Chapter C: HINDLEY, ESQ., 76, Rose Hill Terrace,

Brighton.

The somewhat sudden and unexpected death of the Rev. Thomas Hugo on the last day of the year 1876 is now a matter of history.

In Memoriam.
The Rev. T. HUGO, M.A.
_Rector of West Hackney Church._
Departed this life, Sunday, December 31st, 1876.

On Christmas Day, before the altar kneeling,
Taking that Food by which our souls are fed;
Around us all a solemn silence stealing,
And broken only by the priests' slow tread.

Yes, he was there, our good and earnest Rector,
And firmly strove his weakness to withstand,
Giving the cup, he, the pure Faith's protector--
That cup of blessing with a trembling hand.

His church, for which he felt such admiration,
Was deck'd with flow'rs and evergreens that morn,
In praise to Christ, who died for our salvation,
And deign'd as a weak infant to be born.

Ah! little did we think that happy morning--
So truly, bravely kept he at his post--
When next a Sabbath came, to us his warning
And kind, yet noble, presence would be lost.

That solemn sound, which tells of souls departed,
Took the glad place of that which calls to prayer,
And his loved people, shocked and broken-hearted,
Could hardly enter, for _he_ was not there.

But when they heard it was his last desire
That they should meet at midnight as was said,
They met by thousands, mov'd with holy fire,
And spoke in whispers of their shepherd--_dead_.

No, no, not dead, but calm in Jesus sleeping;
Free from all sorrow, all reproach, all pain:
And though he leaves a congregration weeping
Their earthly loss is his eternal gain.

He loved the weak, and all the mute creation,
In generous deeds he ever took his part;
At Death, the _thrice_-repeated word _Salvation_
Showed the firm trust of that true, tender heart.

* * * * *

Again we meet: they come his coffin bringing
Midst solemn chant, and deck'd with purest flowers,
And feel, whilst we his own sweet hymn are singing,
The joy is _his_, the sad rememberance _ours_.
Mrs. HILDRETH.

At the sale of the HUGO COLLECTION, I purchased among many others:--

LOT 405. London Cries, also used in Newcastle and York Cries, two very
pretty series of early Cries, some with back-grounds, from Hodgson's
office, and R. Robinson, Newcastle--[51 _blocks_],

To carry out the suggestion before-mentioned, and to utilize the very pretty series of fifty-one woodcuts as above, and other Bewick, Bewickiana, and _ultra anti_-Bewickian woodcut blocks I possess, formed and accumulated by reason of my published works: "The Catnach Press," 1868. "Curiosities of Street Literature," 1871. And "Life and Times of James Catnach," 1878.

In collecting information on the subject of "The Cries of London--Ancient and Modern," I have availed myself of all existing authorities within reach, and therefore, to prevent the necessity of continual reference, here state that I have drawn largely from Charles Knight's "London." Mayhew's "London Labour and the London Poor." Hone's "Every-Day Book." An article on Old London Cries, in "Fraser's Magazine." "Cuthbert Bede." Mr. Edwin Goadby's "The England of Shakespeare,"--an excellent Text Book, forming one of Cassell's Popular Shilling Library. "Our Milk Supply," from the columns of _The Daily Telegraph_. Charles Manby Smith's "Curiosities of London Life," and his "Little World of London." And what from various other sources was suitable for my purpose.

To the one lady, and many gentlemen friends who have responded to my enquiries for advice, material, and assistance, and by which they have so greatly enriched the contents of this volume, I beg to express my best thanks. I must in a more particular manner mention the names of--the one lady first--Mrs. Rose Hildreth; then Mr. John Furbor Dexter, Mr. William Mansell; next Messrs. W. H. & L. Collingridge, the Proprietors of _The City Press_, Aldersgate-street, London, for the use of the following woodcuts that have appeared in the pages of their ever-entertaining work, "Y{e} OLD CITY," by Aleph.: 1.--Shakespeare's London; 2.--Aldersgate; 3.--Cheapside Cross; 4.--Old Stage Waggon; 5.--Baynard's Castle; 6.--Old London Shop; 7.--St. Pauls Cathedral. I have also to express my cordial thanks to Messrs. Longman, Green & Co., who kindly allowed the use of 1.--Colebrook Cottage; 2.--The Old Queen's Head; and 3.--Canonbury Tower. From Howitt's "Northern Heights of London." Messrs. Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly: 1.--Charles Lamb's House, Enfield; 2.--House at Edmonton, where Charles Lamb died; 3.--Edmonton Church. Messrs. Marks and Sons, Publishers of all kinds of Fancy Stationery, Toy-books, Valentines, &c., 72, Houndsditch, for the eight blocks used in their "Cries of London," at pages 351 to 358. Messrs. Goode, Toy-book Manufacturers, Clerkenwell Green. Mr. John W. Jarvis, Mr. William Briggs, Mr. G. Skelly, Alnwick, and Dr. David Morgan, Brighton.

* * * * *

SECOND EDITION.

The rapid sale of the whole of the First Edition of this work--about one half of which went Due-North, that is to say, in and round about "Canny Newcassel" (the home-land of the Brothers Bewick), America taking the remainder,--will sufficiently explain the re-appearance of "A History of the Cries of London" in its new, and, the Author ventures to think, improved form.

RECTORY ROAD, STOKE NEWINGTON,
LONDON, N.

_Lady-Day._, 1884.

CATALOGUE OF THE
CHOICE AND VALUABLE COLLECTION
OF BOOKS, WOOD ENGRAVINGS,
AND ENGRAVED WOODCUT BLOCKS,
Manuscripts, Autograph Letters & Proof Impressions,
BY OR RELATING TO THOMAS AND JOHN BEWICK,
AND THEIR PUPILS,
GLEANED FROM EVERY AVAILABLE SOURCE BY THE LATE

REV. THOMAS HUGO, M.A., F.S.A.,

AUTHOR OF "THE BEWICK COLLECTOR," 1866;
"SUPPLEMENT TO SAME," 1868; AND
"BEWICK WOODCUTS," (folio) 1870.

WHICH WILL BE SOLD BY AUCTION,
BY MESSRS.
SOTHEBY, WILKINSON & HODGE,

_Auctioneers of Literary Property & Works illustrative of the Fine Arts_,
At their House, No. 13, Wellington Street, Strand, W.
On WEDNESDAY, 8th of AUGUST, 1877, and following Day,
AT ONE O'CLOCK PRECISELY.
May be Viewed Two Days prior, and Catalogues had.

