squares, kept until wanted in a circular metal refrigerating pot surrounded by broken ice, Hokey Pokey has the advantage over its rival eaten from glasses, inasmuch as it can be carried away by the purchaser and consumed at leisure. Besides being variously flavoured, Hokey Pokey is dreadfully sweet, dreadfully cold, and hard as a brick. It is whispered that the not unwholesome Swede turnip, crushed into pulp, has been known to form its base, in lieu of more expensive supplies from the cow, whose complex elaboration of cream from turnips is thus unceremoniously abridged.
Another summer cry recalls to memory a species of house decoration, which we may hope is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. “Ornaments for yer fire stoves,” are usually either cream-tinted willow shavings, brightened by the interspersion of a few gold threads, or mats thickly covered with rose-shaped bows and streamers of gaily-coloured tissue papers. Something more ornate, and not always in better taste, is now the fashion; the trade therefore has found its way from the streets to the shops, and the old cry, “Ornaments for yer fire stoves,” is likely to be seldomer heard.
Many of the old cries, dying out elsewhere, may still be familiar, however, in the back streets of second
“O’ Clo!”
“Dust, O!”
and third rate neighbourhoods. The noisy bell[9] of the privileged muffin-man can hardly be counted; but “dust, O,”—the dustman’s bell is almost a thing of the past—“knives and scissors,”—pronounced sitthers—“to grind,” “chairs to mend,” “cat’s and dawg’s meat,” the snapped-off short “o’ clo” of the Jewish dealer in left-off garments, “fine warnuts, penny for ten, all cracked,” “chestnuts all ’ot,” “fine ripe strawberries,” “rabbit or ’air skins,” “fine biggaroon cherries,” “fine oranges, a penny for three,” and many others, are still shouted in due season by leathern-lunged itinerant traders. The “O’ clo” man is nearly always historically represented, as in the Catnach illustration, wearing