Lucrece." These Marking Stones, as the verses above state, are either of a
red colour, or composed of black lead. They were used in marking of linen,
so that washing could not take the mark out. Every one knows that water
will not take effect upon black lead, particularly if the stick of that
material, which is denominated "a Marking Stone," be heated before it be
stamped. The stone, of a red colour, was probably of a material
impregnated with the red called "ruddle," a colour never to be washed out.
It is used by the graziers for the marking of their sheep, is of an oily
nature, and made in immense quantities, for the use of graziers, at the
Ruddle Manufactory, near the Nine Elms, on the Battersea Road. It was a
red known in the reign of Edward the Third, and much used by the painters
employed in the decorations of St. Stephen's Chapel, Westminster.
About fifty years ago it was the custom of those persons who let lodgings
in St. Giles's, above the Two-penny admission, where sheets were afforded
at sixpence the night, to stamp their linen with sticks of marking stones
of ruddle, with the words "Stop Thief," so that, if stolen, the thief
should at once be detected and detained. For this, and many other curious
particulars respecting the lowest classes of the inhabitants of St. Giles
in the Fields, the writer is much indebted to his truly respectable
friend, the late William Packer, Esq. of Charlotte Street, Bloomsbury, and
afterwards of Great Baddow, in Essex, who was born, and resided for the
great part of his life, upon the spot. For the honour of this gentleman's
family, it may be here acknowledged that his father, who was also a truly
respectable man, was one of the promoters of the building of Middlesex
Hospital, which, before the erection of the present building, was an
establishment held in Windmill Street, leading from Tottenham Court Road
to Percy Chapel, in Charlotte Street, Rathbone Place. The house which the
Hospital occupied, standing on the South side of the street, has since
been made use of as a French charity school.
[Illustration: _"Buy a Brush"_]
BUY A BRUSH, OR A TABLE BOOK.
PLATE XI.
The Engraving from which the accompanying Plate was copied was one of a
set published by Overton, but without date. Judging from the dress, it
must have been made either in the reign of King James the First or in that
of the succeeding monarch. The inscription over the figure is, "Buy a
Brush or a Table Book." The floors were not wetted, but rubbed dry, even
until they bore a very high polish, particularly when it was the fashion
to inlay staircases and floors of rooms with yellow, black, and brown
woods. On the landing places of the great staircase in the house built by
Lord Orford, now the Grand Hotel, at the end of King Street in Covent
Garden, such inlaid specimens are still remaining, in a beautiful state of
preservation. There are many houses of the nobility where the floors
consist of small pieces of oak arranged in tessellated forms. The room now
occupied by the servants in waiting, and that part of the house formerly a
portion of the old gallery, at Cleveland House, St. James's; the floors of
the state rooms of Montagu House, now the British Museum; and the floor of
the Library in St. Paul's Cathedral, all retain their tessellated forms.
These floors were rubbed by the servants, who wore brushes on their feet,
and they were, and indeed are, so highly polished, in some of the country
mansions, that in some instances they are dangerous to walk upon. This
mode of dry-rubbing rooms by affixing the brush to the feet, is still
practised in France, chiefly by men-servants.
The Table Book is of very ancient use. Shakspeare thus notices it in his
play of Hamlet:
_Ham._ My tables: meet it is
I set it down.
It was a book consisting of several small pieces of slate set in frames of
wood, fastened together with hinges, and closed, as a book for the pocket:
for a representation of one, with a pencil attached to a string, as used
in 1565, see Douce's "Illustrations of Shakspeare and of Ancient Manners,"
vol. II. p. 227. It was taken, says that writer, from Gesner's Treatise De
rerum fossilium figuris, &c. Tigur. 1565. The Almanacs of that time
likewise contained tables of a composition like asses skin. One of these
was in the possession of Mr. Douce.
It is a very curious fact that the farmers, graziers, and horse dealers,
use at this day a Table Book consisting of slates bound in wood, with a
pencil attached to it, exactly of the same make as that referred to as
used in 1565, and such are now regularly sold at the toy shops. We may
conclude that persons in the higher ranks of life used sheets of ivory put
together as a book, for we frequently meet with such, elegantly adorned
with clasps, of very old workmanship.
