his knee when he was shopman to that gentleman's father, then a poulterer,
or, in genteeler terms, a "Turkey Merchant," called by the vulgar a
"Feather Butcher," at the time he lived in Newport Market.
This humourist had his pensioners like the dog and cat's meat man, nor
would he ever pass any of them without distributing his broken gingerbread
and bits of biscuit: he was particularly kind to one man, who may yet be
within the recollection of many persons; he was short in stature carried a
wallet, and wore a red cap, and would begin his walk through May's
Buildings at six in the evening and arrive safely by nine at Bedford Bury.
In his progress he would repeat the song of "Taffy was a Welchman," upon
an average, eight times within an hour; and, in order that his singing
might be of a piece with his crawling movements, his lengthened tones were
made to pass through his nose in so inarticulate a manner as frequently to
induce boys to shake him from a supposed slumber. His name was Richard
Richards, but from his extreme sloth he was nicknamed by his
broken-biscuit benefactor "Mr. Step-an-hour." The money made by the
gingerbread heroes is hardly credible; however, it is of little use, as
the profits are generally spent in gin and hot suppers.
[Illustration: _Chick Weed_]
CHICKWEED AND GROUNDSEL.
PLATE XXIV.
The subject of this Plate is George Smith, a Brush-maker out of employ, in
consequence of frequent visitations of the rheumatism. This man, finding
affliction increase upon him in so great a degree as to render him
incapable of pursuing his usual occupation, determined on selling
chickweed, an article easily procured without money, and for which there
is a certainty of meeting at least one customer in almost every street, as
there are scarcely three houses together without their singing birds.
After a very short trial of his new calling, he found he had no occasion
to cry his chickweed, for that if he only stood with it before the house,
so that the birds could see it, the noise they made was sufficient, as
they generally attracted the notice of some one of the family, who soon
perceived that the little songsters were chirping at the chickweed man.
This can readily be believed by all those who keep birds, for the breaking
of a single seed will elate them.
Bryant, in his "Flora Diaetetica," p. 94, speaking of the article in
question, says, "This is a small annual plant, and a very troublesome weed
in gardens. The stalks are weak, green, hairy, succulent, branched, about
eight inches long, and lodge on the ground. The leaves are numerous,
nearly oval, sharp-pointed, juicy, of the colour of the stalks, and stand
on longish footstalks, having membranous bases, which are furnished with
long hairs at their edges. The flowers are produced at the bosoms of the
leaves, on long slender pedicles; they are small and white, consist of
five split petals each, and contain five stamina and three styles. The
leaves of this plant have much the flavour of corn-sallad, and are eaten
in the same manner. They are deemed refrigorating and nutritive, and
excellent for those of a consumptive habit of body. The plant formerly
stood recommended in the shops as a vulnerary."
Buchan says of groundsel, "This weed grows commonly in gardens, fields,
and upon walls, and bears small yellow flowers and downy seeds; it does
not often grow above eight inches high: the stalk is round, fleshy,
tolerably straight, and green or reddish; the leaves are oblong,
remarkably broad at the bases, blunt, and deeply indented at the edges;
the flowers grow in a kind of long cups, at the top of the stalks and
branches. It flowers through all the milder months of the year. The juice
of this herb, taken in ale, is esteemed a gentle and very good emetic,
bringing on vomiting without any great irritation or pain. It assists
pains in the stomach, evacuates phlegm, cures the jaundice, and destroys
worms. Applied externally, it is said to cleanse the skin of foul
eruptions."
[Illustration: _"Bilberries"_]
BILBERRIES.
PLATE XXV.
Bilberries are a modern article of sale, and were first brought to London
about forty years ago by countrymen, who appeared in their smock-frocks,
with every character of rusticity. In the course of a little time,
bilberries were so eagerly bought that it induced many persons to become
vendors, and they are now brought to the markets as a regular article of
consumption for the season.
These berries mostly grow in Hertfordshire, from whence indeed they are
brought to town in very high perfection, and are esteemed by the housewife
as wholesome food when made into a pudding; and, though usually sold at
fourpence a pint, they are sometimes admitted to the genteel table in a
tart.
