Part 3

and third rate neighbourhoods. The noisy bell[9] of the privileged muffin-man can hardly be counted; but "dust, O,"--the dustman's bell is almost a thing of the past--"knives and scissors,"--pronounced sitthers--"to grind," "chairs to mend," "cat's and dawg's meat," the snapped-off short "o' clo" of the Jewish dealer in left-off garments, "fine warnuts, penny for ten, all cracked," "chestnuts all 'ot," "fine ripe strawberries," "rabbit or 'air skins," "fine biggaroon cherries," "fine oranges, a penny for three," and many others, are still shouted in due season by leathern-lunged itinerant traders. The "O' clo" man is nearly always historically represented, as in the Catnach illustration, wearing

several hats; but, though he may often be met with more than one in his possession, he is now seldom seen with more than one on his head. Calling the price before the quantity, though quite a recent innovation, or more probably the revival of an old style, is almost universal. The cry of "Fine warnuts, ten a penny," is now "A penny for ten, fine warnuts," or "A penny for 'arf a score, fine warnuts."

The cat's meat man has never, like some of his colleagues, aspired to music, but apparently confines himself to the one strident monosyllable. It has been stated, by the way, that the London cats, of which it seems there are at present some 350,000, annually consume £100,000 worth of boiled horse. Daintily presented on a skewer, pussy's meat is eaten without salt; but, being impossible of verification, the statistics presented in the preceding sentence may be taken with a grain.

"Soot" or "Sweep, ho!" The sweep, accompanied by two or three thinly-clad, half-starved, and generally badly-treated apprentices, who ascended the chimneys and acted as human brushes, turned out in old times long before daylight. It was owing to the exertions of the philanthropist, Mr. Jonas Hanway, and before the invention of the jointed chimney sweeping machine, that an Act was passed at the beginning of

this century, providing that every chimney-sweeper's apprentice should wear a brass plate in front of his cap, with the name and abode of his master engraved thereon. The boys were accustomed to beg for food and money in the streets; but by means of the badges, the masters were traced, and an improvement in the general condition of the apprentices followed. But the early morning is still disturbed by the long-drawn cry, "Sw-e-e-p." This, and the not unmusical "ow-oo," of the jodeling milkman--all that is left of "milk below maids,"--the London milk-maids are usually strongly-built Irish or Welsh girls--and the tardier and rather too infrequent "dust-o" are amongst the few unsuppressed Cries of London-town. They are tolerated and continued because they are convenient, and from a vague sense of prescriptive right dear to the heart of an Englishman.

Until quite recently, the flower girls at the Royal Exchange--decent and well-behaved Irishwomen who work hard for an honest living--were badgered and driven about by the police. They are now allowed to collect and pursue their calling in peace by the Wellington statue, where their cry, "Buy a flower, sir," is heard, whatever the weather, all the year round. "Speshill 'dishun, 'orrible railway haccident," the outcome of an advanced civilization, is a cry that was unknown to our forefathers. Our forebears had often to pay a shilling for a newspaper, and the newsman made known his progress through the streets by sound of tin trumpet: as shown in Rowlandson's graphic illustration, a copy of the newspaper was carried in the hatband.

"C'gar lights, 'ere y'ar, sir; 'apenny a box," and "Taters all 'ot," also belong to the modern school of London Cries; while the piano-organ is a fresh infliction in connection with the new order of street noises. And although a sort of portable penthouse was used in remote times for screening from heat and rain, the ribbed and collapsible descendant thereof did not come into general use much before the opening of the present century; hence the cry, "Any umbrellas-termend," may properly be classed as a modern one.

In the crowded streets of modern London the loudest and most persistent cry is that of the omnibus conductor--"Benk," "Chairin' Krauss," "Pic'dilly"; or it may be, "Full inside," or "'Igher up"; to which the cabman's low-pitched and persuasive "Keb, sir?"--he is afraid to ply too openly for hire--plays an indifferent second. Judging from Rowlandson's illustration, his predecessor the hackney coachman shared cabby's sometimes too pointedly worded objection to a strictly legal fare.