Dryden Press: J. Davy and Sons. 137, Long Acre.

GOLDSMITH AND PARNELL POEMS: Published by William Bulmer, _Shakespeare Printing Office_, London, 1795. Embellished with thirteen designs on wood. Most of the cuts were drawn by Robert Johnson and John Bewick, and all were engraved by Thomas Bewick, except the vignettes on the title-pages, and the large cut of "The Sad Historian," and the tail-piece at the end of the volume, which was done by John Bewick.

The most magnificent result of the efforts of the wood-engraver, type-founder, paper-maker, and printer, "that ever was produced in any age, or in any country." Bulmer realized, after paying all expenses, a profit of L1,500 on the work these exquisite blocks adorned.

THE SAD HISTORIAN.

_Published January 1, 1795, by William Bulmer, at the Shakespeare Printing Office, Cleveland Row._]

[_T. Bewick, Sculp._

THE HERMIT AT HIS MORNING DEVOTIONS.

_Published January 1, 1795, by William Bulmer, at the Shakespeare Printing Office, Cleveland Row._]

[_T. Bewick, Sculp._

THE HERMIT, ANGEL, AND GUIDE.

_Published January 1, 1795, by William Bulmer, at the Shakespeare Printing Office, Cleveland Row._]

[_T. Bewick, sculp._

THE CHASE.
_A POEM_
BY WILLIAM SOMERVILE, ESQ.

LONDON:
Printed by W. Bulmer & Co.,
Shakespeare Printing Office, Cleveland Row.

1796.]

[_T. Bewick, sculp._

SOMERVILE'S CHASE.]

This work contains the best specimens of John Bewick's abilities as a designer; all the cuts were drawn by him except one, but none of them were engraved by him. Shortly after he had finished the drawings on the blocks, he left London and returned to the North in consequence of ill-health. They were engraved by Thomas Bewick, with the exception of the tail-piece at the end of the volume, which was engraved by Charles Nesbit, one of his pupils.

[_T. Bewick, sculp._

SOMERVILE'S CHASE.]

The cuts in the Chase, on the whole, are superior in point of execution to those in the Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell. Many conceive it impossible that such delicate effects could be produced from blocks of wood, and his late Majesty (George III.) ordered his bookseller, Mr. George Nicolls, to procure the blocks for his inspection, that he might convince himself of the fact.

[_T. Bewick, sculp._

SOMERVILE'S CHASE.]

Speaking of the death of John Bewick, which took place at Ovingham on the 5th of December, 1795,--aged 35, a writer in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ says, "The works of this young artist will be held in estimation, and the engravings to 'Somervile's Chase' will be a monument of fame of more celebrity than marble can bestow."

"THE LITTLE HOUSE" and PIG, &C.

"Snug in an English garden's shadiest spot
A structure stands, and welcomes many a breeze;
Lonely and simple as a ploughman's cot!
Where monarchs may unbend who wish for ease."
COLMAN'S--_Broad Grins_.

Among the very many and all much admired Tail-pieces drawn and engraved by Bewick himself, the above, which, in its--_First state!_ is at page 285 of vol. i. of 'A History of British Birds,' 1797, has obtained by far the greatest notoriety. It appears that soon after publication, it was pointed out to Bewick that the nakedness of a prominent part of his subject required to be a little more covered--_draped_! So one of his apprentices was employed to blacken over with ink all the copies then remaining unsold. But by the time Bewick received the 'gentle hint,' a goodly number had been delivered to local subscribers and the London agents--Messrs. G. G. and J. Robinson. It is these '_not inked!_' copies that are now so readily sought after by all "Bewick Collectors."

For the next, and all subsequent editions a plug was inserted in the block, and the representation of two bars of wood engraved upon it, to hide the _part_! However, it seems that before the block was thus altered and amended, many impressions on various papers were taken of the--_First state!_ The late Rev. Hugo possessed several of such, one of which--_Proof on paper_--he gave me on the 10th of November, 1876.--C. H.

The Poetical Works of Robert Burns. Engravings on Wood by Bewick, from designs by Thurston. Alnwick: Printed by Catnach and Davison, 1808. And London: Printed for T. Cadell and Davis, Strand, 1814. With cuts previously used in Davison's publications.

"Many of the engravings produced for Burns' Poems, are of a very superior class, and cannot be too highly commended."--_Hugo._

THE HISTORY OF CRAZY JANE.
By Sarah Wilkinson.
With a Frontispiece by Bewick.
ALNWICK: Printed by W. DAVISON, 1813.]

Adorned with beautiful Engravings by Bewick.
ALNWICK: Printed by W. DAVISON, 1808.]

THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT FERGUSON, with his Life.
Engravings on Wood by BEWICK.]

THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT FERGUSON.
Alnwick: Printed by W. DAVISON.--1814.]

"_Not to return, how painful the remembrance
Of joys departed,_"

BLAIR'S GRAVE.
Alnwick: Printed by CATNACH and DAVISON,--1808.]

"Bewick cut for Mrs. Angus, twenty-four figures for the Alphabet:--The Fox and Grapes, the Crow and Pitcher, the Foolish Stag, Joseph and his Brethren, etc. All of them excellent cuts. The fortieth edition was printed in 1814, and the seventy-third in 1839, so that they must have been done in his early days."

MS. Note of the late Mr. John Bell, of Newcastle. See Hugo's _Bewick's Woodcuts_. No. 240-276.

Cut to the memory of ROBERT JOHNSON.
_Bewick's favourite Pupil._]

On the South side of Ovingham Church there is this tablet--

In Memory of
ROBERT JOHNSON,
PAINTER AND ENGRAVER.
A NATIVE OF THIS PARISH.
Who died at Kenmore in Perthshire,
_The 29th, of October, 1796_.
IN THE 26th, YEAR OF HIS AGE.

Thomas Bewick died at his house on the Windmill-Hills, Gateshead, November the 8th, 1828, in the seventy-sixth year of his age, and on the 13th he was buried in the family burial-place at Ovingham, where his parents, wife, and brother were interred.

A HISTORY OF THE CRIES OF LONDON.

A HISTORY
OF THE
CRIES OF LONDON

(Ancient & Modern)

SECOND EDITION

Greatly Enlarged and
Carefully Revised.

HISTORY OF THE CRIES OF LONDON.