Dr. Buchan has the following remarks on the Bilberry-bush: he says that it
is "a little tough shrubby plant, common in our boggy woods, and upon wet
heaths. The stalks are tough, angular, and green; the leaves are small;
they stand singly, not in pairs, and are broad, short, and indented about
the edges. The flowers are small but pretty, their colour is a faint red,
and they are hollow like a cup. The berries are as large as the biggest
pea; they are of a blackish colour, and of a pleasant taste. A syrup made
of the juice of bilberries, when not over ripe, is cooling and binding."
Among the former Cries of London, those of Elderberries, Dandelion, &c.
were not unfrequent, and each had in its turn physicians as well as
village doctresses to recommend them. "The inner part of the
Elderberry-tree," says Dr. Buchan, "is reputed to cure dropsies, when
taken in time, frequently repeated and long persevered in; a cooling
ointment is made by boiling the flowers in lard till they are crisp, and
then straining it off; the juice of the berries boiled down with sugar, or
without, till it comes to the consistence of honey, is the celebrated rob
of elder, highly extolled in colds and sore throats, though of late years
it seems to have yielded to the preparations of black currants. Wine is
made from elderberries, which somewhat resembles Frontiniac in flavour."
The same author says of Dandelion, that "the root is long, large, and
white within; every part of the plant is full of milky juice, but most of
all the root, from which, when it is broken, it flows plentifully, and is
bitterish, but not disagreeable to the taste."
The leaves are sometimes eaten as sallad when very young, and in some
parts of the Continent they are blanched like celery for this purpose;
taken this way, in sufficient quantity, they are a remedy for the scurvy.
Bryant, in his "Flora Diaetetica," page 103, says, "The young tender leaves
are eaten in the spring as lettuce, they being much of the same nature,
except that they are rather more detergent and diuretic. Boerhaave greatly
recommended the use of dandelion in most chronical distempers, and held it
capable of resolving all kinds of coagulations, and most obstinate
obstructions of the viscera, if it were duly continued. For these purposes
the stalks may be blanched and eaten as celery."
There is a fashion in the Cries of London as there are "tides in the
affairs of men," particularly in articles that are used as purifiers of
the blood. About fifty years ago, nothing but Scurvy-grass was thought of,
and the best scurvy-grass ale was sold in Covent Garden, at the
public-house at the corner of Henrietta Street.
[Illustration: _"Simplers"_]
SIMPLERS.
PLATE XXVI.
Those persons who live in the country and rise with the sun can bear
testimony to the activity of the Simpler, who commences his selections
from the ditches and swampy grounds at that early period of the day, and,
after he has filled a large pack for his back, trudges for fifteen miles
to the London markets, where perhaps he is the first who offers goods for
sale; he then returns back and sleeps in some barn until the next
succeeding sun. Such an instance of rustic simplicity is William Friday,
whose portrait is exhibited in the annexed plate. This man starts from
Croydon, with champignons, mushrooms, &c. and is alternately snail-picker,
leech-bather, and viper-catcher. Simpling is not confined to men; but
women, particularly in some counties, often constitute a greater part of
the community, and they appear to be a distinct class of beings. The plate
which accompanies this description exhibits three women Simplers returning
from market to Croydon; they were sketched on the Stockwell Road, and are
sufficient to shew their gait.
The Simplers, particularly the women, are much attached to brass rings,
which they display in great profusion upon almost every finger: their
faces and arms are sunburnt and freckled, and they live to a great age,
notwithstanding their constant wet and heavy burthens, which are always
earned on the loins.
To the exertions of these poor people the public are much indebted, as
they supply our wants every day; indeed the extensive sale of their
commodities, which they dispose of to the herb-shops in Covent Garden,
Fleet, and Newgate Markets, must at once declare them to be a most useful
set of people. Among the numerous articles culled from the hedges and the
springs, the following are a few in constant consumption: water-cresses,
dandelions, scurvy-grass, nettles, bitter-sweet, cough-grass, feverfew,
hedge mustard, Jack by the hedge, or sauce-alone.
