one could fancy the bill-distributer had just emerged into better circumstances; or, in Piccadilly, that the bill-framer had met with a reverse of fortune. It may be observed here that bill-distributers may be classified as permanent and occasional. The perma- nent are those who, like the gentleman last alluded to, have a station to which they repair day after day: the occasional are those who, on the occurrence of a public meeting at Exeter Hall, or on a court-day at the India House, or any similar occasions when men congregate in numbers, are placed at the door with hand-bills-most frequently advertisements of unsaleable periodicals-to stuff them into the hands of all who enter.

Peripatetic placards are comparatively a recent invention. The first form they assumed was that of a standard-bearer, with his placard extended like the Roman vexillum at the top of a long pole. Next came a heraldic anomaly, with placards hanging down before and behind like a herald's tabard: Boz has somewhere likened this phenomenon to a sandwich-a piece of human flesh between two slices of pasteboard. When these innovations had ceased to be novelties, and, consequently, to attract observation, some brilliant genius conceived the idea of reviving their declining powers by the simple process of multiplication. This was no more than applying to the streets a principle which had already succeeded on the stage. An eminent playwright-the story is some hundred years old-finding a widow and orphan had proved highly effective in the tragedy of a rival dramatist, improved upon the hint by introducing a widow with two orphans, but was trumped in turn by a third, who introduced a widower with six small motherless children. The multiplication of pole-bearers answered admirably for a time, but it also has been rather too frequently repeated. Of late the practice has, in a great measure, been restricted to a weekly newspaper of enormous size and enormous circulation, which seems to have discovered that the public could only be made aware of the great number of copies it purchased by this mode of chronicling the intelligence.

To peripatetic placards succeeded the vehicular. The first of these were simple enough-almost as rude as the cart of Thespis could well be supposed to be. A last relic of this simple generation still performs its circuits, warning, in homely and affectionate fashion, "Maids and bachelors "_" when they marry”— to "purchase their bedding" at an establishment where they are sure to get it cheap and good Alas, in the ancient time, when we were married, there were no

such kind advisers to save young folks from being taken in in this important article of domestic economy! The first attempt at something finer than the lumbering machines alluded to was a colossal hat, mounted upon springs like a gig (that badge of the "respectable"), which may still be remembered-perhaps

still be seen-dashing down Regent Street at the heels of a spirited horse, with the hatmaker's name in large letters on the outside, whereas small human hats have in general only the hat wearer's name in small letters on the inside. Then came an undescribable column mounted, like the tower of Juggernaut, upon the body of a car-a hybrid between an Egyptian obelisk and the ball-surmounted column of an English country-gentleman's gate. It bore an inscription in honour of "washable wigs" and their cheapness. The rude structure of boards stuck round with placards has of late given way to natty vans, varnished like coaches, and decorated with emblematic paintings. The first of these that met our eye had emblazoned on its stern an orange sky bedropped with Cupids or cherubs, and beneath the roseate festoon of these tiny combinations of human heads and duck-wings an energetic Fame puffing lustily at a trumpet. Below this allegorical device was attached-on the occasion when we had the honour to make the acquaintance of this vehicle-a placard displaying in large letters the name of "the monster murderer, Daniel Good." There was an apotheosis ! The luxury of vehicular advertisements continues to increase with a steady rapidity that might appal the soul of an admirer of sumptuary laws. No further gone than last week did we encounter a structure not unlike the iron monument reared in the neighbourhood of Berlin to the memory of the heroes of the war of independence. It was the same complication of arched Gothic niches and pinnacles; but in the niches, instead of the effigies of mailed warriors, stood stuffedout dresses, such as are worn by the fashionables of the day. The figures were life-like in every respect, except that all of them wanted heads. By some internal clock-work the structure was made to revolve on its axis as the car on which it was erected whirled along. It was a masterpiece of incongruity-blending in its forms Gothic romance with modern tailorism; in its suggestive associations the proud monument reared by a nation to its deliverers from foreign tyranny, with

the processions of victims of the guillotine in the maddest moment of France's blood-drunken revolution. The genius of Absurdity presided over the concoction, and hailed it as worthy to be called her own chef-d'œuvre, and as the ne plus ultra of the efforts of human insignificance to attract notice in a crowd.

The advertisements to which we have hitherto been referring only encounter the Londoner when he ventures out into the streets. They jostle him in the crowd, as any other casual stranger might do. They are at best mere chance acquaintances: even "the old familiar faces" among them do not intrude upon our domestic privacy. When we shut our street-doors we shut them out. But there is a class of advertisements which follow us to our homes-sit beside us in our easy chairs-whisper to us at the breakfast-table-are regular and cherished visitants-the advertisements which crowd the columns of a newspaper. Newspaper advertisements are to newspaper news what autobiography is to the narrative of a man's life told by another. The paragraphs tell us about men's sayings and doings: the advertisements are their sayings and doings. There is a dramatic interest about the advertising columns which belongs to no other department of a newspaper. They tell us what men are busy about, how they feel, what they think, what they want. As we con them over in the pages of the Times' or Chronicle,' we have the whole busy ant-hill of London life exposed to our view. The journals we have named do more for us, without asking us to leave the fireside, than the Devil on Two Sticks could do for Don Cleofas after he had whisked him up to the steeple, and without the trouble of untiling all the houses" as you would take the crust off a pie."

'

It is not to matters of business alone, as the amateur in advertisements well knows, that these announcements are confined. Many of them have such a suggestive mystery about them, that they almost deserve a place in the "Romance of Real Life." In corroboration of this we take up a file of the Times,' and open at random, turning to the top of the second column of the first page, the locality most affected by this class. There is an imploring pathos about the very first that meets our eyes, that might suggest matter for at least three chapters of a modern novel :-" F. T. W. is most urgently intreated to communicate -“F. his address to his friend J. C., before finally determining upon so rash a course of conduct as that mentioned in his letter of yesterday. All may and will be arranged. The address, if communicated, will be considered confidential." Still more heart-rending are the images conjured up by the address upon which we stumble next:-" To A. M. Your brother implores that you will immediately return home, and every arrangement will be made for your comfort; or write me, and relieve the dreadful distress in which our parents are at your absence." The next strikes the note of generous enthusiasm -"Grant. Received 5. 6s., with thanks and admiration for the rare probity exhibited." The superhuman virtue which could resist the temptation to pocket 57. 6s. called for no less. What next? A laconic and perfectly intelligible hint: P. is informed that E. P. is very short of money. Pray WRITE SOON." Would that all our duns would adopt this delicate method of reminding us of their claims. All the world knows what a gentleman means; but perhaps few are aware that the gentleman visited London in the year of grace 1841 (for from the records of that year are we now culling) :- "If the cab-driver who brought THE GENTLEMAN from Little