"Let none despise the merry, merry cries
Of famous London Town":--_Rex. Ballad._

The cries of London have ever been very popular, whether as broadsides, books, ballads, or engravings. Artists of all countries and times have delighted to represent those peculiarities of costume and character which belong to the history of street-cries, and the criers thereof. Annibale Carracci--1560-1609--has immortalized the cries of Bologna; and from the time of Elizabeth to that of Queen Victoria, authors, artists and printers combined, have presented the Cries and Itinerant Trades of London, in almost numberless forms, and in various degrees of quality, from the roughest and rudest wood-cut-blocks to the finest of copper and steel plate engravings, or skilfully wrought etchings. While many of the early English dramatists often introduced the subject, eminent composers were wont to "set to music" as catch, glee, or roundelaye, all the London Cries then most in vogue,--"They were, I ween, ryght merrye songs, and the musick well engraved."

The earliest mention of London trade-cries is by Dan John Lydgate (1370-1450), a Monk of the Benedictine Abbey of Bury St. Edmund's, the friend and immediate follower of Geoffrey Chaucer, and one of the most prolific writers of his age this country has produced. To enumerate Lydgate's pieces would be to write out the catalogue of a small library. No poet seems to have possessed a greater versatility of talents. He moves with equal ease in every mode of composition; and among his minor pieces he has left us a very curious poem entitled "London Lyckpeny," _i.e._, _London Lackpenny_: this has been frequently printed; by Strutt, Pugh, Nicolas, and partly by John Stow in "A Survey of London," 1598. There are two copies in the British Museum, Harl. MSS., 367 and 542. We somewhat modernize the text of the former and best of these copies, which differ considerably from each other.

"O Mayster Lydgate! the most dulcet sprynge
Of famous rethoryke, with balade ryall
The chefe orygynal."
_"The Pastyme of Plasure," by Stephen Hawes, 1509._

In "London Lackpenny" we have a most interesting and graphic picture of the hero coming to Westminster, in term time, to obtain legal redress for the wrong he had sustained, and explain to a man of law his case--"_How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood_," but being without the means to pay even the preliminary fee, he was sent--"from pillar to post," that is from one Law-court to another, but although he "_crouched, kneeled, prayed for God's sake, and Mary's love_, he could not get from one the--_mum of his mouth_." So leaving the City of Westminster--minus his hood, he walked on to the City of London, which he tells us was crowded with peripatetic traders, but tempting as all their goods and offers were, his _lack-of-money_ prevented him from indulging in any of them--But, however, let _Lackpenny_, through the ballad, speak for himself:--

To London once my steps I bent,
Where truth in no wise should be faint,
To Westminster-ward I forthwith went,
To a man of law to make complaint,
I said, "for Mary's love, that Holy saint!
Pity the poor that would proceed,"
But, for lack of money, I could not speed.

And as I thrust the _prese_ among, [crowd]
By froward chance my hood was gone,
Yet for all that I stayed not long,
Till to the King's Bench I was come,
Before the Judge I kneeled anon,
And prayed him for God's sake to take heed;
But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Beneath them sat Clerks a great rout,
Which fast did write by one assent,
There stood up one and cryed about,
Richard, Robert, and John of Kent.
I wist not well what this man meant,
He cried so thick there indeed,
But he that lacked money, might not speed.

Unto the Common-place _I yode thoo_, [I went then]
Where sat one with a silken hood;
I did him reverence, for I ought to do so,
And told him my case as well as I could,
How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood.
I gat not a mum of his mouth for my meed,
And, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence,
Before the clerks of the Chancery,
Where many I found earning of pence,
But none at all once regarded me,
I gave them my plaint upon my knee;
They liked it well, when they had it read:
But, lacking money, I could not speed.

In Westminster Hall I found out one,
Which went in a long gown of _ray_; [velvet]
I crouched and kneeled before him anon,
For Mary's love, of help I him pray.
"I wot not what thou meanest" gan he say:
To get me thence he did me bede,
For lack of money, I could not speed.

Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor
Would do for me ought, although I should die:
Which seeing, I gat me out of the door,
Where Flemings began on me for to cry:
"Master, what will you _copen or buy_? [chap or exchange]
Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?
Lay down your silver, and here you may speed."

Spectacles to read before printing was invented must have had a rather limited market; but we must bear in mind where they were sold. In Westminster Hall there were lawyers and rich suitors congregated,--worshipful men, who had a written law to study and expound, and learned treatises diligently to peruse, and titles to hunt after through the labyrinths of fine and recovery. The dealer in spectacles was a dealer in hats, as we see; and the articles were no doubt both of foreign manufacture. But lawyers and suitors had also to feed, as well as to read with spectacles; and on the Thames side, instead of the coffee-houses of modern date, were tables in the open air, where men every day ate of "_bread, ribs of beef, both fat and full fine_," and drank jollily of "_ale and wine_," as they do now at a horse-race:--

Then to Westminster Gate I presently went,
When the sun was at high prime:
Cooks to me, they took good intent,
And proffered me bread, with ale and wine,
Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;
A fair cloth they gan for to spread,
But, wanting money, I might not there speed.

Passing from the City of Westminster, through the village of Charing and along Strand-side, to the City of London, the cries of food and feeding were first especially addressed to those who preferred a vegetable diet, with dessert and "_spice, pepper, and saffron_" to follow. "_Hot peascod one began to cry_," Peascod being the shell of peas; the _cod_ what we now call the _pod_:--

"Were women as little as they are good,
A peascod would make them a gown and hood."

"_Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise._" Rise--branch, twig, either a natural branch, or tied on sticks as we still see them.

Then unto London I did me hie,
Of all the land it beareth the prize;
Hot peascods! one began to cry;
Strawberry ripe, and Cherries in the rise!
One bade me come near and buy some spice;
Pepper and saffron they gan me _bede_; [offer to me]
But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

In Chepe (Cheapside) he saw "_much people_" standing, who proclaimed the merits of their "_velvets, silk, lawn, and Paris thread_." These, however, were shopkeepers; but their shops were not after the modern fashion of plate-glass windows, and carpeted floors, and lustres blazing at night with a splendour that would put to shame the glories of an eastern palace. They were rude booths, the owners of which bawled as loudly as the itinerants; and they went on bawling for several centuries, like butchers in a market, so that, in 1628, Alexander Gell, a bachelor of divinity, was sentenced to lose his ears and to be degraded from the ministry, for giving his opinion of Charles I., that he was fitter to stand in a Cheapside shop with an apron before him, and say "What do ye lack, what do ye lack? What lack ye?" than to govern a kingdom.

Then to the Chepe I began me drawn,
Where much people I saw for to stand;
One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn;
Another he taketh me by the hand,
"Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land."
I never was used to such things indeed;
And, wanting money, I might not speed.