Dr. Buchan observes, that "Bitter-sweet is a common wild plant, with weak
but woody stalks, that runs among our hedges, and bears bunches of pretty
blue flowers in summer, and in autumn red berries; the stalks run to ten
feet in length, but they cannot support themselves upright; they are of a
bluish colour, and, when broken, have a very disagreeable smell like
rotten eggs. The leaves are oval, but sharp-pointed, and have each two
little ones near the base; they are of a dusky green and indented, and
they grow singly on the stalks. The flowers are small and of a fine
purplish blue, with yellow threads in the middle; the berries are oblong."
The same author, speaking of Cough-grass, says, "However offensive this
weed may be in the fields and gardens, it is said to have its uses in
medicine, and should teach us that the most common things are not
therefore despicable, since it is certain that nothing was made in vain."
The Doctor observes, that "Jack by the hedge, or sauce alone, is an annual
plant, which perishes every year, but makes a figure in the spring, and is
common in our hedges. The root is small, white, and woody, the stalks rise
to the height of three feet, and are slender, channelled, hairy, and very
straight. The leaves, which stand on long foot-stalks, are large, broad,
short, and roundish; and those which grow on the stalk somewhat pointed at
the extremities, and waved at the edges. They are of a pale yellow green
colour, thin and slender, and being bruised, smell like onions or garlic.
The flowers, which stand ten or a dozen together at the tops of the
branches, are small and white, consisting each of four leaves; these are
followed by slender pods, containing small longish seeds. It is found in
hedges, and on bank sides, and flowers in May."
Many of the simples of England are peculiar to particular spots, as the
following extract from Gerarde's Herbal, fol. 1633, Lond. edited by Thomas
Johnson, will demonstrate. "Navelwort, or wall penniwoort. The first kind
of penniwoort groweth plentifully in Northampton upon every stone wall
about the towne, at Bristow, Bathe, Wells, and most places of the West
Countrie, upon stone walls. It groweth upon Westminster Abbey, over the
doore that leadeth from Chaucer's tombe to the old palace." From an
address to his courteous readers, it appears that Gerarde first
established his Herbal in the year 1597, in the month of December, and
that he then resided in Holborn. Thomas Johnson, Gerarde's editor, dates
his address to his reader from his house on Snow Hill, Oct. 22, 1633.
Hence it will appear that any thing these writers may have said respecting
the structure of the buildings or topography of the suburbs in which they
herbarized, is to be depended upon.
Snails are brought to market by the Simpler, and continue to be much used
by consumptive persons. There are various sorts which are peculiar to
particular spots; for instance, at Gayhurst, in Buckinghamshire, the Helix
Pomoeria were there turned down for the use of Lady Venetia Digby when
in a weak state. The house now belongs to Miss Wright, a descendant of
Lord Keeper Wright, where these snails continue in great profusion. Near
the old green-houses built by Kent in Kensington Gardens, the same snail
is frequently found; it has a yellow shell, and was prescribed and placed
there for William the Third.
Vipers formerly were sold in quantities at the Simpling Shops, but of late
years they are so little called for that not above one in a month is sold
in Covent Garden Market. There were regular viper catchers, who had a
method of alluring them with a bit of scarlet cloth tied to the end of a
long stick.
The following lines are extracted from a curious half-sheet print,
entitled, "The Cries of London," to the tune of "Hark, the merry merry
Christ Church bells," printed and sold at the printing office in Bow
Church Yard, London. To this plate are prefixed two very curious old
wood-blocks, one of a Galantie-show man, of the time of King William the
Third, and the other of the time of James the First, representing a
Salt-box man, and is perhaps one of the earliest specimens of that
character. The lines alluded to are:
"Here's fine rosemary, sage, and thyme!
Come buy my ground ivy.
Here's fetherfew, gilliflowers, and rue,
Come buy my knotted marjorum, ho!
Come buy my mint, my fine green mint,
Here's fine lavender for your clothes,
Here's parsley and winter-savory,
And hearts-ease, which all do choose.
Here's balm and hissop, and cinquefoil,
All fine herbs, it is well known.
Let none despise the merry merry Cries
Of famous London Town!
Here's pennyroyal and marygolds!
Come buy my nettle-tops.
