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.
[Illustration: THE WATCH--SHAKESPEARE'S LONDON.]
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."
[Illustration: THE BELLMAN--FROM DEKKER, 1608.]
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:--
[Illustration:
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:--
PROLOGUE.
My Masters and Mistresses, pray lend an ear,
While your Bellman recounts some events of the year;
For altho' its commencement was rather distressing,
We've had reason to thank it for more than one blessing,
'Tis true that Canadian proceedings were strange,
And a very sad fire was the Royal Exchange;
Yet the first, let us hope, is no serious matter,
And we'll soon have a new one in lieu of the latter.
Our rulers have grappled with one of our crosses,
While for beauty and fitness the other no loss is.
And still more to make up for these drawbacks vexatious,
Dame Fortune has been on the whole, pretty gracious.
We've had peace to get wealth, which of war is the sinews.
Grant us wit to make hay while the sunshine continues.
Then, the Bear of the North, that insatiate beast,
Has been check'd in his wily attempts on the East;
And his further insidious advances forbidden
By the broadsword of Auckland, which warns him from Eden.
While our rulers, in earnest, apply to the work,
And a treaty concludes with the Austrian and Turk,
Which, when next the fell Monster is tempted to roam,
May provide him some pleasant employment at home.
TO THE QUEEN.
Whilst the high and the noble in gallant array,
Assemble around her, their homage to pay;
While the proud Peers of Britain with rapture, I ween,
Place her crown on the brow of their peerless young Queen;
While by prince and by peasant her sceptre is blest;
Why may not the Bellman chime in with the rest?
Tho' alas! my poor muse would long labour in vain,
To express our delight in Victoria's reign,
Long may we exult in her merciful sway,
May her moments speed blithely and sweetly as May,
And her days be prolonged till her glories efface
The last maiden lady's, who sate in her place.
THE GREAT WESTERN.
Well, despite of some thousand objections pedantic,
The "Great Western" has cross'd and _re-cross'd_ the Atlantic,
Nor is _this_ the first time--to the foe's consternation--
That the deeds of our tars have defied calculation.
Though few of our learned professors did dream
That our seamen in steamers would reach the gulf stream,
Yet a fortnight's vibration, from Bristol or Cork,
Will now set us down with our friends at New York;
And a closer acquaintance bind firmer than ever,
A friendship which nothing on earth ought to sever.
* * * * *
* * * * *
EPILOGUE.
Now having conducted his well-meant effusion
Thus far on its way to a happy conclusion,
Your Bellman, tho' not quite so fresh as at starting,
Would still have a word with his patrons at parting,
Just by way of a cordial and kindly farewell,
For his heart, altho' softer, is sound as his bell,
And he cannot say more for himself or his strains,
Than, whatever his success, he has not spared pains;
And that blest in their kindness, and countenance steady,
His song and his services always are ready;
So he bids them adieu till next season appears--
May their wealth and their virtues increase with their years;
May they always have more than they ever can spend,
With the soul to help on a less fortunate friend;
And their Bellman continue to cudgel his brain,
For their yearly amusement, again and again.
+-----------------------------------------------------+
|_Cheap and Expeditious Printing by Steam Machinery, |
|executed by_ C. REYNELL, 16, _Little Pulteney Street,|
|Golden Square._--First printed in 1735. |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
There is a very rare sheet of woodcuts in the Print-room of the British
Museum, containing twelve cries, with figures of the "Criers" and the
cries themselves beneath. The cuts are singularly characteristic, and may
be assigned with safety, on the authority of Mr. John Thomas Smith, the
late keeper of the prints and drawings, as of the same date as Ben
Jonson's "fish-wives," "costard-mongers," and "orange women."
No. 1 on the sheet, is the "Watch;" he has no name, but carries a staff
and a lanthorn, is well secured in a good frieze gabardine,
leathern-girdle, and wears a serviceable hat to guard against the weather.