Howell, in his "Familiar Letters," 4to. p. 7, published 1645, says, "This
return of Sir Walter Raleigh from Guiana puts me in minde of a facetious
tale I read lately in Italian, (for I have a little of that language
already,) how Alphonso King of Naples sent a Moor, who had been his
captive a long time, to Barbary, to buy horses, and to return by such a
time. Now there was about the King a kinde of buffon or jester who had a
Table Book, wherein he was used to register any absurdity, or
impertinence, or merry passage, that happened about the Court. That day
the Moor was dispatched for Barbary, the said jester waiting upon the King
at supper, the King called for his journall, and askt what he had observed
that day; thereupon he produced his Table Book, and amongst other things
he read how Alphonso King of Naples had sent Beltran the Moor, who had
been a long time his prisoner, to Morocco, his own country, with so many
thousand crowns to buy horses. The King asked him 'why he inserted that?'
'Because,' said he, 'I think he will never come back to be a prisoner
again, and so you have lost both man and money.' 'But, if he do come, then
your jest is marr'd,' quoth the King. 'No, sir; for if he return, I will
blot out your name, and put him in for a fool.'"
FIRE-SCREENS.
PLATE XII.
The next plate is a copy from the same set of prints from which the
preceding one was taken, and has the following inscription engraved above
it:
"I have screenes if you desier,
To keepe yr butey from ye fire."
It appears from the extreme neatness of this man, and the goods which he
exhibits for sale, that they were of a very superior quality, probably of
foreign manufacture, and possibly from Leghorn, from whence hats similar
to those on his head were first brought into England. These Leghorn hats
were originally imported and sold by our Turners, who generally had the
Leghorn hat for their sign. England certainly can boast of superiority in
almost every description of manufacture, over those of most parts of the
world; but it never successfully rivalled the Basket-makers and
Willow-workers of France and Holland, either for bleaching or weaving; nor
perhaps is it possible for any skill to exceed that of the French in their
present mode of making baskets and other such ware. Even the children's
rattles of the Dutch and French, surpass anything of the kind made in this
country. The willow is common in most parts of Holland, so that they have
a great choice of a selection of wood, and the females are taught the art
of twisting it at a very early age. It must be acknowledged, that the
natives of Hudson's Bay are very curious workers of baskets and other
useful articles made of the barks of trees, and even the most uncultivated
nations often display exquisite neatness in their modes of making them.
The French carry their basket ware either in small barrows or in little
carts, and sell them at so cheap a rate, by reason of the few duties they
have to pay to Government, that it would be impossible for an Englishman,
were he master of the art of producing them, to sell them for less than
ten times the sum.
[Illustration: _"I have Screenes if you desier to keepe yr Buty from ye
fire."_]
That very wonderful people the Chinese probably were the first who thought
of hand-screens to protect the face from the sun. We find them introduced
in their earliest delineations of costume. The feathered fans of our
Elizabeth might occasionally have been used as fire screens, in like
manner as those now imported from the East Indies, also composed of
feathers, and which frequently adorn our chimney pieces. It is possible,
however, that as our vendor of Fire-screens has particularly acquainted us
with the use of his screens, they might have been the first that were
introduced decidedly for that purpose.
SAUSAGES.
PLATE XIII.
The female vendor of Sausages exhibited in the following Plate, is of the
time of Charles II. and has here been preferred to a similar character
belonging to the preceding reign, her dress and general appearance being
far more picturesque. Under the original print are the following lines:
"Who buys my Sausages! Sausages fine!
I ha' fine Sausages of the best,
As good they are as e'er was eat,
If they be finely drest.
Come, Mistris, buy this daintie pound,
About a Capon rost them round."