Here's water-cresses and scurvy-grass!
Come buy my sage of virtue ho!
Come buy my wormwood and mugwort,
Here's all fine herbs of every sort.
Here's southernwood that's very good,
Dandelion and houseleek.
Here's dragon's tongue and wood sorrel,
With bear's foot and horehound.
Let none despise the merry merry Cries
Of famous London Town!"
[Illustration: _"Washerwomen"_]
WASHER-WOMEN, CHAR-WOMEN, AND STREET NURSES.
PLATE XXVII.
Perhaps there is not a class of people who work harder than those
washer-women who go out to assist servants in what is called a heavy wash;
they may be seen in the winter time, shivering at the doors, at three and
four o'clock in the morning, and are seldom dismissed before ten at night,
this hard treatment being endured for two shillings and sixpence a day.
They may be divided into two classes, the industrious, who labour
cheerfully to support their little ones, and, too often, an idle and cruel
husband; and those that take snuff, drink gin, and propagate the scandal
of the neighbourhood, seldom quitting the house of their employer without
gaining the secrets of the family, which they acquire by pretending to
tell the fortunes of every one in the house to the servants of the family,
by the manner in which the grouts of the tea adhere to the sides of the
tea-cup. Most of these people, who are generally round-shouldered and
lop-sided, are so accustomed to chatter with the servants, that they
acquire a habit of keeping their mouths open, either horizontally or
perpendicularly; and it is evident from Hollar's etchings of Leonardo da
Vinci's caricatures that the latter must have studied the grimaces of this
class of people. Some of these old washer-women, when they happen to meet
with a discreet and silent domestic, will speak to the cat or the dog, and
even hold conversation with themselves rather than lose the privilege of
utterance.
These wretches are always full of complaints of their coughs, asthmas, or
pains in the stomach, but these are mere efforts to procure an extra glass
of cordial.
The Char-women are that description of people who go about to clean
houses, either by washing the wainscot, scrubbing the floors, or
brightening the pots and kettles; they are generally worse drabs, if
possible, than the lowest order of washer-women; they will either filch
the soap, steal the coals, or borrow a plate, which they never return; and
yet the women of this calling who conduct themselves with sobriety and
honesty, are great acquisitions to single gentlemen, particularly students
in the law.
Few families, however watchful they may be over the conduct of their
servants, are aware of the extreme idleness and profligacy of some of
them.
If the mistress of a house would for once rise at five o'clock, she might
behold a set of squalid beings engaged in whitening the steps of the
doors; she may even observe some of them, who have procured keys of the
area gates, descend the steps to procure from the kitchen pails of
hog-wash, with meat and bread wrapped up in tattered aprons; so that their
servants, by thus getting rid of the door-cleaning business, remain in bed
after the milkwoman, by the help of a string, has lowered her can into the
area. This dishonesty of the servants has been extended, from a few broken
crusts, to the more generous gift of half a loaf in a morning.
On the contrary, it is a fact too well known, that there are many servants
who rise too early, particularly those who attend to the flattery of men
who sneak into houses, pretending to be in love with their charming
persons, merely for the purpose of obtaining the surest mode of robbing
the house, either then or in future.
There are hundreds of old women who take charge of the children of those
who go out for daily hire. These Nurses drag the infants in all sorts of
ways about the streets for the whole day, and sometimes treat them very
ill, and, imitating the mode usually adopted by the vulgar part of nurses
in families, to pacify the squalling and too often hungry infants, terrify
them with a threat that Tom Poker, David Stumps, or Bonaparte, are coming
to take them away. This custom of frightening children, which was
practised in very early times, was made use of by the Spanish nurses after
the defeat of the Armada. Burton, in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," part I,
sec. 2: "Education a cause of Melancholy. There is a great moderation to
be had in such things as matters of so great moment, to the making or
marring of a childe. Some fright their children with beggars, bugbears,
and hobgoblins, if they cry or be otherways unruly."
Among the very few single prints published in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, there is one engraved on wood, measuring twenty inches by
thirteen; it contains multitudes of figures, and is so great a rarity,
that the author has seen only one impression of it, which is in the truly
valuable and interesting collection of prints presented in the most
liberal manner to the British Museum by Sir Joseph and Lady Banks.
