Part 15

The hot green peas are sold out in halfpennyworths and pennyworths, some vendors, in addition to the usual seasoning supplied, add _a suck of bacon_. The "suck of bacon" is obtained by the street Arabs from a piece of that article, securely fastened by a string, to obtain a "relish" for the peas, or as is usually said "to flavour 'em;" sometimes these young gamins manage to bite the string and then _bolt_ not only the bacon, but away from the vendors. The popular saying "a plate of veal cut with a _hammy_ knife" is but a refined rendering of the pea and suck-'o-bacon, street luxury trick.

Pea soup is also sold in the streets of London, but not to the extent it was twenty years ago, when the chilled labourer and others having only a halfpenny to spend would indulge in a basin of--"_All hot!_"

With the coming in of spring there is a large sale of Palm; on the Saturday preceding and on Palm Sunday; also of May, the fragrant flower of the hawthorn, and lilac in flower. But perhaps the pleasantest of all cries in early spring is that of "_Flowers--All a-growing--all a-blowing_," heard for the first time in the season. Their beauty and fragrance gladden the senses; and the first and unexpected sight of them may prompt hopes of the coming year, such as seem proper to the spring.

"Come, gentle spring! ethereal mildness! come."

The sale of English and Foreign nuts in London is enormous, the annual export from Tarragona alone is estimated at 10,000 tons. Of the various kinds, we may mention the "Spanish," the "Barcelona," the "Brazil," the "Coker-nut," the "Chesnut," and "Though last, not least, in love"--The "Walnut!"

"As jealous as Ford, that search'd a hollow wall-nut for his wife's lemon."--_Merry Wives of Windsor._

The walnut-tree has long existed in England, and it is estimated that upwards of 50,000 bushels of walnuts are disposed of in the wholesale markets of the London district annually. Who is not pleased to hear every Autumn the familiar cry of:--

"Crack 'em and try 'em, before you buy 'em, Eight a-penny--All new walnuts Crack 'em and try 'em, before you buy 'em, A shilling a-hundred--All new-walnuts.

The history of the happy and social walnut involves some curious misconceptions. Take its name to begin with. Why walnut? What has this splendid, wide-spreading tree to do with walls, except such as are used as stepping-stones for the boys to climb up into the branches and steal the fruit? Nothing whatever! for, if we are to believe the learned in such matters, this fine old English tree, as it is sometimes called, is not an English tree at all, but a distinct and emphatic foreigner, and hence the derivation. The walnut is a native of Persia, and has been so named to distinguish the naturalised European from its companions, the hazel, the filbert, and the chesnut. In "the authorities" we are told that "gual" or "wall" means "strange" or "exotic," the same root being found in Welsh and kindred tongues; hence walnut. It is true, at any rate, that in France they retain the distinctive name "Noix Persique." There is another mistaken theory connected with the tree which bears a fruit so dear to society at large, for someone has been hazardous enough to assert that:--

"A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut tree, The more you beat them the better they be."

And this ribald rhyme--which is of Latin origin, is now an established English proverb, or proverbial phrase, but variously construed. See Nash's "_Have with you to Saffron-Walden; or, Gabriel Harvey's Hunt is up_," 1596.--Reprinted by J. P. Collier, 1870. Moor, in his "_Suffolk Words_," pp. 465, furnishes another version, which is rather an epigram than a proverb:--

"Three things by beating better prove; A Nut, an Ass, a Woman; The cudgel from their back remove, And they'll be good for no man."

"Nux, asinus, mulier simili sunt lege ligata. Haec tria nil recte faciunt si verbera cessant. Adducitur a cognato, est temen novum."--MARTIAL.

"_Sam_.... Why he's married, beates his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must note, that any woman beares the more when she is beaten."--_A Yorkshire Tragedy_: "Not so New, as Lamentable and true--1608," edition 1619.--Signature, _A. Verso_.

"_Flamineo._--Why do you kick her, say? Do you think that she's like a walnut tree? Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?"

--Webster's "_White Devil_," 1612. iv. 4. (Works, edited by W. C. Hazlitt, II. 105.)

