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.