Then went I forth by London Stone,
Throughout all Canwyke Street:
Drapers much cloth me offered anon;
Then comes in one crying "Hot sheep's feet;"
One cried mackerel, rushes green, another gan greet;
One bade me buy a hood to cover my head;
But, for want of money, I might not speed.

The London Stone, the _lapis milliaris_ (mile stone) of the Romans, has never failed to arrest the attention of the "Countryman in Lunnun." The Canwyke Street of the days of John Lydgate, is the Cannon Street of the present. "_Hot sheep's feet_," which were cried in the streets in the time of Henry V., are now sold _cold_ as "sheep's trotters," and vended at the doors of the lower-priced theatres, music-halls, and public-houses. Henry Mayhew in his "London Labour and the London Poor," estimates that there are sold weekly 20,000 sets, or 80,000 feet. The wholesale price at the "trotter yard" is five a penny, which gives an outlay by the street sellers of L3,033 6s. 8d. yearly. The cry which is still heard and tolerated by law, that of _Mackerel_ rang through every street. The cry of _Rushes-green_ tells us of by-gone customs. In ages long before the luxury of carpets was known in England, the floors of houses were covered with rushes. The strewing of rushes in the way where processions were to pass is attributed by our poets to all times and countries. Thus at the coronation of Henry V., when the procession is coming, the grooms cry--

"More rushes, more rushes."

_Not worth a rush_ became a common comparison for anything worthless; the rush being of so little value as to be trodden under foot. _Rush-lights_, or candles with rush wicks, are of the greatest antiquity.

Then I hied me into East-chepe,
One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie;
Pewter pots they clattered on a heap;
There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy;
"Yea by Cock! Nay by Cock!" some began cry;
Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed;
But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Eastcheap, this ancient thoroughfare, originally extended from Tower-street westward to the south end of Clement's-lane, where Cannon-street begins. It was the Eastern Cheap or Market, as distinguished from Westcheap, now Cheapside. The site of the Boar's Head Tavern, first mentioned _temp._ Richard II., the scene of the revels of Falstaff and Henry V., when Prince of Wales, is very nearly that of the statue of King William IV. _Lackpenny_ had presented to him several of the real Signs of the Times and of Life in London with "_ribs of beef_--_many a pie_--_pewter pots_--_music and singing_"--_strange oaths_, "_Yea by Cock_" being a vulgar corruption for a profane oath. Our own taverns still supply us with ballad-singers--"_Buskers_"--who will sing of "_Jenkin and Julian_"--Ben Block; or, She Wore a Wreath of Roses, "_for their meed_."

Then into Cornhill anon I _yode_, [went]
Where was much stolen gear among;
I saw where hung mine own hood
That I had lost among the throng;
To buy my own hood I thought it wrong;
I knew it well, as I did my creed;
But, for lack of money, I could not speed.

The manners and customs of the dwellers in Cornhill in the time of John Lydgate, when a stranger could have his hood stolen at one end of the town and see it exposed for sale at the other, forcibly reminds us of Field-lane and the Jew Fagin, so faithfully sketched in pen and ink by Charles Dickens of our day. Where "a young man from the country" would run the risk of meeting with an Artful Dodger, to pick his pocket of his silk handkerchief at the entrance of the Lane, and it would be offered him for sale by a Jew fence at the end, not only "Once a Week" but "All the Year Round." However, when Charles Dickens and Oliver Twist came in, Field-lane and Fagin went out.

At length the Kentish man being wearied, falls a prey to the invitation of a taverner, who with a cringing bow, and taking him by the sleeve:--"_Sir_," saith he, "_will you our wine assay?_" Whereupon _Lackpenny_, coming to the safe conclusion that "_a penny can do no more than it may_," enters the tempting and hospitable house of entertainment, and there spends his only penny, for which he is supplied with a pint of wine:--

The taverner took me by the sleeve,
"Sir," saith he, "will you our wine assay?"
I answered "That cannot be much grieve,
A penny can do no more than it may;"
I drank a pint, and for it did pay;
Yet, sore a-hungered from hence I _yode_, [went]
And, wanting money, I could not speed.

Worthy old John Stow supposes this interesting incident to have happened at the Pope's Head, in Cornhill, and bids us enjoy the knowledge of the fact, that:--"Wine one pint for a pennie, and bread to drink it was given free in every taverne." Yet Lydgate's hero went away "_Sore a-hungered_," for there was no eating at taverns at this time beyond a crust to relish the wine, and he who wished to dine before he drank had to go to the cook's.

Wanting money, _Lackpenny_ has now no choice but to return to the country, and applies to the watermen at Billingsgate:--

Then hied I me to Billingsgate,
And one cried "Hoo! go we hence!"
I prayed a bargeman, for God's sake,
That he would spare me my expense,
"Thou scap'st not here, quod he, under two-pence,
I list not yet bestow any almes deed."
Thus, lacking money, I could not speed.

We have a corroboration of the accuracy of this picture in Lambarde's "Perambulation of Kent." The old topographer informs us that in the time of Richard II. the inhabitants of Milton and Gravesend agreed to carry in their boats, from London to Gravesend, a passenger with his truss or fardel [burden] for twopence.

Then I conveyed me into Kent;
For of the law would I meddle no more;
Because no man to me took entent,
I _dyght_ [prepared] me to do as I did before.
Now Jesus, that in Bethlem was bore,
Save London, and send true lawyers their meed!
For whoso wants money, with them shall not speed.

The poor Kentish suitor, without two-pence in his pocket to pay the Gravesend bargemen, whispers a mild anathema against London lawyers, then takes his solitary way on foot homeward--a sadder and a wiser man.

* * * * *

With unpaved streets, and no noise of coaches to drown any particular sound, we may readily imagine the din of the great London thoroughfares of four centuries ago, produced by all the vociferous demand for custom. The chief body of London retailers were then itinerant,--literally pedlars; and those who had attained some higher station were simply stall-keepers. The streets of trade must have borne a wonderful resemblance to a modern fair. Competition was then a very rude thing, and the loudest voice did something perhaps to carry the customer.