Now all these statements are at once unkind and erroneous all round. We know what is declared of the "man who, save in the way of kindness, lays his hand upon a woman," to say nothing of the punishment awaiting him at the adjacent police court.[15] As to dogs, those who respect the calves of their legs had best beware of the danger of applying this recipe to any but low-spirited animals. In the case of the walnut-tree, the recommendation is again distinctly false, and the results mis-described. Possibly there are walnut-trees, as there are women, dogs, and horses, who seem none the worse for the stick; but, as a general rule, kindly treatment, for vegetable and animal alike, is the best, and, in the long run, the wisest.

In "_The Miller's Daughter_," one of the most homely and charming poems ever penned by the Poet Laureate, occurs a quatrain, spoken by an old gentleman addressing his faithful spouse:--

"So sweet it seems with thee to talk, And once again to woo thee mine; 'Tis like an after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine."

THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY.

"The Holly! the Holly! oh, twine it with bay-- Come give the Holly a song; For it helps to drive stern Winter away, With his garments so sombre and long. It peeps through the trees with its berries so red, And its leaves of burnished green, When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, And not even the daisy is seen. Then sing to the Holly, the Christmas Holly, That hangs over the peasant and king: While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs, To the Christmas Holly we'll sing." _Eliza Cook._

In London a large sale is carried on in "Christmasing," or in the sale of holly, ivy, laurel, evergreens, bay, and mistletoe, for Christmas sports and decorations, by the family greengrocer and the costermongers. The latter of whom make the streets ring with their stentorian cry of:--

Holly! Holly!! Holly, oh!!! Christmas Holly, oh!

OLD CRIES.

BY MISS ELIZA COOK.

Oh! dearly do I love "Old Cries" That touch my heart and bid me look On "Bough-pots" plucked 'neath summer skies, And "Watercresses" from the brook. It may be vain, it may be weak, To list when common voices speak; But rivers with their broad, deep course, Pour from a mean and unmarked source: And so my warmest tide of soul From strange, unheeded spring will roll.

"Old Cries," "Old Cries"--there is not one But hath a mystic tissue spun Around it, flinging on the ear A magic mantle rich and dear, From "Hautboys," pottled in the sun, To the loud wish that cometh when The tune of midnight waits is done With "A merry Christmas, gentlemen, And a Happy New Year--Past one- O'clock, and a frosty morning!"

And there was a "cry" in the days gone by, That ever came when my pillow was nigh; When, tired and spent I was passively led By a mother's hand, to my own sweet bed-- My lids grew heavy, and my glance was dim, As I yawned in the midst of a cradle hymn-- When the watchman's echo lulled me quite, With "Past ten o'clock, and a starlight night!"

Well I remember the hideous dream, When I struggled in terror, and strove to scream, As I took a wild leap o'er the precipice steep, And convulsively flung off the incubus sleep. How I loved to behold the moonshine cold Illume each well-known curtain-fold; And how I was soothed by the watchman's warning, Of "Past three o'clock, and a moonlight morning!"

Oh, there was music in this "old cry," Whose deep, rough tones will never die: No rare serenade will put to flight The chant that proclaimed a "stormy night."

The "watchmen of the city" are gone, The church-bell speaketh, but speaketh alone; We hear no voice at the wintry dawning, With "Past five o'clock, and a cloudy morning!" Ah, well-a-day! it hath passed away, But I sadly miss the cry That told in the night when the stars were bright, Or the rain-cloud veiled the sky. Watchmen, Watchmen, ye are among The bygone things that will haunt me long.

"Three bunches a penny, Primroses!" Oh, dear is the greeting of Spring; When she offers her dew-spangled posies; The fairest Creation can bring.

"Three bunches a penny, Primroses!" The echo resounds in the mart; And the simple "cry" often uncloses The worldly bars grating man's heart.

We reflect, we contrive, and we reckon How best we can gather up wealth; We go where bright finger-posts beckon, Till we wander from Nature and Health.

But the "old cry," shall burst on our scheming, The song of "Primroses" shall flow, And "Three bunches a penny" set dreaming Of all that we loved long ago.

It brings visions of meadow and mountain, Of valley, and streamlet, and hill, When Life's ocean but played in a fountain-- Ah, would that it sparkled so still!

