Part 4

The verbal proclaimers of the excellence of their commodities, had this advantage over those who, in the present day, use the public papers for the same purpose, that they could in many cases adapt their address to the peculiar appearance and apparent taste of the passengers. This direct and personal mode of invitation to customers became, however, a dangerous temptation to the young wags who were employed in the task of solicitation during the absence of the principal person interested in the traffic; and, confiding in their numbers and civic union, the 'prentices of London were often seduced into taking liberties with the passengers, and exercising their wit at the expense of those whom they had no hopes of converting into customers by their eloquence. If this were resented by any act of violence, the inmates of each shop were ready to pour forth in succour; and in the words of an old song which Dr. Johnson was used to hum,--

"Up then rose the 'prentices all, Living in London, both proper and tall."

Desperate riots often arose on such occasions, especially when the Templars, or other youths connected with the aristocracy, were insulted, or conceived themselves so to be. Upon such occasions, bare steel was frequently opposed to the clubs of the citizens, and death sometimes ensued on both sides. The tardy and inefficient police of the time had no other resource than by the Alderman of the ward calling out the householders, and putting a stop to the strife by overpowering numbers, as the Capulets and Montagues are separated upon the stage.

It must not be imagined that these 'prentices of the City of London were of mean and humble origin. The sons of freemen of the City, or country boys of good and honourable families, alone were admitted to the seven years' apprenticeship. The common people--the _ascripti glebae_--the poor rustics who were bound to the soil, had little or no share in the fortunes of the City of London. Many of the burgesses were as proud of their descent as of their liberties.

Once apprenticed, and having in a few weeks imbibed the spirit of the place, the lad became a Londoner. It is one of the characteristics of London, that he who comes up to the City from the country speedily becomes penetrated with the magic of the golden pavement, and falls in love with the great City. And he who has once felt that love of London can never again be happy beyond the sound of Bow Bells, which could formerly be heard for ten miles and more. The greatness of the City, its history, its associations, its ambitions, its pride, its hurrying crowds--all these things affect the imagination and fill the heart. There is no place in the world, and never has been, which so stirs the heart of her children with love and pride as the City of London.

A year or two later on, the boy would learn, with his fellow-'prentices that he must betake himself to the practice of bow and arrow, "pellet and bolt," with a view to what might happen. Moorfields was convenient for the volunteers of the time. There was, however, never any lack of excitement and novelty in the City of London. But this is a digression.

Amongst the earliest of the Cries of London we must class the "cry" of the City watchman; although it essentially differed from the "cries" of the shopkeepers and the hawkers; for they, as a rule, had something to exchange or sell--_copen or buy?_ as Lydgate puts it--then the watchmen were wont to commence their "cry" at, or about, the hour of night when all others had finished for the day. After that it was the business of the watchman to make his first call, or cry after the manner inscribed over the figure here given.

He had to deal with deaf listeners, and he therefore proclaimed with a voice of command, "Lanthorn!" but a lanthorn alone was a body without a soul; and he therefore demanded "a _whole_ candle." To render the mandate less individually oppressive, he went on to cry, "Hang out your Lights!" And, that even the sleepers might sleep no more, he ended with "Heare!" It will be seen that he carries his staff and lanthorn with the air of honest old Dogberry about him,--"A good man and true," and "the most desartless man to be constable."

The making of lanthorns was a great trade in the early times. We clung to King Alfred's invention for the preservation of light with as reverend a love, during many centuries, as we bestowed upon his civil institutions. The horn of the favoured utensil was a very dense medium for illumination, but science had substituted nothing better; and, even when progressing people carried about a neat glass instrument with a brilliant reflector, the watchman held to his ponderous and murky relic of the past, making "night hideous" with his voice, to give news of the weather, such as: "Past eleven, and a starlight night;" or "Past one o'clock, and a windy morning;" in fact, disturbed your rest to tell you "what's o'clock."