In the old play entitled:--"A ryght excellent and famous Comedy called the _Three Ladies of London_, wherein is Notable declared and set fourth, how by the meanes of Lucar, Love and Conscience is so corrupted, that the one is married to Dissimulation, the other fraught with all abhomination. A Perfect Patterne of All Estates to looke into, and a worke ryght worthie to be marked. Written by R. W.; as it hath been publiquely played. At London, Printed by Roger Warde, dwelling neere Holburne Conduit at the sign of the Talbot, 1584," is the following poetical description of some London cries:--

_Enter_ CONSCIENCE, with brooms, singing as followeth:--

_New broomes, green broomes, will you buy any?
Come maydens, come quickly, let me take a penny.
My brooms are not steeped,
But very well bound:
My broomes be not crooked,
But smooth cut and round.
I wish it would please you,
To buy of my broome:
Then would it well ease me,
If market were done.

Have you any olde bootes,
Or any old shoone:
Powch-ringes, or buskins,
To cope for new broome?
If so you have, maydens,
I pray you bring hither;
That you and I, friendly,
May bargin together.
New broomes, green broomes, will you buy any?
Come maydens, come quickly, let me take a penny._

CONSCIENCE _speaketh_.

Thus am I driven to make a virtue of necessity;
And seeing God Almighty will have it so, I embrace it thankfully,
Desiring God to mollify and lesson Usury's hard heart,
That the poor people feel not the like penury and smart.
But Usury is made tolerable amongst Christians as a necessary thing,
So that, going beyond the limits of our law, they extort, and to many
misery bring.
But if we should follow God's law we should not receive above what we
lend;
For if we lend for reward, how can we say we are our neighbour's friend?
O, how blessed shall that man be, that lends without abuse,
But thrice accursed shall he be, that greatly covets use;
For he that covets over-much, insatiate is his mind:
So that to perjury and cruelty he wholly is inclined:
Wherewith they sore oppress the poor by divers sundry ways,
Which makes them cry unto the Lord to shorten cut-throats' days.
Paul calleth them thieves that doth not give the needy of their store,
And thrice accurs'd are they that take one penny from the poor.
But while I stand reasoning thus, I forget my market clean;
And sith God hath ordained this way, I am to use the mean.

Sings again.

_Have ye any old shoes, or have ye any boots? have ye any buskins, or
will ye buy any broome?
Who bargins or chops with Conscience? What will no customer come?_

_Enter_ USURY.

USURY.

Who is that cries brooms? What, Conscience, selling brooms about the
street?

CONSCIENCE.

What, Usury, it is a great pity thou art unhanged yet.

USURY.

Believe me, Conscience, it grieves me thou art brought so low.

CONSCIENCE.

Believe me, Usury, it grieves me thou wast not hanged long ago,
For if thou hadst been hanged, before thou slewest Hospitality,
Thou hadst not made me and thousands more to feel like Poverty.

By another old comedy by the same author as the preceding one, which he entitles:--"The pleasant and Stately Morall of the _Three Lords and Three Ladies of London_. With the great Joye and Pompe, Solemnized at their Marriages: Commically interlaced with much honest Mirth, for pleasure and recreation, among many Morall observations, and other important matters of due regard. By R. W., London. Printed by R. Ihones, at the Rose and Crowne, neere Holburne Bridge, 1590," it appears that woodmen went about with their beetles and wedges on their backs, crying "_Have you any wood to cleave?_" It must be borne in mind that in consequence of the many complaints against coal as a public nuisance, it was not in common use in London until the reign of Charles I., 1625.

There is a character in the play named _Simplicity_, a poor Freeman of London, who for a purpose turns ballad-monger, and in answer to the question of "What dainty fine ballad have you now to be sold?" replies:--"I have '_Chipping-Norton_,' '_A mile from Chapel o' th' Heath_'--'_A lamentable ballad of burning of the Pope's dog_;' '_The sweet ballad of the Lincolnshire bagpipes_;' and '_Peggy and Willy: But now he is dead and gone; Mine own sweet Willy is laid in his grave_.'"

"City of ancient memories! Thy spires
Rise o'er the dust of worthy sons; thy walls,
Within their narrow compass, hold as much
Of Freedom as the whole wide world beside."]

The London of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson and Co.,--_Limited_ as it was within its great wall, occupied very much the same space as that now covered by the City proper; its streets were narrow and winding, yet there were still left many open spaces; it was covered with people; its river was full of shipping; it was rich, prosperous, and possessed of a considerable amount of liberty. The great wall of London, broad and strong, with towers at intervals, was more than two miles long, from end to end, beginning at the Tower of London on the east, and ending at the Fleet River and the Thames on the west.

As regards the gates, there were anciently only four--namely, Aldersgate, Aldgate, Ludgate, and Bridgegate--that is to say, one for each of the cardinal points. Then other gates and posterns were added for the convenience of the citizens: Bishopsgate, for those who had business in the direction of Norfolk, Suffolk, or Cambridgeshire; Moorgate, for those who would practice archery, or take their recreation in Moor Fields; Cripplegate, more ancient than the two preceding, had a prison for debtors attached to it; and there was also a postern for the Convent of Grey Friars, now Christ's Hospital. At Newgate was a small, incommodious, and fever-haunted prison for criminals; and at Ludgate was another prison, appropriated to debtors, trespassers, and those who committed contempt of Court. Along the river-side were several water-gates, the chief of which were Blackfriars, Greenhithe, Dowgate and Billingsgate.

Within the narrow space of the City Walls there rose a forest of towers and spires. The piety of Merchants had erected no fewer than a hundred and three churches, which successive citizens were continually rebuilding, beautifying, or enlarging. They were filled with the effigies and splendid tombs, the painted and gilded arms, of their founders and benefactors, for whose souls masses were continually said.

"London was divided into Wards, and was perhaps as catholic in its commercial and industrial pursuits then as now. Every kind of trade was carried on within its walls, just as every kind of merchandise was sold. The combination of fellows of the same craft began in very early times, guilds were formed for the protection of trade and its followers; the guild-brothers met once a month to consider the interests of the craft, regulating prices, recovering debts and so forth. But the London of the period was not so gay as Paris, nor so bustling and prosperous as Antwerp, nor so full of splendour and intellectual life as Venice.[1] Yet to the Englishman of the day it was an ever-lasting wonder. Its towers and palaces, its episcopal residences and gentlemen's inns, the bustle of its commerce, the number of its foreigners, the wealth of its Companies, and the bravery of its pageants, invested it with more poetry than can be claimed for it at the present time, unless Wealth be our deity, Hurry our companion, and Progress our muse. The rich were leaving their pleasant country mansions to plunge into its delights. At the law terms there was a regular influx of visitors, who seemed to think more of taking tobacco than of winning a lawsuit. Ambitious courtiers, hopeful ecclesiastics, pushing merchants, and poetic dreamers, were all caught by the fascinations of London. Site, antiquity, life, and, above all, abundance of the good things that make up half its charm, in the shape of early delicacies, costly meats, and choice wines, combined to make it a miraculous city in the eyes of the Elizabethan."