It conjures back shadowless hours, When we threaded the dark, forest ways; When our own hand went seeking the flowers, And our own lips were shouting their praise.

The perfume and tint of the blossom; Are as fresh in vale, dingle, and glen; But say, is the pulse of our bosom As warm and as bounding as then?

"Three bunches a penny,--Primroses!" "Three bunches a penny,--come, buy!" A blessing on all the sweet posies, And good-will to the poor ones who cry.

"Lavender, sweet Lavender!" With "Cherry Ripe!" is coming; While the droning beetles whirr, And merry bees are humming.

"Lavender, sweet Lavender!" Oh, pleasant is the crying; While the rose-leaves scarcely stir, And downy moths are flying,

Oh, dearly do I love "Old Cries," Your "Lilies all a-blowing!" Your blossoms blue, still wet with dew, "Sweet Violets all a-growing!"

Oh, happy were the days, methinks, In truth the best of any; When "Periwinkles, winkle, winks!" Allured my last, lone penny.

Oh, what had I to do with cares That bring the frown and furrow, When "Walnuts" and "Fine mellow Pears" Beat Catalani thorough.

Full dearly do I love "Old Cries," And always turn to hear them; And though they cause me some few sighs, Those sighs do but endear them.

My heart is like the fair sea-shell, There's music ever in it; Though bleak the shore where it may dwell, Some power still lives to win it.

When music fills the shell no more, 'Twill be all crushed and scattered; And when this heart's deep tone is o'er, 'Twill be all cold and shattered.

Oh, vain will be the hope to break Its last and dreamless slumbers; When "Old Cries" come, and fail to wake Its deep and fairy numbers!

_Dust, O!--Dust, O!--Bring it out to day, Bring it out to-day, I sha'n't be here to-mor-row!_

His noisy bell the dustman rings, Her dust the housemaid gladly brings: Ringing he goes from door to door, Until his cart will hold no more.

Bring out your dust, the dustman cries, Whilst ringing of his bell: If the wind blows, pray guard your eyes, To keep them clear and well.

I am very glad 'tis not my luck To get my bread by carting muck; I am sure I never could be made To work at such a dirty trade.

Hold, my fine spark, not so fast, Some proud folks get a fall at last; And you, young gentleman, I say, May be a Dustman, one fine day.

All working folks, who seldom play, Yet get their bread in a honest way, Though not to wealth or honours born, Deserve respect instead of scorn.

Such rude contempt they merit less Than those who live in idleness; Who are less useful, I'm afraid, Than I, the Dustman, am by trade.

Have pity, have pity on poor little birds, Who only make music, and cannot sing words; And think, when you listen, we mean by our strain, O! let us fly home to our woodlands again.

Our dear woody coverts, and thickets so green, Too close for the school-boy to rustle between; No foot to alarm us, no sorrow, no rain, O! let us fly home to our woodlands again.

There perched on the branches that wave to the wind, No more in this pitiless prison confined, How gaily we'll tune up our merriest strain, If once we get home to our woodlands again.

Stooping o'er the ragged heath, Thick with thorns and briers keen, Or the weedy bank beneath, Have I cut my rushes green; While the broom and spiked thorn Pearly drops of dew adorn.

Sometimes across the heath I wind, Where scarce a human face is seen, Wandering marshy spots to find, Where to cut my rushes green; Here and there, with weary tread, Working for a piece of bread.

Then my little child and I Plat and weave them, as you see; Pray my lady, pray do buy, You can't have better than of me; For never, surely were there seen Prettier mats of rushes green.

_I sweep your Chimnies clean, O, Sweep your Chimney clean, O!_

With drawling tone, brush under arm, And bag slung o'er his shoulder: Behold the sweep the streets alarm, With Stentor's voice, and louder.

_Buy my Diddle Dumplings, hot! hot! Diddle, diddle, diddle, Dumplings hot!_

This woman's in industry wise, She lives near Butcher-row; Each night round Temple-bar she plies, With _Diddle Dumplings, ho!_

_Yorkshire Cakes, Who'll buy Yorkshire Cakes, All piping hot--smoking hot! hot!!_

Fine Yorkshire Cakes; Who'll buy Yorkshire cakes? They are all piping hot, and nicely made; His daily walk this fellow takes, And seems to drive a pretty trade.