We are told by the chroniclers that, as early as 1416, the mayor, Sir Henry Barton, ordered lanthorns and lights to be hanged out on the winter evenings, betwixt Allhallows and Candlemass. For three centuries this practice subsisted, constantly evaded, no doubt through the avarice or poverty of individuals, sometimes probably disused altogether, but still the custom of London up to the time of Queen Anne. The cry of the watchman, "Hang out your Lights," was an exhortation to the negligent, which probably they answered only by snores, equally indifferent to their own safety and the public preservation. A worthy mayor in the time of Queen Mary provided the watchman with a bell, with which instrument he accompanied the music of his voice down to the days of the Commonwealth. The "Statutes of the Streets," in the time of Elizabeth, were careful enough for the preservation of silence in some things. They prescribed that, "no man shall blow any horn in the night, or whistle after the hour of nine o'clock in the night, under pain of imprisonment;" and, what was a harder thing to keep, they also forbade a man to make any "sudden outcry in the still of the night, as making any affray, or beating his wife." Yet a privileged man was to go about knocking at doors and ringing his alarum--an intolerable nuisance if he did what he was ordered to do.

But the watchmen were, no doubt, wise in their generation. With honest Dogberry, they could not "see how sleeping should offend;" and after the watch was set, they probably agreed to "go sit upon the church bench till two, and then all to bed."

We have observed in our old statutes, and in the pages of authors of various kinds, that separate mention is made of the Watchman and the Bellman. No doubt there were several degrees of office in the ancient Watch and Ward system, and that part of the office of the old Watch, or Bellman, was to bless the sleepers, whose door he passed, which blessing was often sung or said in verse--hence Bellman's verse. These verses were in many cases, the relics of the old incantations to keep off elves and hobgoblins. There is a curious work by Thomas Dekker--otherwise Decker,--entitled: "The Bellman of London. Bringing to light the most notorious Villanies that are now practised in the Kingdom, Profitable for Gentlemen, Lawyers, Merchants, Citizens, Farmers, Masters of Households and all sortes of servants to Marke, and delightful for all men to Reade, _Lege, Perlege, Relege_." Printed at London for Nathaniel Butter, 1608. Where he describes the Bellman as a person of some activity--"the child of darkness; a common nightwalker; a man that had no man to wait upon him, but only a dog; one that was a disordered person, and at midnight would beat at men's doors, bidding them (in mere mockery) to look to their candles, when they themselves were in their dead sleeps." Stow says that in Queen Mary's day one of each ward "began to go all night with a bell, and at every lane's end, and at the ward's end, gave warning of fire and candle, and to help the poor and pray for the dead." Milton, in his "Il Penseroso," has:--

"Far from the resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm."

In "A Bellman's Song" of the same date, we have:--

"Maidens to bed, and cover coal, Let the mouse out of her hole, Crickets in the chimney sing, Whilst the little bell doth ring; If fast asleep, who can tell When the clapper hits the bell?"

Herrick, also, has given us a verse of Bellman's poetry in one of the charming morsels of his "Hesperides:"--

"From noise of scare-fires rest ye free, From murders Benedicite; From all mischances that may fright Your pleasing slumbers in the night, Mercy secure ye all, and keep The goblin from ye while ye sleep. Past one o'clock, and almost two, My masters all, 'Good day to you!'"

But, with or without a bell, the real prosaic watchman continued to make the same demand as his predecessors for lights through a long series of years; and his demand tells us plainly that London was a city without lamps. But though he was a prosaic person, he had his own verses. He addressed himself to the "maids." He exhorted them to make their lanthorns "bright and clear." He told them how long their candles were expected to burn. And, finally, like a considerate lawgiver, he gave reason for his edict:--

"That honest men that walk along, May see to pass safe without wrong."

Formerly it was the duty of the bellman of St. Sepulchre's parish, near Newgate, to rouse the unfortunates condemned to death in that prison, the night before their execution, and solemnly exhort them to repentance with good words in bad rhyme, ending with

"When St. Sepulchre's bell to-morrow tolls, The Lord above have mercy on your souls."

