Troop, Every One, One!
The man blowing a trumpet, “Troop, every one, one!” was a street seller of hobby-horses—toys for children of three hundred years ago.
| “Call’st thou my love, hobby-horse; the hobby-horse is but a colt.” Love’s Labour Lost, Act iii., sc. 1. |
He carried them, as represented in the engraving, in a partitioned frame, on his shoulder, and to each horse’s head was a small flag with two bells attached. It was a pretty plaything for a “little master,” and helped him to imitate the galloping of the real and larger hobby-horse in the pageants and mummeries that passed along the streets, or pranced in the shows at fairs and on the stage. Now-a-days we give a boy the first stick at hand to thrust between his legs as a Bucephalus—the shadow of a shadow—or the good natured grandpapa wishing to give my “young master” something of the semblance of the generous animal—for the horse is no less popular with boys than formerly, takes his charge to the nearest toyshop and buys him a painted stick on which is a sawn-out representation of a horse’s head, which with the addition of a whip will enable him to:—
| “Ride a cock-horse to Banbury-cross, To see what Tommy can buy; A penny white loaf, a penny white cake, And a twopenny apple-pie.” |
Buy a Fine Singing Bird!
The cries of singing birds are extinct; we have only bird-sellers. The above engraving, therefore represents a by-gone character.