_Buy my Flowers, sweet Flowers, new-cut Flowers, New Flowers, sweet Flowers, fresh Flowers, O!_

New-cut Flowers this pretty maid doth cry, In Spring, Summer and Autumn, gaily; Which shows how fast the Seasons fly-- As we pass to our final home, daily.

_Buy green and large Cucumbers, Cucumbers, Green and large Cucumbers, twelve a penny._

A penny a dozen, Cucumbers! Tailors, hallo! hallo! Now from the shop-board each man runs, For Cucumbers below.

_Buy Rosemary! Buy Sweetbriar! Rosemary and Sweetbriar, O!_

Rosemary and briar sweet, This maiden now doth cry, Through every square and street, Come buy it sweet, come buy it dry.

_Newcastle Salmon! Dainty fine Salmon! Dainty fine Salmon! Newcastle Salmon!_

Newcastle salmon, very good, Is just come in for summer food; No one hath better fish than I, So if you've money come and buy.

_Buy my Cranberries! Fine Cranberries! Buy my Cranberries! Fine Cranberries!_

Buy Cranberries, to line your crust, In Lincolnshire they're grown; Come buy, come buy, for sell I must Three quarts for half-a-crown.

_Come buy my Walking-Sticks or Canes! I've got them for the young or old._

How sloven like the school-boy looks, Who daubs his books at play; Give him a new one? No, adzooks! Give him a Cane, I say.

_Buy my fine Gooseberries! Fine Gooseberries! Three-pence a quart! Ripe Gooseberries!_

Ripe gooseberries in town you'll buy As cheap as cheap can be; Of many sorts you hear the cry; Pray purchase, sir, of me!

_Pears for pies! Come feast your eyes! Ripe Pears, of every size, who'll buy?_

Pears ripe, pears sound, This woman cries all day; Pears for pies, long or round, Come buy them while you may.

_One a penny, two a penny, hot Cross Buns! One a penny, two a penny, hot Cross Buns!_

Think on this sacred festival; Think why Cross Buns were given; Then think of Him who dy'd for all, To give you right to Heaven.

_Maids, I mend old Pans or Kettles, Mend old Pans or Kettles, O!_

Hark, who is this? the Tinker bold, To mend or spoil your kettle, Whose wife I'm certain is a scold, Made of basest metal.

_Buy my Capers! Buy my nice Capers! Buy my Anchovies! Buy my nice Anchovies!_

How melodious the voice of this man, The Capers he says are the best; His Anchovies too, beat 'em who can, Are constantly found in request.

_Mulberries, all ripe and fresh to day! Only a groat a pottle--full to the bottom!_

Mulberries, ripe and fresh to-day, They warm and purify the blood; Have them a groat a pottle you may. They are all fresh! they are all good!

_Buy my Cockles! Fine new Cockles! Cockles fine, and Cockles new!_

Cockles fine; and cockles new, They are as fine as any. Cockles! New cockles, O! I sell a good lot for a penny, O!

_Buy fine Flounders! Fine Dabs! All alive, O! Fine Dabs! Fine live Flounders, O!_

There goes a tall fish-woman sounding her cry, "Who'll buy my fine flounders, and dabs, who'll buy?" Poor flounder, he heaves up his fin with a sigh, And thinks that _he_ has most occasion to cry; "Ah, neighbour," says dab, "indeed, so do I."

_Buy my nice and new Banbury Cakes! Buy my nice new Banbury Cakes, O!_

Buy Banbury Cakes! By fortune's frown, You see this needy man, Along the street, and up and down, Is selling all he can.

_Buy my Lavender! Sweet blooming Lavender! Sweet blooming Lavender! Blooming Lavender!_

Lavender! Sweet blooming lavender, Six bunches for a penny to-day! Lavender! sweet blooming lavender! Ladies, buy it while you may.