It was customary for the bellman to present at Christmas time to each householder in his district "A Copy of Verses," and he expected from each in return some small gratuity. The execrable character of his poetry is indicated by the contempt with which the wits speak of "Bellman's verses" and the comparison they bear to "Cutler's poetry upon a knife," whose poesy was--"_Love me, and leave me not_." On this subject there is a work entitled--"The British Bellman. Printed in the year of Saint's Fear, Anno Domini 1648, and reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_." "The Merry Bellman's Out-Cryes, or the Cities O Yes! being a mad merry Ditty, both Pleasant and Witty, to be cry'd in Prick-Song[3] Prose, through Country and City. Printed in the year of Bartledum Fair, 1655." Also--"The Bell-man's Treasury, containing above a Hundred several Verses fitted for all Humours and Fancies, and suited to all Times and Seasons. London, 1707." It was from the riches of this "treasury" that the predecessors of the present parish Bellman mostly took their _own_ (!) "Copy of Verses."

In the Luttrell Collection of Broadsides (Brit. Mus.) is one dated 1683-4, entitled, "A Copy of Verses presented by Isaac Ragg, Bellman, to the Masters and Mistresses of Holbourn Division, in the Parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields." It is headed by a woodcut representing Isaac in his professional accoutrements, a pointed pole in his left hand, and in the right a bell, while his lanthorn hangs from his jacket in front; below is a series of verses, the only specimen worth giving here being the expression of Mr. Ragg's official duty; it is as follows:--

"Time Masters, calls your bellman to his task, To see your doors and windows are all fast, And that no villany or foul crime be done To you or yours in absence of the sun. If any base lurker I do meet, In private alley or in open street, You shall have warning by my timely call, And so God bless you and give rest to all."

In a similar, but unadorned broadside, dated 1666, Thomas Law, Bellman, greets his Masters of "St. Giles, Cripplegate, within the Freedom," in twenty-three dull stanzas, of which the last may be subjoined:--

"No sooner hath St. Andrew crowned November, But Boreas from the North brings cold December, And I have often heard a many say He brings the winter month Newcastle way; For comfort here of poor distressed souls, _Would he had with him brought a fleet of coals_."

We have in our possession a "copy of verses," coming down to our own time. It is a folio broadside, and contains in addition to a portrait of the Bellman of the Parish and his dog on their rounds, fifteen smaller cuts, mostly Scriptural. It is entitled:--

The "Verses" all contain allusions to the prominent events of the past year, and have various headings--first we have the:--

PROLOGUE.

My Masters and Mistresses, pray lend an ear, While your Bellman recounts some events of the year; For altho' its commencement was rather distressing, We've had reason to thank it for more than one blessing, 'Tis true that Canadian proceedings were strange, And a very sad fire was the Royal Exchange; Yet the first, let us hope, is no serious matter, And we'll soon have a new one in lieu of the latter. Our rulers have grappled with one of our crosses, While for beauty and fitness the other no loss is. And still more to make up for these drawbacks vexatious, Dame Fortune has been on the whole, pretty gracious. We've had peace to get wealth, which of war is the sinews. Grant us wit to make hay while the sunshine continues. Then, the Bear of the North, that insatiate beast, Has been check'd in his wily attempts on the East; And his further insidious advances forbidden By the broadsword of Auckland, which warns him from Eden. While our rulers, in earnest, apply to the work, And a treaty concludes with the Austrian and Turk, Which, when next the fell Monster is tempted to roam, May provide him some pleasant employment at home.

TO THE QUEEN.

Whilst the high and the noble in gallant array, Assemble around her, their homage to pay; While the proud Peers of Britain with rapture, I ween, Place her crown on the brow of their peerless young Queen; While by prince and by peasant her sceptre is blest; Why may not the Bellman chime in with the rest? Tho' alas! my poor muse would long labour in vain, To express our delight in Victoria's reign, Long may we exult in her merciful sway, May her moments speed blithely and sweetly as May, And her days be prolonged till her glories efface The last maiden lady's, who sate in her place.

THE GREAT WESTERN.