This print, which has escaped the notice of all the writers on the Graphic
Art, is entitled, "Tittle-Tattle, or the several Branches of Gossipping;"
at the foot of the print are the following verses, evidently in a type and
orthography of a later time:
1.
At childbed when the gossips meet,
Fine stories we are told;
And if they get a cup too much,
Their tongues they cannot hold.
2.
At market when good housewives meet,
Their market being done,
Together they will crack a pot
Before they can get home.
3.
The bakehouse is a place, you know,
Where maids a story hold,
And if their mistresses will prate,
They must not be controll'd.
4.
At alehouse you see how jovial they be,
With every one her noggin;
For till the skull and belly be full
None of them will be jogging.
5.
To Church fine ladies do resort,
New fashions for to spy,
And others go to Church sometimes,
To shew their bravery.
6.
Hot-house makes a rough skin smooth,
And doth it beautify;
Fine gossips use it every week,
Their skins to purify.
7.
At the conduit striving for their turn,
The quarrel it grows great,
That up in arms they are at last,
And one another beat.
8.
Washing at the river's side
Good housewives take delight;
But scolding sluts care not to work,
Like wrangling queens they fight.
9.
Then gossips all a warning take,
Pray cease your tongue to rattle;
Go knit, and sew, and brew, and bake,
And leave off TITTLE-TATTLE.
[Illustration: _"Smithfield Saloop"_]
SMITHFIELD SALOOP.
PLATE XXVIII.
About a century ago, almost every corner of the more public streets was
occupied at midnight, until six or seven in the morning, by the sellers of
frumenty, barley broth, cow-heel soup, and baked ox-cheek; and in those
days when several hundreds of chairmen were nightly waiting in the
metropolis, and it was the fashion for the bloods of the day to beat the
rounds, as they termed it, there was a much greater consumption of such
refreshments.
The scenes of vice at the above period were certainly far more frequent
than they are at present, for hard drinking, and the visitation of
brothels were then esteemed as the completion of what was termed genteel
education; and it was no unusual thing to see the famous Quin, with his
inseparable associate Frank Hayman, the painter, swearing at each other in
the kennel, but both with a full determination to remain there until the
watchman went his round.
The numerous songs of the day, and the incomparable plates by Hogarth,
will sufficiently show the folly and vice of those drinking times, when
the courtier, after attending the drawing-room of St. James's, would walk
in his full dress, with bag and sword, from the palace, to the diabolical
coffee-room of Moll King, in Covent Garden, where he would mix, sit, and
converse with every description of character.
Moll King's was the house now the sign of the Green Man, and was a mere
hovel, so destitute of accommodation that the principal chamber of vice
was immediately over the coffee room, and could only be ascended by a drop
ladder.
Saloop, the subject of this etching, has superseded almost every other
midnight street refreshment, being a beverage easily made, and a long time
considered as a sovereign cure for head-ache arising from drunkenness. But
no person, unless he has walked through the streets from the hour of
twelve, can duly paint the scenes of the saloop stall with its variety of
customers.
Whoever may be desirous of tasting saloop in the highest perfection, may
be gratified at Reid's Coffee House,[16] No. 102, Fleet Street, which was
the first respectable house where it was to be had, and established in the
year 1719. The following lines are painted on a board, and suspended in
the coffee room:
"Come all degrees now passing by,
My charming liquor taste and try;
To Lockyer[17] come, and drink your fill;
Mount Pleasant[18] has no kind of ill.
The fumes of wine, punch, drams, and beer,
It will expell; your spirits cheer;
From drowsiness your spirits free.
Sweet as a rose your breath shall be.
Come taste and try, and speak your mind;
Such rare ingredients here are joined,
Mount Pleasant pleases all mankind."
The following extract respecting saloop, is taken from p. 38 of "Flora
Diaetetica, or History of Esculent Plants," by Charles Bryant, of Norwich,
1783. "Orchis Mascula. This is very common in our woods, meadows, and
pastures, and the powdered roots of it are said to be the saloop which is
sold in the shops; but the shop roots come from Turkey.