The Cries of London Part 5

PLATE XIV.

This figure was drawn and etched by the writer from an itinerant vendor of Elegies, Christmas Carols, and Love Songs. His father and grandfather had followed the same calling.

When this man was asked what particular event he recollected, his information was princ.i.p.ally confined to the Elegies he had sold. He seemed anxious, however, to inform the public that in the year 1753 the quartern loaf was sold at fourpence halfpenny, mutton was two-pence halfpenny a pound, that porter was then three-pence a pot, and that the National Debt was twenty-four millions. Notwithstanding this man's memory served him in the above particulars, which perhaps he had repeated so often that he could not forget them, yet he positively did not know his age; he said he never troubled his head with that, for that his father told him if he only mentioned the year of his birth any scholar could tell it. His father, he observed, cried the Elegy of that notorious magistrate Sir Thomas de Veil,[13] which went through nine editions, as there was hardly a thief or strumpet that did not purchase one.

Hogarth is supposed to have introduced this magistrate in his "Woman swearing a Child to a grave Citizen." In his Plate of "Night," the drunken Freemason has also been supposed to be Sir Thomas de Veil. This man had rendered himself so obnoxious by his intrigues with women, and his bare-faced partialities in screening the opulent, that the executors, who were afraid of the coffin being torn to pieces by the mob, privately conveyed it to a considerable distance from Bow Street by three o'clock in the morning.

It was formerly not only the custom to print Elegies on the great people, but on all those in the lowest cla.s.s of life who had rendered themselves conspicuous as public characters. Indeed we may recollect the Elegies to the memory of Sam House, the political tool of Mr. Fox among the vulgar part of his voters, and also that to the memory of Henry Dimsdale, the m.u.f.fin man, nicknamed Sir Harry Dimsdale, the Mayor of Garratt, who succeeded the renowned Sir Jeffrey Dunstan, commonly called Old Wigs, from his being a purchaser of those articles. The last Elegy was to the memory of the lamented Princess Charlotte, and it was then that the portrait of the above-mentioned Elegy-vender was taken.

With respect to his Christmas Carols, he said they had varied almost every year in their bordered ornaments; and the writer regrets the loss of a collection of Christmas Carols from the time of this man's grandfather, which, had he been fortunate enough to have made his drawing of the above vendor only three days before, he could have purchased for five s.h.i.+llings.

The collectors in general of early English woodcuts may not be aware that there were printed Christmas Carols so early as Queen Mary the First. The writer, when a boy, detected several patches of one that had been fastened against the wall of the Chapel of St. Edmond in Westminster Abbey. It had marginal woodcut ill.u.s.trations, which reminded him of those very interesting blocks engraved for "Hollinshed's Chronicle." It appears that some part of this curious Carol was remaining when Mr. Malcolm wrote his description of the above Chapel for his Work on London. (Vol. I. p. 144.)

Love Songs, however old they might be, were p.r.o.nounced by our Elegy-vender to be always saleable among the country people. Robert Burton, in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," part 3, sect. 2, speaking of love songs, says, "As Carmen, Boyes, and Prentises, when a new song is published with us, go singing that new tune still in the streets, they continually acted that tragical part of _Perseus_, and in every man's mouth was _O, Cupid! Prince of G.o.ds and Men!_ p.r.o.nouncing still like stage-players, _O, Cupid!_ they were so possessed all with that rapture, and thought of that pathetical love speech, they could not a long time after forget, or drive it out of their minds, but, _O, Cupid! Prince of G.o.ds and Men!_ was ever in their mouths."

In the second volume, page 141, of Shenstone's Works, the author says, "The ways of ballad singers, and the cries of halfpenny pamphlets, appeared so extremely humourous, from my lodgings in Fleet Street, that it gave me pain to observe them without a companion to partake. For, alas!

laughter is by no means a solitary entertainment."

ALL IN FULL BLOOM.

PLATE XV.

The repeated victories gained by England over her enemies, and her unbounded liberality to them when in distress, not only by her pecuniary contributions, but by allowing this country to be their general seat of refuge during their own commotions, encouraged the ignorant among them still to continue in their belief that the streets of our great city were paved with gold. The consequence has been, that the number of idle foreigners who have been tempted to quit their homes have increased the vagrants who now infest our streets with their learned mice and chattering monkies, to the great annoyance of those pa.s.sengers who do not contribute to their exhibitions; for it is their practice not only to let the animals loose to the extent of a long string, but to encourage them to run up to the balconies, oftentimes to the great terror of the families who have disregarded their impertinent importunities.

