To “work a litany” in the streets is considered one of the higher exercises of professional skill on the part of the patterer. In working this, a clever patterer--who will not scruple to introduce anything out of his head which may strike him as suitable to his audience--is very particular in his choice of a mate, frequently changing his ordinary partner, who may be good “at a noise” or a ballad, but not have sufficient acuteness or intelligence to patter politics as if he understood what he was speaking about. I am told that there are not twelve patterers in London whom a critical professor of street elocution will admit to be capable of “working a catechism” or a litany. “Why, sir,” said one patterer, “I’ve gone out with a mate to work a litany, and he’s humped it in no time.” To ‘hump,’ in street parlance, is equivalent to ‘botch,’ in more genteel colloquialism. “And when a thing’s humped,” my informant continued, “you can only ‘call a go.’” To ‘call a go,’ signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some change or other in consequence of a failure. The street-papers in the dialogue form have not been copied nor derived from popular productions--but even in the case of Political Litanies and Anti-Corn-law Catechisms and Dialogues are the work of street authors. One intelligent man told me, that properly to work a political litany, which referred to ecclesiastical matters, he “made himself up,” as well as limited means would permit, as a bishop! and “did stunning, until he was afraid of being stunned on skilly.”--_Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor._ [Illustration] OUR KING IS A TRUE BRITISH SAILOR. Too long out of sight have been kept Jolly Tars, In the ground-tiers like huts stow’d away, Despis’d & contemn’d were their honour’d scars And Red Coats were Lords of the day. But Britannia now moves as a gallant first-rate And with transports the Blue Jackets hail her; For William’s right hand steers the helm of the State, And our King is a true British Sailor. No danger the heart of a seaman appals, To fight or to fall he is ready, The safeguard of Britain is her wooden walls, And the Helmsman cries “steady! boys, steady!” Cheer up, my brave boys, give the wheel a new spoke, If a foe is in view we will hail her, For William the Fourth is a sound heart of oak, True Blue, and a bold British Sailor. The wild winds around us may furiously whistle And tempest the ocean deform, But unite the red rose, the shamrock, & thistle, With King William we’ll weather the storm; Hard up with the helm, Britannia’s sheet flows Magna Charta on board will avail her, And better she sails as the harder it blows, For her Pilot’s a King and a Sailor.