The worthy here depicted has a most venerable face and beard, showing how
ancient was the habit of parish officers to select the poor and feeble for
the office of watchman, in order to keep them out of the poor-house. The
"cry" of the "watch" is as follows:--
"A light here, maids, hang out your light,
And see your horns be clear and bright,
That so your candle clear may shine,
Continuing from six till nine;
That honest men that walk along,
May see to pass safe without wrong."
No. 2 is the "Bellman"--Dekker's "Bellman of London and Dog." (as at page
49.) He carries a halberd lanthorn, and bell, and his "cry" is curious:--
"Maids in your smocks, look to your locks,
Your fire and candle-light;
For well 'tis known much mischief's done
By both in dead of night;
Your locks and fire do not neglect,
And so you may good rest expect."
No. 3 is the "Orange Woman," a sort of full-grown Nell Gwynne, if we can
only fancy _Nelly_, the favourite mistress of King Charles the Second,
grown up in her humble occupation. She carries a basket of oranges and
lemons under her arm, and seeks to sell them by the following "cry":--
"Fine Sevil oranges, fine lemmons, fine;
Round, sound, and tender, inside and rine,
One pin's prick their vertue show:
They've liquor by their weight, you may know."
No. 4 is the "Hair-line Man," with a bundle of lines under his arm, and a
line in his hand. Clothes-pegs was, perhaps, a separate "cry." Here is
his:--
"Buy a hair-line, or a line for Jacke,
If you any hair or hemp-cord lack,
Mistris, here's good as you need use;
Bid fair for handsel, I'll not refuse."
No. 5 is the "Radish and Lettuce Woman."--Your fine "goss" lettuce is a
modern cry:--
"White raddish, white young lettis,
White young lettis white;
You hear me cry, come mistris, buy,
To make my burden light."
No. 6 is the man who sells "Marking Stones," now, unless we except
slate-pencils, completely out of use:--
"Buy marking-stones, marking-stones buy,
Much profit in their use doth lie:
I've marking-stones of colour red,
Passing good, or else black lead."
No. 7 is the "Sausage Woman," holding a pound of sausages in her hand:--
"Who buys my sausages, sausages fine?
I ha' fine sausages of the best;
As good they are as ere was eat;
If they be finely drest.
Come, mistris, buy this daintie pound,
About a capon roast them round."
No. 8 is a man with "Toasting-forks and Spice-graters":--
"Buy a fine toasting-fork for toast,
Or fine spice-grater--tools for an hoast;
If these in winter be lacking, I say,
Your guests will pack, your trade decay."
No. 9 is the "Broom Man," and here we have a "cry" different from the one
we have already given. He carries a pair of old boots in his hand:--
"Come buy some brooms, come buy of me:
Birch, Heath, and green,--none better be;
The staves are straight, and all bound sure;
Come, maids, my brooms will still endure.
Old boots or shoes I'll take for brooms,
Come buy to make clean all your rooms!"
No. 10 is a woman with a box of "Wash balls":--
"Buy fine washing-balls, buy a ball,
Cheaper and dearer, greater and small;
For scouring none do them excel,
Their odour scenteth passing well;
Come buy rare balls, and trial make,
Spots out of clothes they quickly take."
No. 11 sells Ink and Pens.--He carries an ink-bottle hung by a stick
behind him, and has a bunch of pens in his hand:--
"Buy pens, pens, pens of the best,
Excellent pens and seconds the least;
Come buy good ink as black as jet,
A varnish like gloss on writing 'twill set."
The twelfth and last is a woman with a basket of Venice Glasses, such as a
modern collector would give a great deal to get hold of:--
"Come glasses, glasses, fine glasses buy;
Fine glasses o' the best I call and cry.
Fine Venice-glasses,--no chrystal more clear,
Of all forms and fashions buy glasses here,
Black pots for good ale I also do cry;
Come therefore quickly before I pass by."
