A STREET SCENE.

If, when it was wet weather, the ground was so bad in 'fair Pell Mell,' what was it elsewhere? Here is a little scene out in the fields going to St. Pancras Church—a wedding party.[578] 'The morning being rainy, methought the march to this wedding was but too lively a picture of Wedlock itself. They seemed both to have a month's mind to make the best of their way single; yet both tugged arm in arm: and when they were in a dirty way, he was but deeper in the mire, by endeavouring to pull out his companion, and yet without helping her. The bridegroom's feathers in his hat all drooped; one of his shoes had lost an heel. In short, he was, in his whole person and dress so extremely soused, that there did not appear one inch or single thread about him unmarried.'[579]

Swift[580] gives an excellent metrical description of a shower in those days.

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crouds the draggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a Coach.
The tuck'd up sempstress walks with hasty Strides,
While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits;
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.

Those gutter spouts, sending their streams not quite clear of the pavement, must have been a terrible nuisance to a generation of men innocent of umbrella or Mackintosh; and Gay advises anyone, in wet weather, to maintain his privilege of taking the wall, but not to quarrel for it.

When from high Spouts the dashing Torrents fall,
Ever be watchful to maintain the Wall;
For should'st thou quit thy Ground, the rushing Throng
Will with impetuous Fury drive along;
All press to gain those Honours thou hast lost,
And rudely shove thee far without the Post.
Then to retrieve the Shed you strive in vain,
Draggled all o'er, and soak'd in Floods of Rain.
Yet rather bear the Show'r, and Toils of Mud,
Than in the doubtful Quarrel risque thy Blood.

Let us take the streets throughout the day; and let, as usual, contemporary writers give their own account of them in their own language. Steele[581] begins with a description of London in the morning.

Now hardly here and there an hackney Coach
Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.
The slipshod 'prentice, from his master's door,
Had par'd the street, and sprinkled round the floor;
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dextrous airs,
Prepar'd to scrub the entry and the Stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small coal man was heard with cadence deep,
Till drown'd in shriller notes of Chimney sweep.
Duns at his Lordship's gates began to meet;
And brick dust Moll had scream'd thro' half a street:
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a' nights to steal for fees.
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands;
And school boys lag with satchels in their hands.

It is only in the poorer neighbourhoods that street cries, nowadays, flourish, and it is only by a visit to them that we can at all realise the babel of sounds that the streets gave forth in the reign of Anne. Luckily, as they differ so much from anything we know of, and are so suggestive of the petty industries then practised, they have been preserved for us by Marcellus Lauron, in his somewhat scarce book,[582] from which many illustrations used in this book have been taken. Here is a list of them:—