Almost every county has some peculiar mode of making sausages, but as to
their general appearance they are tied up in links. There are several
sorts which have for many years upheld their reputation, such as those
made at Bewdley in Oxfordshire, at Epping, and at Cambridge, places
particularly famous for them. The sausages from Bewdley, Epping, and
Cambridge, are mostly sold by the poulterers, who are in general very
attentive in having them genuine. They are brought to Leadenhall, Newgate,
and other markets, neatly put up in large flat baskets, similar to those
in which fresh butter is sent to town. The Oxford gentlemen frequently
present their London friends with some of the sausage meat put up in neat
brown pans; this is fried in cakes, and is remarkably good.
The pork-shops of Fetter Lane have been for upwards of 150 years famous
for their sausages; indeed the pork-shops throughout London are
principally supported by a most extensive sale of sausages.
[Illustration: _"Sausages"_]
Ben Jonson, in his play of Bartholomew Fair, exhibits sausage stalls,
their contents being prime articles of refreshment at that very ancient
festival. In a very curious tract, entitled, "A Narrative of the Life of
Mrs. Charlotte Charke, (_youngest daughter_ of Colley Cibber, Esq.)
written by herself, the second edition, printed for W. Reeve, in Fleet
Street, 1759," the authoress, after experiencing some of the most curious
vicissitudes, in the midst of her greatest distress, says, "I took a neat
lodging in a street facing _Red Lyon Square_, and wrote a letter to Mr.
_Beard_, intimating to him the sorrowful plight I was in; and, in a
quarter of an hour after, my request was obligingly complied with by that
worthy gentleman, whose bounty enabled me to set forward to _Newgate
Market_, and bought a considerable quantity of pork at the best hand,
which I converted into sausages, and with my daughter set out laden with
each a burden as weighty as we could well bear; which, not having been
used to luggages of that nature, we found extremely troublesome. But
_Necessitas non habeat legem_, we were bound to that or starve.
"Thank heaven, our loads were like AEsop's, when he chose to carry the
bread, which was the weightiest burden, to the astonishment of his
fellow-travellers; not considering that his wisdom preferred it, because
he was sure it would lighten as it went: so did ours, for as I went only
where I was known, I soon disposed, among my friends, of my whole cargo;
and was happy in the thought, that the utmost excesses of my misfortunes
had no worse effect on me, than an industrious inclination to get a small
livelihood, without shame or reproach; though the Arch-Dutchess of our
family, who would not have relieved me with a halfpenny roll or a draught
of small-beer, imputed this to me as a crime; I suppose she was possessed
with the same dignified sentiments Mrs. Peachum is endowed with, and
THOUGHT THE HONOUR OF THEIR FAMILY WAS CONCERNED; if so, she knew the way
to have prevented the disgrace, and in a humane, justifiable manner, have
preserved her own from that taint of cruelty I doubt she will never
overcome."
The wretched vendors of sausages, who cared not what they made them of,
such as those about forty years back who fried them in cellars in St.
Giles's, and under gateways in Drury Lane, Field Lane, commonly called
"Food and Raiment Alley, or Thieving Lane, alias Sheep's Head Alley," with
all its courts and ramifications of Black Boy Alley, Saffron Hill,
Bleeding Heart Yard, and Cow Cross, were continually persecuting their
unfortunate neighbours, to whom they were as offensive as the melters of
tallow, bone burners, soap boilers, or cat-gut cleaners. This "Food and
Raiment Alley," so named from the cook and old clothes shops, was in
former days so dangerous to go through, that it was scarcely possible for
a person to possess his watch or his handkerchief by the time he had
passed this ordeal of infamy; and it is a fact, that a man after losing
his pocket-handkerchief, might, on his immediate return through the Lane,
see it exposed for sale, and purchase it at half the price it originally
cost him, of the mother of the young gentleman who had so dextrously
deprived him of it. Watches were, as they are now in many places in
London, immediately put into the crucible to evade detection.
[Illustration: _"New Elegy"_]
NEW ELEGY.
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 principally 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 class 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
muffin 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 shillings.
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 illustrations, 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 pronounced 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 Gods and Men!_ pronouncing 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
Gods 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 passengers 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 amusement 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.
[Illustration: _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
shore.
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 passengers 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 amusement 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 massa, '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, pass 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 assistance 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.
[Illustration: _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 mass 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, cushion seats and stuffed backs were made use of.