When y have sovghᵀ..
The City Rovnd
Yet Still this is
The HighSᵀ.. Grovnd
Avgvst the 27
1688
Being entirely unprotected and close to the ground, this curious relic of bygone times, which is surmounted by a boldly carved figure of a nude boy seated on a panyer pressing a bunch of grapes between his hand and foot, is naturally much defaced; and that it has not been carried away piecemeal by iconoclastic curiosity-hunters, is probably due to its out-of-the-way position. Panyer Alley, the most eastern turning leading from Paternoster Row to Newgate Street, slightly rises towards the middle; but is not, according to Mr. Loftie, an undoubted authority on all matters pertaining to old London, the highest point in the city, there being higher ground both in Cornhill and Cannon Street. In describing Panyer Alley, Stow indirectly alludes to a “signe” therein, and it is Hone’s opinion that this stone may have been the ancient sign let into the wall of a tavern. While the upper is in fair preservation, the lower part of the inscription can hardly be read. When last examined, a street urchin was renovating the figure by a heartily-laid-on surface decoration of white chalk; and unless one of the numerous antiquarian or other learned societies interested in old London relics will spare a few pounds for the purchase of a protective grating, there will shortly be nothing left worth preserving.
“New-laid eggs, eight a groat,” takes us back to a time when the best joints and fresh country butter were both sixpence a pound.
Years ago the tin oven of the peripatetic penny pieman was found to be too small to meet the constant and ever-increasing strain made upon its resources; and the owner thereof has now risen to the dignity of a shop, where, in addition to stewed eels, he dispenses what Albert Smith happily termed “covered uncertainties,” containing messes of mutton, beef, or seasonable fruit. Contained in a strong wicker basket with legs, or in a sort of tin oven, the pieman’s wares were formerly kept hot by means of a small charcoal fire. A sip of a warm stomachic liquid of unknown but apparently acceptable constituents was sometimes offered gratuitously by way of inducement to purchase. The cry of “Hot Pies” still accompanies one of the first and most elementary games of the modern baby learning to speak, who is taught by his nurse to raise his hand to imitate a call now never heard.
The specimens of versification that follow are culled from various books of London Cries, written for the amusement of children, towards the end of the last century, and now in the collection of the writer:—
Large silver eels—a groat a pound, live eels!
Not the Severn’s famed stream
Could produce better fish,
Sweet and fresh as new cream,
And what more could you wish?
Pots and Kettles to mend?
Your coppers, kettles, pots, and stew pans,
Tho’ old, shall serve instead of new pans.
I’m very moderate in my charge,
For mending small as well as large.
Buy a Mop or a Broom!
My mop is so big, it might serve as a wig
For a judge if he had no objection,
And as to my brooms, they’ll sweep dirty rooms,
And make the dust fly to perfection.
Nice Yorkshire Cakes!