The "under-street" Cries heard in our own time at the various stations on the railway enveloping London, in what by courtesy is termed a circle--the true shape would puzzle a mathematician to define--form an interesting study. While a good many of the porters

are recruited from the country, it is a curious fact that in calling the names of the various "sty-shuns" they mostly settle down--perhaps from force of association "downt-tcher-now"--into one dead level of Cockney pronunciation.

As one seldom realizes that there is anything wrong with one's own way of speaking, pure-bred Cockneys may be expected to quarrel with the phonetic rendering given; however, as Dr. James Cantlie, in his interesting and recently published "Degeneration amongst Londoners,"[10] tells us that a pure-bred Cockney is a _rara avis_ indeed, the quarrelsomely inclined may not be numerous, and they may be reminded that the writer is not alone in his ideas as to Cockney pronunciation. Appended to Du Maurier's wonderfully powerful picture of "The Steam Launch in Venice" (Punch's Almanac, 1882), is the following wording:--

_'Andsome 'Arriet_: "Ow my! if it 'yn't that bloom-in' old Temple Bar, as they did aw'y with out o' Fleet Street!"

_Mr. Belleville_ (_referring to Guide-book_): "No, it 'yn't! It's the fymous Bridge o' SIGHS, as BYRON

went and stood on; 'im as wrote OUR BOYS, yer know!"

_'Andsome 'Arriet_: "Well, I NEVER! It 'yn't much of a SIZE, any'ow!"

_Mr. Belleville_: "'Ear! 'ear! Fustryte!"

This paragraph is from the London _Globe_ of January 26th, 1885: "Spelling reformers take notice. The English alphabet--diphthongs and all--does not contain any letters which, singly or in combination, can convey with accuracy the pronunciation given by the newsboys to the cry, 'A-blowin' up of the 'Ouses of Parliament!' that rent the air on Saturday. The word 'blowin'' is pronounced as if the chief vowel sound were something like 'ough' in 'bough'; and even then an 'e' and a 'y' ought to be got in somewhere."

There are twenty-seven stations on the London Inner Circle Railway--owned by two companies, the Metropolitan and District--and the name of one only--Gower Street--is usually pronounced by "thet tchung men," the railway porter, as other people pronounce it. ["Emma Smith,"[11] while not a main line station, may be cited here simply as a good example of Cockney, for 'Arry and 'Arriet are quite incapable of any other verbal rendering.] They are cried as follows:--

"South Kenzint'nn." "Glawster Rowd." (owd as in "loud.") "I Street, Kenzint'nn." "Nottin' Ill Gite." (ite as in "flight.") "Queen's Rowd, Bizewater." (ize as in "size.") "Pride Street, Peddinten." "Edge-wer Rowd." (by common consent the Cockney refrains from saying "Hedge-wer.") "Biker Street." "Portland Rowd." "Gower Street." "King's Krauss." (Often abbreviated to "'ng's Krauss.") "Ferrinden Street." "Oldersgit Street." (no preliminary "H.") "Mawgit Street." "Bish-er-git." "Ol'git." "Mark Line." "Monneym'nt." "Kennun Street." "Menshun Ouse." "Bleckfriars." "Tempull." ("pull-pull-Tempull.") "Chairin' Krauss." "Wes'minster." (One sometimes hears "Wes'minister": a provincialism.) "S'n Jimes-iz Pawk." (ime as in "time.") "Victaw-ia." "Slown Square." (own as in "town.")

Country cousins may be reminded that the guiding letters =I= or =O= so boldly marked on the tickets issued on the London underground railway, and, in the brightest vermilion, as conspicuously painted up in the various stations, do not mean "Inner" or "Outer" Circle, but the inner and outer lines of rails of the Inner Circle Railway. Though sanctioned by Parliament more than twenty years ago, the so-called Outer Circle Railway is still incomplete, its present form being that of a horse-shoe, with termini at Broad Street and Mansion House, and some of its principal stations at Dalston, Willesden, and Addison Road, Kensington.