"The external appearance of the City was certainly picturesque. Old grey walls threw round it the arm of military protection. Their gates were conspicuous objects, and the white uniforms of the train-bands on guard, with their red crosses on the back, fully represented the valour which wraps itself in the British flag and dies in its defence. To the north were the various fields whose names survive, diversified by an occasional house, and Dutch-looking windmills, creaking in the breeze. Finsbury was a fenny tract, where the City archers practised; Spitalfields, an open, grassy place, with grounds for artillery exercise and a market cross; and Smithfield, or Smoothfield, was an unenclosed plain, where tournaments were held, horses were sold, and martyrs had been burnt. To the east was the Tower of London, black with age, armed with cannon and culverin, and representing the munificence which entertained royalty as well as the power which punished traitors. Beyond it was Wapping, the Port of London, with its narrow streets, its rope-walks and biscuit shops. Black fronted taverns, with low doorways and leaden framed windows, their rooms reeking with smoke and noisy with the chatter of ear-ringed sailors, were to be found in nearly every street. Here the merchant adventurer came to hire his seamen, and here the pamphleteer or the ballad-maker could any night gather materials for many a long-winded yarn about Drake and the Spanish main, negroes, pearls, and palm-groves.

"To the west, the scene was broken with hamlets, trees, and country roads. Marylebone and Hyde Park were a royal hunting-ground, with a manor house, where the Earls of Oxford lived in later times. Piccadilly was 'the road to Reading,' with foxgloves growing in its ditches, gathered by the simple dealers of Bucklersbury, to make anodynes for the weary-hearted. Chelsea was a village; Pimlico a country hamlet, where pudding-pies were eaten by strolling Londoners on a Sunday. Westminster was a city standing by itself, with its Royal Palace, its Great Hall for banquets and the trial of traitors, its sanctuary, its beautiful Abbey, and its famous Almonry. St. James's Park was walled with red brick, and contained the palace Henry VIII. had built for Anne Boleyn. Whitehall Palace was in its glory. The Strand, along which gay ladies drove in their 'crab-shell coaches,' had been recently paved, and its streams of water diverted. A few houses had made their appearance on the north side of the Strand, between the timber house and its narrow gateway, which then formed Temple Bar, the boundary between London and Westminster, and the church of St. Mary-le-Strand. The southern side was adorned with noble episcopal residences, and with handsome turreted mansions, extending to the river, rich with trees and gardens, and relieved by flashes of sparkling water.

]

"To the south, Lambeth, with its palace and church, and Faux Hall, were conspicuous objects. Here were pretty gardens and rustic cottages. The village of Southwark, with its prisons, its public theatres, its palace, and its old Tabard Inn, had many charms. It was the abode of Shakespeare himself, as he resided in a good house in the Liberty of the Clink, and was assessed in the weekly payment of 6d., no one but Henslowe, Alleyn, Collins, and Barrett, being so highly rated. That part of the Borough of Southwark known as Bankside was not only famous in Shakespeare's time for its Theatres, but also as the acknowledged retreat of the warmest of the _demi-monde_!

"'And here, as in a tavern, or a stew,
He and his wild associates spend their hours.'"
--_Ben Jonson._

"We fear our best zeal for the drama will not authorise us to deny that Covent-garden and Drury-lane have succeeded to the _Bank-side_ in every species of fame!

"We must not forget the river Thames. It was one of the sights of the time. Its waters were pure and bright, full of delicate salmon, and flecked by snowy swans, 'white as Lemster wool.' Wherries plied freely on its surface. Tall masts clustered by its banks. Silken-covered tiltboats, freighted with ruffed and feathered ladies and gentlemen, swept by, the watermen every now and then breaking the plash of the waves against their boats by singing out, in their bass voices, 'Heave and how, rumbelow.' At night, the scene reminded the travelled man of Venice. All the mansions by the water-side had river-terraces and steps, and each one its own tiltboat, barge, and watermen. Down these steps, lighted by torches and lanterns, stepped dainty ladies, in their coloured shoes, with masks on their faces, and gay gallants, in laced cloaks, by their side, bound for Richmond or Westminster, to mask and revel. Noisy parties of wits and Paul's men crossed to Bankside to see _Romeo and Juliet_, or _Hamlet the Dane_, or else 'The most excellent historie of the _Merchant of Venice_, with the extreme crueltie of _Shylocke_, the Jewe, towards the sayd merchant, in cutting a just pound of his flesh, and obtaining of Portia by the choyse of three caskets, as it hath diverse times been acted by the Lord Chamberlain, his servants. Written by William Shakespeare.'

"From Westminster to London Bridge was a favourite trip. There was plenty to see. The fine Strand-side houses were always pointed out--Northumberland House, York House, Baynard's Castle, the scene of the secret interview between the Duke of York and the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, was singled out, between Paul's Wharf and Puddle Dock. Next to the Temple, and between it and Whitefriars, was the region known as Alsatia. Here safe from every document but the writ of the Lord Chief Justice and the Lords of the Privy Council, in dark dwellings, with subterranean passages, narrow streets, and trap-doors that led to the Thames, dwelt all the rascaldom of the time--men who had been 'horned' or outlawed, bankrupts, coiners, thieves, cheaters at dice and cards, duellists, homicides, and foreign bravoes, ready to do any desperate deed. At night the contents of this kingdom of villany were sprayed out over London, to the bewilderment of good-natured Dogberries, and country gentlemen, making their first visit to town.

"Still further down the river was the famous London Bridge. It consisted of twenty arches; its roadway was sixty feet from the river; and the length of the bridge from end to end was 926 feet.

"It was one of the wonders that strangers never ceased to admire. Its many shops were occupied by pin nacres, just beginning to feel the competition with the Netherland pin-makers, and the tower at its Southwark end was adorned with three hundred heads, stuck on poles, like gigantic pins, memorials of treachery and heresy.

"The roar of the river through the arches was almost deafening. 'The noise at London Bridge is nothing near her,' says one of the characters in Beaumont and Fletcher's _Woman's Prize_. Shakespeare, Ben Jonson & Co., must have crossed the bridge many a time on their visits to the City, to 'gather humours of men daily,' as Aubrey quaintly expresses it."