Well, despite of some thousand objections pedantic, The "Great Western" has cross'd and _re-cross'd_ the Atlantic, Nor is _this_ the first time--to the foe's consternation-- That the deeds of our tars have defied calculation. Though few of our learned professors did dream That our seamen in steamers would reach the gulf stream, Yet a fortnight's vibration, from Bristol or Cork, Will now set us down with our friends at New York; And a closer acquaintance bind firmer than ever, A friendship which nothing on earth ought to sever.

* * * * * * * * * *

EPILOGUE.

Now having conducted his well-meant effusion Thus far on its way to a happy conclusion, Your Bellman, tho' not quite so fresh as at starting, Would still have a word with his patrons at parting, Just by way of a cordial and kindly farewell, For his heart, altho' softer, is sound as his bell, And he cannot say more for himself or his strains, Than, whatever his success, he has not spared pains; And that blest in their kindness, and countenance steady, His song and his services always are ready; So he bids them adieu till next season appears-- May their wealth and their virtues increase with their years; May they always have more than they ever can spend, With the soul to help on a less fortunate friend; And their Bellman continue to cudgel his brain, For their yearly amusement, again and again.

+-----------------------------------------------------+ |_Cheap and Expeditious Printing by Steam Machinery, | |executed by_ C. REYNELL, 16, _Little Pulteney Street,| |Golden Square._--First printed in 1735. | +-----------------------------------------------------+

There is a very rare sheet of woodcuts in the Print-room of the British Museum, containing twelve cries, with figures of the "Criers" and the cries themselves beneath. The cuts are singularly characteristic, and may be assigned with safety, on the authority of Mr. John Thomas Smith, the late keeper of the prints and drawings, as of the same date as Ben Jonson's "fish-wives," "costard-mongers," and "orange women."

No. 1 on the sheet, is the "Watch;" he has no name, but carries a staff and a lanthorn, is well secured in a good frieze gabardine, leathern-girdle, and wears a serviceable hat to guard against the weather. The worthy here depicted has a most venerable face and beard, showing how ancient was the habit of parish officers to select the poor and feeble for the office of watchman, in order to keep them out of the poor-house. The "cry" of the "watch" is as follows:--

"A light here, maids, hang out your light, And see your horns be clear and bright, That so your candle clear may shine, Continuing from six till nine; That honest men that walk along, May see to pass safe without wrong."

No. 2 is the "Bellman"--Dekker's "Bellman of London and Dog." (as at page 49.) He carries a halberd lanthorn, and bell, and his "cry" is curious:--

"Maids in your smocks, look to your locks, Your fire and candle-light; For well 'tis known much mischief's done By both in dead of night; Your locks and fire do not neglect, And so you may good rest expect."

No. 3 is the "Orange Woman," a sort of full-grown Nell Gwynne, if we can only fancy _Nelly_, the favourite mistress of King Charles the Second, grown up in her humble occupation. She carries a basket of oranges and lemons under her arm, and seeks to sell them by the following "cry":--

"Fine Sevil oranges, fine lemmons, fine; Round, sound, and tender, inside and rine, One pin's prick their vertue show: They've liquor by their weight, you may know."

No. 4 is the "Hair-line Man," with a bundle of lines under his arm, and a line in his hand. Clothes-pegs was, perhaps, a separate "cry." Here is his:--

"Buy a hair-line, or a line for Jacke, If you any hair or hemp-cord lack, Mistris, here's good as you need use; Bid fair for handsel, I'll not refuse."

No. 5 is the "Radish and Lettuce Woman."--Your fine "goss" lettuce is a modern cry:--

"White raddish, white young lettis, White young lettis white; You hear me cry, come mistris, buy, To make my burden light."

No. 6 is the man who sells "Marking Stones," now, unless we except slate-pencils, completely out of use:--

"Buy marking-stones, marking-stones buy, Much profit in their use doth lie: I've marking-stones of colour red, Passing good, or else black lead."

No. 7 is the "Sausage Woman," holding a pound of sausages in her hand:--

"Who buys my sausages, sausages fine? I ha' fine sausages of the best; As good they are as ere was eat; If they be finely drest. Come, mistris, buy this daintie pound, About a capon roast them round."