It has before been said that everything that could be carried has, at some time or other, been sold in the streets; and it follows that an approximately complete list of London Cries would reach a very large total. From its mere length and sameness such a list would moreover be apt to weary the reader; for not all cries have the interest of a traditional phrase or intonation which gives notice of the nature of the wares, even when the words are rendered unintelligible by the necessity of vociferation. But a few of the most constant and curious cries may be interesting to note.

"'Tis all hot, nice smoaking hot!" You'll hear his daily cry; But if you won't believe, you sot You need but taste and try

Coats or preeches do you vant? Or puckles for your shoes? Vatches too me can supply:-- Me monies von't refuse.

Young gentlemen attend my cry, And bring forth all your Knives; The barbers Razors too I grind; Bring out your Scissars, wives.

With mutton we nice turnips eat; Beef and carrots never cloy; Cabbage comes up with Summer meat, With winter nice savoy.

Holloway cheese cakes! Large silver eels, a groat a pound, live eels! Any New River water, water here? Buy a rope of onions, oh?

Buy a goose? Any bellows to mend? Who's for a mutton pie or an eel pie? Who buys my roasting jacks? Sand, ho! buy my nice white sand, ho!

Buy my firestone? Roasted pippins, piping hot!

A whole market hand for a halfpenny--young radishes, ho!

Sw-e-ep!

Brick dust, to-day? Door mats, want? Hot rolls! Rhubarb! Buy any clove-water? Buy a horn-book? Quick (_living_) periwinkles! Sheep's trotters, hot! Songs, three yards a penny! Southernwood that's very good! Cherries O! ripe cherries O! Cat's and dog's meat! Samphire! All a-growin', all a-blowin'. Lilly white mussels, penny a quart! New Yorkshire muffins! Oysters, twelvepence a peck! Rue, sage, and mint, farthing a bunch! Tuppence a hundred, cockles! Sweet violets, a penny a bunch! Brave Windsor beans! Buy my mops, my good wool mops! Buy a linnet or a goldfinch? Knives, combs, and inkhornes! Six bunches a penny, sweet lavender! New-laid eggs, eight a groat!

Any wood? Hot peas! Hot cross buns! Buy a broom? Old chairs to mend! Young lambs to sell! Tiddy diddy doll! Hearth-stone! Buy my nice drops, twenty a penny, peppermint drops! Any earthen ware, plates, dishes, or jugs, to-day,--any clothes to exchange, Madam? Holly O, Mistletoe! Buy my windmills for a ha'penny a piece! [a child's toy.] Nice Yorkshire cakes! Buy my matches, maids, my nice small pointed matches! Come, buy my fine myrtles and roses! Buy a mop or a broom? Hot rolls! Will you buy a Beau-pot?

Probably of Norman-French origin, the term "beau-pot" is still in use in out-of-the-way country districts, to signify a posy or nosegay, in which sweet-smelling herbs and flowers, as rosemary, sweet-briar, balm,

roses, carnations, violets, wall-flowers, mignonette, sweet-William, and others that we are now pleased to designate "old fashioned," would naturally predominate.

Come buy my sweet-briar!

Any old flint glass or broken bottles for a poor woman to-day?

Sweet primroses, four bunches a penny, primroses!

Black and white heart cherries, twopence a pound, full weight, all round and sound!

Fine ripe duke cherries, a ha'penny a stick and a penny a stick, ripe duke cherries!

Shrimps like prawns, a ha'penny a pot!

Green hastings!

Hot pudding!

Pots and kettles to mend!

'Ere's yer toys for girls an' boys!

Brick-dust was carried on the backs of asses and sold for knife-cleaning purposes at a penny a quart.

The bellows-mender, who sometimes also followed the trade of a tinker, carried his tools and apparatus buckled in a leathern bag at his back, and practised his profession in any convenient corner of the street.

Door-mats of all shapes were made of rushes or rope, and were sold at from sixpence to several shillings each.