The writer of this work once reprimanded a French organist for throwing his dancing mice upon a nursery maid, because she did not contribute to reward him for the amus.e.m.e.nt they afforded her young master.

Among the various foreigners thus visiting us to make their fortunes is Anatony Antonini, a native of Lucca in Tuscany, from which place come most of those fellows who carry images and play the organ about our streets. He is exhibited in the annexed etching, with his show board of artificial flowers, "All in full bloom!" constructed of silk and paper, with wires for their stalks. The birds perched on their branches are made of wax, cast from plaster of Paris moulds. They are gaily painted and varnished, and in some instances so thin that their bodies are quite transparent.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _All in full bloom_]

The custom of casting figures in wax is very ancient, especially in Roman Catholic countries, where they represent the Virgin and Child and other sacred subjects as articles of devotion for the poorer sort of people who cannot afford to purchase those carved in ivory. It is said that Mrs.

Salmon's exhibition of wax-work in Fleet Street, whose sign of a Salmon was noticed by Addison in the Spectator, owes its origin to a schoolmistress, the wife of one of Henry the Seventh's body guards. This woman distributed little wax dolls as rewards to the most deserving of her scholars, and, it is reported, brought the art from Holland.

Some few years ago a very interesting exhibition of artificial flowers was made in Suffolk Street, Charing Cross, by a female of the name of Dards, who had most ingeniously produced many hundreds of the most beautiful flowers from fishes' bones, which, when warm, she twisted into shapes. The leaves were made from the skins of soles, eels, &c. which were stained with proper colours. The flowers of the lily of the valley were represented by the bones of the turbot which contain the brain, and were so complete a deception that they were often mistaken for a bunch of the real flowers. This exhibition did not answer the expectation of Mrs.

Dards, as few persons could believe it possible that fishes' bones were capable of being converted into articles of such elegance.

The ribs of the whale were frequently erected at the entrances of our tea gardens, and many remained within memory at the Spring Gardens, Chelsea; Cromwell's Gardens, Brompton; Copenhagen House, &c. The inhabitants of the coast of Mechran, who live mostly upon fish, build their houses of the rudest materials, frequently of the large fish that are thrown on the sh.o.r.e.

About thirty-five years ago, there was another very singular "All blooming" man, a black with wooden legs, who carried natural flowers about the streets. His trick to claim attention was remarkable, as he generally contrived to startle pa.s.sengers with his last vociferation. His cry was, "All blooming! blooming! blooming!!! all alive! alive!! alive!!!"

It is notable fact that blacks, when they become public characters in our streets, as they are more or less masters of humour, display their wit to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the throng, and thereby make a great deal of money. They always invent some novelty to gain the attention of the crowd. One of these fellows, under the name of Peter, held a dialogue between himself and his master, nearly to the following effect:

_Master._ "Oh, Peter, you very bad boy; you no work; you lazy dog."--_Peter._ "Oh ma.s.sa, 'give me this time, Peter Peter do so no more; Peter Peter no more run away."--This duet he accompanied with a guitar, in so humourous a style, that he was always sure to please his audience. He would, at the completion of his song, pa.s.s himself through a hoop, and, while holding a stick, twist his arms round his body in a most extraordinary manner. His last performance was that of placing his head backwards between his legs and picking up a pin with his mouth from the ground, without any a.s.sistance from hands, his arms being folded round his body before he commenced his exhibition.

The Chinese florist carries his flowers in two flat baskets suspended from a pole placed across his shoulders, the whole being similar to our scales with their beam.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Old Chairs to mend_]

OLD CHAIRS TO MEND.

PLATE XVI.

The Plate exhibits the figure of Israel Potter, one of the oldest menders of chairs now living, who resides in Compton's Buildings, Burton Crescent, and sallies forth by eight o'clock in the morning, not with a view of getting chairs to mend; for, from the matted ma.s.s of dirty rushes which have sometimes been thrown across his shoulders for months together, without ever being once opened, it must be concluded that his cry of "Old chairs to mend" avails him but little; the fact is, that like many other itinerants, he goes his rounds and procures broken meat and subsistence thus early in the morning for his daily wants.