In the same collection, is a series of three plates, "Part of the Cries in
London," evidently belonging to the same set, though only one has got a
title. Each plate contains thirty-six criers, with the addition of a
principal "Crier" in the centre. These were evidently executed abroad, as
late, perhaps, as the reign of Charles II. No. 1 (with the title page) is
ornamented in the centre with the "Rat-Catcher," carrying an emblazoned
banner of rats, and attended by a boy. The leather investment of the
rat-catcher of the present day is a pleasant memorial of the banner of the
past. Beneath the rat-catcher, the following lines occur:--
"Hee that wil have neither
Ratt nor Mowssee
Lett him pluck of the tillies
And set fire of his hows."
Proving, evidently that the rat-catcher courted more to his banner than
his poetry. Then follow the thirty-six cries, some of which, it will be
seen, are extremely curious. The names are given beneath the cuts, but
without any verse or peculiarity of cry.
Cooper
Ende of Golde
Olde Dublets
Blackinge man
Tinker
Pippins
Bui a Matte
Cooles
Chimnie swepes
Bui Brumes
Camphires
Cherry ripe
Alminake
Coonie skine
Mussels
Cabeches
Kitchen stuff
Glasses
Cockels
Hartti chaks
Mackrill
Oranges, Lemens
Lettice
Place
Olde Iron
Aqua vitae
Pens and Ink
Olde Bellows
Herrings
Buy any Milke
Piepin Pys
Osters
Shades
Turneps
Rosmarie Baie
Onions.
"Haie ye any work for John Cooper?" is the title of one of the Martin
Marprelate pamphlets. "Haie ye ani gold ends to sell?" is mentioned as a
"cry," in "Pappe with a Hatchet" (_cir._ 1589). "Camphires," means
Samphires. The "Alminake" man has completely gone, and "Old Dublets" has
degenerated into "Ogh Clo," a "cry" which teased Coleridge for a time, and
occasioned a ludicrous incident, which we had reserved for a place
somewhat later in our history, had not "Old Dublets" brought it, not
inopportunely, to mind. "The other day," said Coleridge, "I was what you
would call _floored_ by a Jew. He passed me several times crying out for
old clothes, in the most nasal and extraordinary tone I ever heard. At
last I was so provoked, that I said to him, 'Pray, why can't you say 'old
clothes' in a plain way, as I do?' The Jew stopped, and looking very
gravely at me, said in a clear and even accent, 'Sir, I can say 'old
clothes' as well as you can; but if you had to say so ten times a minute,
for an hour together, you would say _Ogh Clo_ as I do now;' and so he
marched off." Coleridge was so confounded with the justice of the retort
that he followed and gave him a shilling--the only one he had.
The principal figure on the second plate is the "Bellman," with dog, bell,
halberd, and lanthorns. His "cry" is curious, though we have had it almost
in the same form before, at page 56:--
"Mayds in your Smocks, Looke
Wel to your lock--your fire
And your light, and God
Give you good night. At
One a Clock."
The cries around him deserve transcription:--
Buy any Shrimps
Buy some Figs
Buy a Tosting Iron
Lantorne candellyht
Buy any Maydes
The Water bearer
Buy a whyt Pot
Bread and Meate
Buy a Candelsticke
Buy any Prunes
Buy a Washing ball
Good Sasages
Buy a Purs
Buy a dish a Flounders
Buy a Footestoole
Buy a fine Bowpot
Buy a pair a Shoes
Buy any Garters
Featherbeds to dryue
Buy any Bottens
Buy any Whiting maps
Buy any Tape
Worcestershyr Salt
Ripe Damsons
Buy any Marking Stones
The Bear bayting
Buy any blew Starch
Buy any Points
New Hadog
Yards and Ells
Buy a fyne Brush
Hote Mutton Poys
New Sprats new
New Cod new
Buy any Reasons
P. and Glasses to mend
On the third plate, the principal figure is the "Crier," with his staff
and keys:--
"O yis, any man or woman that
Can tell any tydings of a little
Mayden Childe of the age of 24
Yeares. Bring worde to the cryer,
And you shal be pleased for
Your labor
And God's blessinge."