No. 8 is a man with "Toasting-forks and Spice-graters":--

"Buy a fine toasting-fork for toast, Or fine spice-grater--tools for an hoast; If these in winter be lacking, I say, Your guests will pack, your trade decay."

No. 9 is the "Broom Man," and here we have a "cry" different from the one we have already given. He carries a pair of old boots in his hand:--

"Come buy some brooms, come buy of me: Birch, Heath, and green,--none better be; The staves are straight, and all bound sure; Come, maids, my brooms will still endure. Old boots or shoes I'll take for brooms, Come buy to make clean all your rooms!"

No. 10 is a woman with a box of "Wash balls":--

"Buy fine washing-balls, buy a ball, Cheaper and dearer, greater and small; For scouring none do them excel, Their odour scenteth passing well; Come buy rare balls, and trial make, Spots out of clothes they quickly take."

No. 11 sells Ink and Pens.--He carries an ink-bottle hung by a stick behind him, and has a bunch of pens in his hand:--

"Buy pens, pens, pens of the best, Excellent pens and seconds the least; Come buy good ink as black as jet, A varnish like gloss on writing 'twill set."

The twelfth and last is a woman with a basket of Venice Glasses, such as a modern collector would give a great deal to get hold of:--

"Come glasses, glasses, fine glasses buy; Fine glasses o' the best I call and cry. Fine Venice-glasses,--no chrystal more clear, Of all forms and fashions buy glasses here, Black pots for good ale I also do cry; Come therefore quickly before I pass by."

In the same collection, is a series of three plates, "Part of the Cries in London," evidently belonging to the same set, though only one has got a title. Each plate contains thirty-six criers, with the addition of a principal "Crier" in the centre. These were evidently executed abroad, as late, perhaps, as the reign of Charles II. No. 1 (with the title page) is ornamented in the centre with the "Rat-Catcher," carrying an emblazoned banner of rats, and attended by a boy. The leather investment of the rat-catcher of the present day is a pleasant memorial of the banner of the past. Beneath the rat-catcher, the following lines occur:--

"Hee that wil have neither Ratt nor Mowssee Lett him pluck of the tillies And set fire of his hows."

Proving, evidently that the rat-catcher courted more to his banner than his poetry. Then follow the thirty-six cries, some of which, it will be seen, are extremely curious. The names are given beneath the cuts, but without any verse or peculiarity of cry.

Cooper Ende of Golde Olde Dublets Blackinge man Tinker Pippins Bui a Matte Cooles Chimnie swepes Bui Brumes Camphires Cherry ripe Alminake Coonie skine Mussels Cabeches Kitchen stuff Glasses Cockels Hartti chaks Mackrill Oranges, Lemens Lettice Place Olde Iron Aqua vitae Pens and Ink Olde Bellows Herrings Buy any Milke Piepin Pys Osters Shades Turneps Rosmarie Baie Onions.

"Haie ye any work for John Cooper?" is the title of one of the Martin Marprelate pamphlets. "Haie ye ani gold ends to sell?" is mentioned as a "cry," in "Pappe with a Hatchet" (_cir._ 1589). "Camphires," means Samphires. The "Alminake" man has completely gone, and "Old Dublets" has degenerated into "Ogh Clo," a "cry" which teased Coleridge for a time, and occasioned a ludicrous incident, which we had reserved for a place somewhat later in our history, had not "Old Dublets" brought it, not inopportunely, to mind. "The other day," said Coleridge, "I was what you would call _floored_ by a Jew. He passed me several times crying out for old clothes, in the most nasal and extraordinary tone I ever heard. At last I was so provoked, that I said to him, 'Pray, why can't you say 'old clothes' in a plain way, as I do?' The Jew stopped, and looking very gravely at me, said in a clear and even accent, 'Sir, I can say 'old clothes' as well as you can; but if you had to say so ten times a minute, for an hour together, you would say _Ogh Clo_ as I do now;' and so he marched off." Coleridge was so confounded with the justice of the retort that he followed and gave him a shilling--the only one he had.