The name of Ben Jonson reminds us that in _The Silent Woman_,--one of the most popular of his Comedies,--we have presented to us a more vivid picture than can elsewhere be found of the characteristic noises, and street-cries of London more than two centuries ago. It is easy to form to ourselves a general idea of the hum and buzz of the bees and drones of this mighty hive, under a state of manners essentially different from our own; but it is not so easy to attain a lively conception of the particular sounds that once went to make up this great discord, and so to compare them in their resemblances and their differences with the roar which the great Babel _now_ "sends through all her gates." We propose, therefore, to put before our readers this passage of Jonson's comedy; and then, classifying what he describes, illustrate our fine old dramatic painter of manners by references to other writers, and by the results of our own observation.

The principal character of Jonson's _Silent Woman_ is founded upon a sketch by a Greek writer of the fourth century, Libanius. Jonson designates this character by the name of "Morose;" and his peculiarity is that he can bear no kind of noise, not even that of ordinary talk. The plot turns upon this affectation; for having been entrapped into a marriage with the "Silent Woman," she and her friends assail him with tongues the most obstreperous, and clamours the most uproarious, until, to be relieved of this nuisance, he comes to terms with his nephew for a portion of his fortune and is relieved of the "Silent Woman," who is in reality a boy in disguise. We extract the dialogue of the whole scene; the speakers being "Truewitt," "Clerimont," and a "Page":--

"_True._ I met that stiff piece of formality, Master Morose, his
uncle, yesterday, with a huge turban of night-caps on his head,
buckled over his ears.

"_Cler._ O! that's his custom when he walks abroad. He can endure no
noise, man.

"_True._ So I have heard. But is the disease so ridiculous in him as
it is made? They say he has been upon divers treaties with the
fish-wives and orange-women; and articles propounded between them:
marry, the chimney-sweepes will not be drawn in.

"_Cler._ No, nor the broom-men: they stand out stiffly. He cannot
endure a costard-monger; he swoons if he hear one.

"_True._ Methinks a smith should be ominous.

"_Cler._ Or any hammer-man. A brasier is not suffer'd to dwell in the
parish, nor an armourer. He would have hang'd a pewterer's 'prentice
once upon a Shrove-Tuesday's riot, for being of that trade, when the
rest were quit.

"_True._ A trumpet should fright him terribly, or the hautboys.

"_Cler._ Out of his senses. The waits of the City have a pension of
him not to come near that ward. This youth practised on him one night
like the bellman, and never left till he had brought him down to the
door with a long sword; and there left him flourishing with the air.

"_Page._ Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie in, so narrow at
both ends that it will receive no coaches, nor carts, nor any of these
common noises; and therefore we that love him devise to bring him in
such as we may now and then, for his exercise, to breathe him. He
would grow resty else in his cage; his virtue would rust without
action. I entreated a bearward, one day, to come down with the dogs of
some four parishes that way, and I thank him he did; and cried his
games under Master Morose's window; till he was sent crying away, with
his head made a most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. And, another
time, a fencer marching to his prize had his drum most tragically run
through, for taking that street in his way at my request.

"_True._ A good wag! How does he for the bells?

"_Cler._ O! In the queen's time he was wont to go out of town every
Saturday at ten o'clock, or on holiday eves. But now, by reason of the
sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made him devise a room with
double walls and treble ceilings; the windows close shut and caulk'd;
and there he lives by candlelight."

The first class of noises, then, against which "Morose" protected his ears by "a huge turban of night-caps," is that of the ancient and far-famed LONDON CRIES. We have here the very loudest of them--fish-wives, orange-women, chimney-sweepers, broom-men, costard-mongers. But we might almost say that there were _hundreds_ of other cries; and therefore, reserving to ourselves some opportunity for a special enumeration of a few of the more remarkable of these cries, we shall now slightly group them, as they present themselves to our notice during successive generations.

We shall not readily associate any very agreeable sounds with the voices of the "fish-wives." The one who cried "_Mackerel_" in Lydgate's day had probably no such explanatory cry as the "_Mackerel alive, alive ho!_" of modern times. In the seventeenth century the cry was "_New Mackerel_." And in the same way there was:--

The freshness of fish must have been a considerable recommendation in those days of tardy intercourse. But quantity was also to be taken into the account, and so we find the cries of "_Buy my dish of Great Smelts_;" "_Great Plaice_;" "_Great Mussels_." Such are the fish-cries enumerated in Lauron's and various other collections of "London Cries."

But, we are forgetting "Morose," and his "turban of night-caps." Was Hogarth familiar with the old noise-hater when he conceived his own:--

In this extraordinary gathering together of the producers of the most discordant sounds, we have a representation which may fairly match the dramatist's description of street noises. Here we have the milk-maid's scream, the mackerel seller's shout, the sweep upon the house top,--to match the fish-wives and orange-women, the broom-men and costard-mongers. The smith, who was "ominous," had no longer his forge in the busy streets of Hogarth's time; the armourer was obsolete: but Hogarth can rival their noises with the pavior's hammer, the sow-gelder's horn, and the knife-grinder's wheel. The waits of the city had a pension not to come near "Morose's" ward; but it was out of the power of the "Enraged Musician" to avert the terrible discord of the blind hautboy-player. The bellman who frightened the sleepers at midnight, was extinct; but modern London had acquired the dustman's bell. The bear-ward no longer came down the street with the dogs of four parishes, nor did the fencer march with a drum to his prize; but there was the ballad-singer, with her squalling child, roaring worse than bear or dog; and the drum of the little boy playing at soldiers was a more abiding nuisance than the fencer. "Morose" and the "Enraged Musician" had each the church bells to fill up the measure of discord.

The fish-wives are no longer seen in our great city of London thoroughfares. In Tottenham Court-road, Hoxton, Shoreditch, Kingsland, Whitechapel, Hackney-road, and many other suburban districts, which still retain the character of a street-market, they stand in long rows as the evening draws in, with paper-lanterns stuck in their baskets on dark nights; and there they vociferate as loudly as in the olden time.

The "costard-monger" whom Morose dreaded, still lives amongst us, and is still noisy. He bawls so loud even to this day, that he puts his hand behind his ear to mitigate the sensation which he inflicts upon his own tympanum. He was originally an apple-seller, whence his name; and, from the mention of him in the old dramatists, he appears to have been frequently an Irishman. In Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair," he cries "_pears_." Ford makes him cry "_pippins_." He is a quarrelsome fellow, according to Beaumont and Fletcher:--

"And then he'll rail like a rude costermonger,
That schoolboys had cozened of his apple,
As loud and senseless."