The figures surrounding the Common Crier are in the same style of art, and
their cries characteristic of bygone times:--
Buy any Wheat
Buy al my Smelts
Quick Periwinckels
Rype Chesnuts
Payres fyn
White Redish whyt
Buy any Whyting
Buy any Bone lays
I ha' rype Straberies
Buy a Case for a Hat
Birds and Hens
Hote Podding Pyes
Buy a Hair Lyne
Buy any Pompeons
Whyt Scalions
Rype Walnuts
Fyn Potatos fyn
Hote Eele Pyes
Fresh Cheese and Creame
Buy any Garlick
Buy a longe Brush
Whyt Carots whyt
Fyne Pomgranats
Buy any Russes
Hats or Caps to dress
Wood to cleave
Pins of the maker
Any sciruy Grass
Any Cornes to pick
Buy any Parsnips
Hot Codlinges hot
Buy all my Soales
Good Marroquin
Buy any Cocumber
New Thornebacke
Fyne Oate Cakes.
The only crier in the series who has a horse and cart to attend him is the
Worcestershire salt-man. Salt is still sold from carts in poor and crowded
neighbourhoods.
We have been somewhat surprised in not finding a single Thames waterman
among the criers of London; but the series was, perhaps, confined to the
streets of London, and the watermen were thought to belong altogether to
the stairs leading to their silent highway. Three of their cries have
given titles to three good old English comedies, "Northward, ho!"
"Eastward, ho!" and "Westward, ho!" But our series of cries is still
extremely incomplete. Every thing in early times was carried and cried,
and we have seen two rare prints of old London Cries not to be found in
the lists already enumerated. One is called "_Clove Water, Stomock
Water_," and the other "_Buy an new Booke_." Others may still exist. In
the Duke of Devonshire's collection of drawings, by Inigo Jones, are
several cries, drawn in pen-and-ink, for the masques at court in the
reigns of James I. and Charles I.
[Illustration: THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS.]
In Thomas Heywood's, "_The Rape of Lucrece_, a True Roman Tragedy, acted
by Her Majestie's Servants at the _Red-Bull_, 1609," is the following long
list of LONDON CRIES, but called for the sake of the dramatic action of
the scene, "_Cries of Rome_," which was the common practice with the old
dramatists, Rome being the canting name of London. Robert Greene, in his
"_Perimedes the Blacksmith_, 1588," when he wished to criticise the London
_Theatre_ at Shoreditch, talks of the _Theatre in Rome_; also in his
"_Never too Late_, 1590," when he talks of the London actors, he pretends
only to speak of Roscius and the actors of _Rome_. In the pedlar's French
of the day Rome-vyle--or ville--was London, and Rome-mort the Queen
[Elizabeth]. There is some humour in the classification, and if the cries
were well imitated by the singer, the ballad--or as it would then be
called "_jig_"--is likely to have been extremely popular in its day.
THE CRIES OF ROME [_i.e._ London.]
Thus go the cries in _Rome's_ fair town,
First they go up street, and then they go down,
Round and sound all of a colour,
Buy a very fine marking stone, marking stone,
Round and sound all of a colour;
Buy a very fine marking stone, marking stone.
Thus go the cries in _Rome's_ fair town,
First they go up street, and then they go down.
Bread and--meat--bread--and meat
For the--ten--der--mercy of God to the
poor pris--ners of _Newgate_, four-
score and ten--poor--prisoners.
Thus go the cries in _Rome's_ fair town,
First they go up street, and then they go down.
[Illustration: MARKING STONE.]
[Illustration: BREAD AND MEAT.]
[Illustration: WORSTERSHIRE SALT.]
[Illustration: BUY A MOUSE TRAP.]
Salt--salt--white Wor--stershire Salt,
Thus go the cries in _Rome's_ fair town,
First they go up street, and then they go down.
Buy a very fine Mouse--trap, or a tormentor for your Fleas.