blush
To wear a tatter'd garb, however coarse;
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth;
Who ask with painful shyness, and refused,
Because deserving, silently retire."

The females, especially the younger ones, generally walk behind,
blushing and hiding themselves as much as possible. I have seen the
men sometimes walk backwards, with their faces towards those who
were advancing, as if ashamed of what they were doing. And thus they
went wailing through the busy streets, whilst the listening crowd
looks on them pityingly and wonderingly, as if they were so many
hungry shepherds from the mountains of Calabria. This flood of
strange minstrels partly drowned the slang melodies and the
monotonous strains of ordinary street musicians for a while. The
professional gleeman "paled his ineffectual fire" before these
mournful songsters. I think there never was so much sacred music
heard upon the streets of Manchester before. With the exception of a
favourite glee now and then, their music consisted chiefly of fine
psalm tunes--often plaintive old strains, known and welcome to all,
because they awaken tender and elevating remembrances of life.
"Burton," "French," "Kilmarnock," "Luther's Hymn," the grand "Old
Hundred," and many other fine tunes of similar character, have
floated daily in the air of our city, for months together. I am sure
that this choice does not arise from the minstrels themselves having
craft enough to select "a mournful muse, soft pity to infuse." It is
the kind of music which has been the practice and pleasure of their
lives, and it is a fortuitous thing that now, in addition to its
natural plaintiveness, the sad necessity of the times lends a tender
accompaniment to their simplest melody. I doubt very much whether
Leech's minor tunes were ever heard upon our streets till lately.
Leech was a working man, born near the hills, in Lancashire; and his
anthems and psalm tunes are great favourites among the musical
population, especially in the country districts. Leech's harp was
tuned by the genius of sorrow. Several times lately I have heard the
tender complaining notes of his psalmody upon the streets of the
city. About three months ago I heard one of his most pathetic tunes
sung in the market-place by an old man and two young women. The old
man's dress had the peculiar hue and fray of factory work upon it,
and he had a pair of clogs upon his stockingless feet. They were
singing one of Leech's finest minor tunes