The costermonger is now a travelling shopkeeper. We encounter him not in Cornhill, or Holborn, or the Strand: in the neighbourhood of the great markets and well-stored shops he travels not. But his voice is heard in some silent streets stretching into the suburbs; and there, with his donkey and hampers stands at the door, as the servant-maid cheapens a bundle of cauliflowers. He has monopolized all the trades that were anciently represented by such cries as "_Buy my artichokes, mistress_;" "_Ripe cowcumbers_;" "_White onions, white St. Thomas' onions_;" "_White radish_;" "_Ripe young beans_;" "_Any baking pears_;" "_Ripe sparrowgrass_." He would be indignant to encounter such petty chapmen interfering with his wholesale operations. He would rail against them as the city shopkeepers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries railed against itinerant traders of every denomination. In the days of Elizabeth, they declare by act of common council, that in ancient times the open streets and lanes of the city have been used, and ought to be used, as the common highway only, and not for hucksters, pedlars, and hagglers, to stand or sit to sell their wares in, and to pass from street to street hawking and offering their wares. In the seventh year of Charles I. the same authorities denounce the oyster-wives, herb-wives, tripe-wives, and the like, as "unruly people;" and they charge them somewhat unjustly, as it must appear, with "framing to themselves a way whereby to live a more easy life than by labour."

"How busy is the man the world calls idle!"

The evil, as the citizens term it, seems to have increased; for in 1694 the common council threatened the pedlars and petty chapmen with the terrors of the laws against rogues and sturdy beggars, the least penalty being whipping, whether for male or female. The reason for this terrible denunciation is very candidly put: the citizens and shopkeepers are greatly hindered and prejudiced in their trades by the hawkers and pedlars. Such denunciations as these had little share in putting down the itinerant traders. They continued to flourish, because society required them; and they vanished from our view when society required them no longer. In the middle of the last century they were fairly established as rivals to the shopkeepers. Dr. Johnson, than whom no man knew London better, thus writes in the "Adventurer:"--"The attention of a new-comer is generally first struck by the multiplicity of cries that stun him in the streets, and the variety of merchandise and manufactures which the shopkeepers expose on every hand." The shopkeepers have now ruined the itinerants--not by putting them down by fiery penalties, but by the competition amongst themselves to have every article at hand for every man's use, which shall be better and cheaper than the wares of the itinerant. Whose ear is now ever deafened by the cries of the broom-man? He was a sturdy fellow in the days of old "Morose," carrying on a barter which in itself speaks of the infancy of civilization. His cry was "_Old Shoes for some Brooms_." Those proclamations for barter no doubt furnished a peculiar characteristic of the old London Cries. The itinerant buyers were as loud, though not so numerous, as the sellers.

The familiar voice of "_Old Clowze, any old Clo' Clo_," has lasted through some generations; but the glories of Monmouth-street were unknown when a lady in a peaked bonnet and a laced stomacher went about proclaiming "_Old Satin, old Taffety, or Velvet_." And a singular looking party of the Hebrew persuasion, with a cocked hat on his head, and a bundle of rapiers and sword-sticks under his arm, which he was ready to barter for:--

While another of the tribe proclaimed aloud from east to west--and back again, "From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve," his willingness to "_Buy, sell, or exchange Hats or Caps_." Why should the Hebrew race appear to possess a monopoly in the purchase and sale of dilapidated costumes? Why should their voices, and theirs alone, be employed in the constant iteration of the talismanic monosyllables "Old Clo'?" Is it because Judas carried the bag that all the children of Israel are to trudge through London streets to the end of their days with sack on shoulder? Artists generally represent the old clothesman with three, and sometimes four, hats, superposed one above the other. Now, although we have seen him with many hats in his hands or elsewhere, we never yet saw him with more than one hat on his head. The three-hatted clothesman, if ever he existed, is obsolete. According to Ingoldsby, however, when "Portia" pronounced the law adverse to "Shylock":

"Off went his three hats, and he look'd as the cats
Do, whenever a mouse has escaped from their claw."

There was trading then going forward from house to house, which careful housewifery and a more vigilant police have banished from the daylight, if they have not extirpated it altogether. Before the shops are open and the chimneys send forth their smoke, there may be now, sometimes, seen creeping up an area a sly-looking beldam, who treads as stealthily as a cat. Under her cloak she has a pan, whose unctuous contents will some day assist in the enlightenment or purification of the world, in the form of candles or soap. But the good lady of the house, who is a late riser, knows not of the transformation that is going forward. In the old days she would have heard the cry of a maiden, with tub on head and pence in hand, of "_Any Kitchen-stuff have you Maids?_" and she probably would have dealt with her herself, or have forbidden her maids to deal.

So it is with the old cry of "_Any Old Iron take Money for?_" The fellow who then went openly about with sack on back was a thief, and an encourager of thieves; he now keeps a marine-store.

Sir Walter Scott, in his _Fortunes of Nigel_, has left us a capital description of the shop of a London tradesman during the reign of King James in England, the shop in question being that of David Ramsay, maker of watches and horologes, within Temple-bar--a few yards eastward of St. Dunstan's church, Fleet-street, and where his apprentice, Jenkin Vincent--abbreviated to Jin Vin, when not engaged in 'prentices-riots--is crying to every likely passer-by:--

"What d'ye lack?--What d'ye lack?--Clocks--watches--barnacles?--What
d'ye lack?--Watches--clocks--barnacles?--What d'ye lack, sir? What
d'ye lack, madam?--Barnacles--watches--clocks? What d'ye lack, noble
sir?--What d'ye lack, beauteous madam?--God bless your reverence, the
Greek and Hebrew have harmed your reverence's eyes. Buy a pair of
David Ramsay's barnacles. The king, God bless his sacred Majesty!
never reads Hebrew or Greek without them. What d'ye lack? Mirrors for
your toilets, my pretty madam; your head-gear is something awry--pity,
since it so well fancied. What d'ye lack? a watch, Master Sargeant?--a
watch that will go as long as a lawsuit, as steady and true as your
own eloquence? a watch that shall not lose thirteen minutes in a
thirteen years' lawsuit--a watch with four wheels and a
bar-movement--a watch that shall tell you, Master Poet, how long the
patience of the audience will endure your next piece at the Black
Bull."

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:--

A COPY OF VERSES FOR 1839,
HUMBLY PRESENTED TO ALL MY WORTHY MASTERS AND
MISTRESSES, OF THE PARISH OF SAINT JAMES, WESTMINSTER,
By Richard Mugeridge, 20, Marshall Street, Golden Square.]

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