The seating of chairs with rushes cannot be traced further back than a century, as the chairs in common as well as public use in the reign of Queen Anne had cane seats and backs. Previously to that time, and even in the days of Elizabeth, cus.h.i.+on seats and stuffed backs were made use of.

In the reign of Henry the Eighth, and in remoter times, the chairs were made entirely of wood, and in many instances the backs were curiously carved, either with figures, grotesque heads, or foliage. Most of the early chairs had arms for supporting elbows, and which were also carved.

In the Archaeologia, published by the Society of Antiquaries, several representations of ancient chairs are given.[14] Of the Royal thrones, the reader will find a curious succession, from the time of Edward the Confessor to that of James the First, exhibited in the great seals of England, representations of most of which have been published by Speed in his History of Great Britain, and in Sandford's Genealogical History of England.

The cry of "Old Chairs to mend!" is frequently uttered with great clearness, and occasionally with some degree of melody. Suett, the late facetious Comedian, took the cry of "Old Chairs to mend," in an interlude, ent.i.tled, the "Cries of London," performed some years since in the Little Theatre in the Haymarket, and repeated the old lines of

"Old Chairs to mend! Old Chairs to mend!

If I had the money that I could spend, I never would cry Old Chairs to mend."[15]

The late John Bannister, who performed in the same piece, took the cry of "Come here's your scarlet ware, long and strong scarlet garters, twopence a pair, twopence a pair, twopence a pair!" which was a close imitation of a little fellow who made a picturesque appearance about the streets with his long scarlet garters streaming from the end of a pole.

The late eccentric actor Baddeley, who left a sum of money to purchase a cake to be eaten by his successors every Twelfth Night, in the Green-room of Drury Lane Theatre, took the cry of "Come buy my shrimps, come buy my shrimps, prawns, very large prawns, a wine-quart a penny periwinkles."

The late Dr. Owen informed the present writer that he had heard that the author of "G.o.d save the King" caught the tones either from a man who cried "Old Chairs to mend," or from another who cried "Come buy my door-mats;"

and it is well known that one of Storace's most favourite airs in "No Song no Supper," was almost wholly constructed from a common beggar's chaunt.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _p.r.i.c.kle Maker_]

THE BASKET-MAKER.

PLATE XVII.

The man whose figure affords the subject of the next Plate is a journeyman p.r.i.c.kle-maker, and works in a cellar on the western side of the Haymarket.

A p.r.i.c.kle is a basket used by the wine-merchants for their empty bottles; it is made of osiers unpeeled and in their natural state, and the basket is made loose with open work, so that when it is filled with bottles it may ride easy in the wine-merchant's caravan, and without the least risk of breaking them. The maker of p.r.i.c.kles begins the formation of the bottom of the basket by placing the osier twigs in the form of a star flat upon the ground; he then with another twig commences his weaving by twisting it under and over the ends of the twigs which meet in the centre of the star, and so he goes on to the extent of the circ.u.mference of the intended p.r.i.c.kle; he then bends up the surrounding twigs, which are in a moist state, and binds them in the middle and the top, and thus the p.r.i.c.kle is finished. The formation of hampers for wine-merchants' sieves, and baskets for the gardeners and fishmongers, and indeed that of all other basket work, is begun in the same way as the p.r.i.c.kle. The basket-maker is seated upon a broad flat stage consisting of at least four boards clamped together, touching the ground at one end, on which his feet are placed, but elevated about six feet. Upon the end where he is seated free air pa.s.ses under him, and thus he takes less cold from the ground of the cellar.

In Lapland large baskets are made by two persons, a man and a woman. Their mode of forming their baskets in every particular is similar to that of the English. On the banks of the Thames, from Fulham to Staines, there were formerly numerous basket-makers' huts, but opulent persons, anxious to have houses on those delightful spots, purchased the ground on the expiration of the leases, and erected fas.h.i.+onable villas on their site.

The inducement for the basket-makers occupying the sides of the Thames, was the great supply of osiers or young willows which grow on the aits, particularly at Twickenham and Staines.

The usual price of each p.r.i.c.kle is two s.h.i.+llings and three pence.

Notwithstanding the numbers of osiers grown in this country, the produce is not sufficient, as an extensive importation of twigs is annually made from Holland, where immense quant.i.ties of baskets of every description are made. The Dutch are particularly neat and famous for their willow sieves, which find a ready market in every country.