_Live Mackerel! Three a-shilling, O! Le'ping alive, O! Three a-shilling O!_

Live Mackerel, oh! fresh as the day! At three for a shilling, is giving away; Full row'd, like bright silver they shine; Two persons on one can sup or dine.

_Buy my Shirt Buttons! Shirt Buttons! Buy Shirt Hand Buttons! Buttons!_

At a penny a dozen, a dozen, My Buttons for shirts I sell, Come aunt, uncle, sister, and cousin, I'll warrant I'll use you well.

_Buy my Rabbits! Rabbits, who'll buy? Rabbit! Rabbit! who will buy?_

"Rabbit! Rabbit! who will buy?" Is all you hear from him; The Rabbit you may roast or fry, The fur your cloak will trim.

_Buy Rue! Buy Sage! Buy Mint! Buy Rue, Sage and Mint, a farthing a bunch!_

As thro' the fields she bends her way, Pure nature's work discerning; So you should practice every day, To trace the fields of learning.

_Apple Tarts! All sweet and good, to-day! Hot, nice, sweet and good, to-day!_

Apple Tarts! Apple Tarts! Tarts, I cry! They are all of my own making, My Apple Tarts! My Apple Tarts, come buy! For, a honest penny I would be taking.

_Ripe Strawberries! a groat a pottle, to-day, Only a groat a pottle, is what I say!_

Ripe strawberries, a full pottle for a groat! They are all ripe and fresh gathered, as you see, No finer for money I believe can be bought; So I pray you come and deal fairly with me.

_Any Knives, or Scissors to grind, to-day? Big Knives, or little Knives, or Scissors to grind, O!_

Any Knives or Scissors to grind, to-day? I'll do them well and there's little to pay; Any Knives or Scissors to grind, to-day? If you've nothing for me, I'll go away.

_Door-Mat! Door-Mat, Buy a Door-Mat, Rope-mat! Rope-Mat! Buy a Rope-Mat._

Rope Mat! Door Mat! you really must Buy one to save the mud and dust; Think of the dirt brought from the street For the want of a Mat to wipe your feet.

_Clothes Props! Clothes Props! I say, good wives Clothes Props, all long and very strong, to-day._

Buy Clothes Props, Buy Clothes Props! Pretty maids, or pretty wives, I say, I sell them half the price of the shops; So you'll buy of the old man, I pray.

_Come take a Peep, boys, take a Peep? Girls, I've the wonder of the world._

Come take a Peep, each lady and gent, My Show is the best, I assure you; You'll not have the least cause to repent, For I'll strive all I can to allure you.

_Water Cresses! Fine Spring Water Cresses! Three bunches a penny, young Water Cresses!_

Young Cresses, fresh, at breakfast taken A relish will give to eggs and bacon! My profit's small, for I put many In bunches sold at three a penny

_Mutton Pies! Mutton Pies! Mutton Pies, Come feast your eyes with my Mutton Pies._

Through London's long and busy streets, This honest woman cries, To every little boy she meets, Who'll buy my Mutton Pies?

_Please to Pity the Poor Old Fiddler! Pity the Poor Old Blind Fiddler!_

The poor old Fiddler goes his rounds, Along with old Dog Tray; The East of London mostly bounds His journeys for the day.

_Muffins, O! Crumpets! Muffins, to-day! Crumpets, O! Muffins, O! fresh, to-day!_

The Muffin Man! hark, I hear His small bell tinkle shrill and clear; Muffins and Crumpets nice he brings, While on the fire the kettle sings.

_Oysters, fresh and alive, three a penny, O! When they are all sold I sha'n't have any, O!_

They're all alive and very fine, So if you like them, come and dine; I'll find you bread and butter, too, Or you may have them opened for a stew.

_Buy fine Kidney Potatoes! New Potatoes! Fine Kidney Potatoes! Potatoes, O!_

Potatoes, oh! of kidney kind, Come buy, and boil, and eat, The core, and eke also, the rind, They are indeed so sweet.

_Buy Images! Good and cheap! Images, very good--very cheap!_

Come buy my image earthenware, Your mantel pieces to bedeck, Examine them with greatest care, You will not find a single speck.

_Buy 'em by the stick, or buy'em by the pound, Cherries ripe, all round and sound!_