The earliest green pea brought to the London market--a dwarf variety--was distinguished by the name of Hasteds, Hastens, Hastins, or Hastings, and was succeeded by the Hotspur. The name of Hastings was, however, indiscriminately given to all peas sold in the streets, and the cry of "green Hastings" was heard in every street and alley until peas went out of season.

The crier of hair brooms, who usually travelled with a cart, carried a supply of brushes, sieves, clothes-horses, lines, and general turnery.

All cleanly folk must like my ware, For wood is sweet and clean; Time was when platters served Lord Mayor And, as I've heard, a Queen.

His cry took the form of the traditional tune "Buy a broom," which may even now be occasionally heard--perhaps the last survival of a street trade tune--taken

up separately or in fitful chorus by the men and women of a travelling store. The Flemish "Buy a Broom" criers, whose trade is gone, generally went in couples or threes. Their figures are described by Hone as exactly miniatured in the unpainted wooden doll, shaped the same before and behind, and sold in the toy shops for the amusement of the little ones. In the comedy of "The Three Ladies of London," printed in quarto in Queen Elizabeth's reign (A.D. 1584), is this passage:--

"Enter Conscience with brooms at her back, singing as follows:--

New brooms, green brooms, will you buy any? Maydens come quickly, let me take a penny."

Hot rolls, which were sold at one and two a penny, were carried during the summer months between the hours of 8 and 9 in the morning, and from 4 to 6 in the afternoon.

Let Fame puff her trumpet, for muffin and crumpet, They cannot compare with my dainty hot rolls; When mornings are chilly, sweet Fanny, young Billy, Your hearts they will comfort, my gay little souls.

Muffins and crumpets were then, as now, principally cried during the winter months.

Hot pudding, sweet, heavy and indigestible, was sold in halfpenny slabs.

Who wants some pudding nice and hot! 'Tis now the time to try it; Just taken from the smoking pot, And taste before you buy it.

The cry "One-a-penny, two-a-penny, _hot_ CROSS BUNS!" which,--now never heard from the sellers on Good Friday,--is still part of a child's game, remains as one of the best instances of English quantitative metre, being repeated in measured time, and not merely by the ordinary accent. The rhubarb-selling Turk, who appeared in turban, trousers, and--what was then almost unknown amongst civilians--moustaches, was, fifty years ago or more, a well known character in the metropolis.

Sand was generally used in London, not only for cleaning kitchen utensils, but for sprinkling over uncarpeted floors as a protection against dirty footsteps. It was sold by measure--red sand, twopence halfpenny, and white a penny farthing per peck. The very melodious catch, "White Sand and Grey Sand, Who'll buy my White Sand!" was evidently harmonized on the sand-seller's traditional tune.

"Buy a bill of the play!" In the time of our great grandfathers, there were no scented programmes, and the peculiar odour of the play-bills was not due to the skill of a Rimmel. Vilely printed with the stickiest of ink, on the commonest of paper, they were disposed of both in and outside the theatre by orange-women, who would give one to a purchaser of half a dozen oranges or so. In Hogarth's inimitably amusing and characteristic print of _The Laughing Audience_, a couple of robustly built orange-women are contending, with well-filled baskets, for the favour of a bewigged beau of the period, who appears likely to become an easy victim to their persuasions.

"Knives to grind" is still occasionally heard, and the grinder's barrow (_vide_ that depicted in Rowlandson's illustration on p. 59), is much the same as it was a hundred years ago. At the beginning of the century the charge for grinding and setting scissors was a penny or twopence a pair; penknives a penny a blade, and table-knives one and sixpence and two shillings a dozen.

Rabbits were carried about the streets suspended at either end of a pole which rested on the shoulder.

The edible marine herb samphire, immortalized in connection with "Shakespeare's Cliff" at Dover, was at one time regularly culled and as regularly eaten.

The once familiar cry of "Green rushes O!" is

preserved only in verse. In Queen Elizabeth's time the floors of churches as well as private houses were carpeted with rushes, and in Shakespeare's day the stage was strewn with them. Rush-bearing, a festival having its origin in connection with the annual renewal of rushes in churches, was kept up until quite recently, and may even still be practised in out-of-the-way villages.

The stock of the "'arthstone" woman, who is not above doing a stroke of business in bones, bottles, and kitchen stuff, is usually on a barrow, drawn by a meek-eyed and habitually slow-paced donkey.

The London Barrow Woman ("Ripe Cherries"), as preserved in the cut from the inimitable pencil of George Cruikshank, has long since disappeared. In 1830, when this sketch was made, the artist had to rely on his memory, for she then no longer plied her trade in the streets. Her wares changed with the seasons; but here a small schoolboy is being tempted by ripe cherries tied on a stick. There being no importation of foreign fruit, the cherries were of prime quality. May dukes, White heart, Black heart, and the Kentish cherry, succeeded each other--and, when sold by weight, and not tied on sticks, fetched sixpence, fourpence, or threepence per lb., which was at least twopence or threepence less than charged at the shops.

The poor Barrow Woman appears to have been treated very much in the same manner as the modern costermonger; but was without his bulldog power of resistance. If she stopped to rest or solicit custom, street keepers, "authorized by orders unauthorized by law," drove her off, or beadles overthrew her fruit into the road. Nevertheless, if Cruikshank has not idealized his memories, she was more wholesomely and stoutly clad than any street seller of her sex--with the one exception of the milkmaid--who is to be seen in our day, when the poor London woman has lost the instinct of neatness and finish in attire.

"Hot spiced gingerbread," still to be found in a cold state at village fairs and junketings, used to be sold in winter time in the form of flat oblong cakes at a halfpenny each, but it has long since disappeared from our streets.

"Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol" was a celebrated vendor of gingerbread, and, according to Hone, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen. It must be more than a century since this dandified character ceased to amuse the populace. He dressed as a person of rank--ruffled shirt, white silk stockings, and fashionable laced suit of clothes surmounted by a wig and cocked hat decorated with a feather. He was sure to be found plying his trade on Lord Mayor's

day, at open air shows, and on all public occasions. He amused the crowd to his own profit; and some of his humorous nonsense has been preserved.

"Mary, Mary, where are you _now_, Mary?"

"I live two steps underground, with a wiscom riscom, and why not. Walk in, ladies and gentlemen. My shop is on the second floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here's your nice gingerbread, your spiced gingerbread, which will melt in your mouth like a red-hot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch in his wheelbarrow!" He always finished up by singing the fag end of a song--"Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol;" hence his nickname of Tiddy Doll. Hogarth has introduced this character in his Execution scene of the Idle Apprentice at Tyburn. Tiddy Doll had many feeble imitators; and the woman described in the lines that follow, taken from a child's book of the period, must have been one of them.

Tiddy Diddy Doll, lol, lol, lol, Tiddy Diddy Doll, dumplings, oh! Her tub she carries on her head, Tho' of'ener under arm. In merry song she cries her trade, Her customers to charm. A halfpenny a plain can buy, The plum ones cost a penny, And all the naughty boys will cry Because they can't get any.

Fifty years ago "Young Lambs to Sell, two for a penny," which still lingers, was a well known cry. They were children's toys, the fleece made of white cotton-wool, attractively but perhaps a trifle too unnaturally spangled with Dutch gilt. The head was of composition, the cheeks were painted red, there were two black spots to do duty for eyes, and the horns and legs were of tin, which latter adornment, my younger readers may suggest, foreshadowed the insufficiently appreciated tinned mutton of a later period. The addition of a bit of pink tape tied round the neck by way of a collar made a graceful finish, and might be accepted as a proof that the baby sheep was perfectly tame.

Young lambs to sell, young lambs to sell. Two for a penny, young lambs to sell. If I'd as much money as I could tell, I wouldn't cry young lambs to sell. Dolly and Molly, Richard and Nell, Buy my Young Lambs and I'll use you well!

The later song--

Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend. If I'd as much money as I could spend, I'd leave off crying old chairs to mend--