Spring brings with it Easter—the first holiday that brightens on the departing gloom of winter. Then we hear mingled with the cry of “All a-blowing! all a-growing!” the reedy notes of penny trumpets, and the beat of tiny drums, and the shrill pipings of yellow wooden whistles: and tired children walk home from Greenwich with little dolls on their arms; and mothers carry their sleeping babies without murmuring; and little feet, that “scarcely stir the dust,” come plodding on, just as their young fathers and mothers had done some three or four-and-twenty years ago. Here, one on each side clung to her gown, there he carried another pick-a-back, who kept grinding his organ as he rode; while the fourth slept, covered over with the shawl, regardless of the busy crowds that were hurrying to and fro. Surely there was no selfishness in the enjoyment of the day on the part of the parents, shared as it was by those dear dusty children, the eldest not five years old, the youngest not so many months; and two of them carried every inch of the five miles back. For days after will those children talk about what they saw in the park at Greenwich, in the fair, and on the road; and their dreams will be of gilt gingerbread horses, and swings high as the tall trees, and booths, and music, the distant river, old pensioners with wooden legs and spyglasses, donkeys on Blackheath, swarthy gipsies, drinks of beer, and the heads and tails of shrimps. They will mimic the sights, and try to imitate the sounds, and go sounding and drumming through the house until the trumpet refuses to speak, and the drum is burst, and not a wire is left inside the threepenny organ. Then their grandfathers and grandmothers (if they were not with them) will come and ask a hundred questions as to what they saw, and what they did, and whither they went; and, from the answers they receive, go away convinced that there are no other children in this huge overgrown London to be compared with their grandchildren. May heaven shower its blessings on the conceit, and they never have cause to think otherwise!
Besides such groups as these, the pavements were almost blocked up with little carts, in which many a kiss and many a scratch were exchanged, and in these children squalled and smiled as they were dragged part of the way to the fair. And the little nurserymaid, who still wore her workhouse dress, was compelled to turn round every few minutes and to threaten what she would do at the impudent but good-natured boys who would help to shove on the little chaise, and cram a portion of their oranges or gingerbread into the children’s mouths. Then one fine-looking, dark-eyed lad, after a harmless fight with the little maid, by some kind of freemasonry, was a minute or two after helping her to draw the chaise, and they went on chatting and laughing together, while he divided his fairings with her. On looking at that lad more closely, we remembered that for a month he brought our water-cresses, that for a fortnight he knocked at our door and called “Butcher!” then we lost sight of him for some weeks, and when he made his appearance again he came with our daily newspaper, followed by a dog, which he set on our favourite cat. Times got worse, and he came with another boy; and they swept the snow from the pavement for a penny, and as much bread and cheese as they could eat. Then he opened and shut a shop, but had the misfortune to break a pane of glass; and as it was on Tuesday when the accident took place, and he was informed that the price of the pane would be stopped out of his week’s wages; and as he calculated what that would amount to, and found that it would swallow up his whole week’s earnings, why he went to breakfast, and never returned; and, just before Easter, he had raised a basket, and, either by money or credit, obtained a goodly show of roots and flowers, and, instead of “Water-cresses!” “Butcher!” or “Paper!” we heard his cheerful and well-known voice in the street, crying “All a-blowing! all a-growing!” He is now aspiring to a donkey and cart, and if we err not, to the little nursery-maid in the mob-cap and workhouse dress, and sweet smiling countenance (when pleased), which proclaims her to have come “of gentle kin.”
Now bundles of rhubarb, that run all to water in the pies and puddings, may be seen in the greengrocers’ shops; and little new waxy potatoes, that have no taste, are ticketed a shilling a pound; and small gooseberries, that have the flavour of green-tea leaves, given to the old charwoman, and which she has kept stewing on the hob for a full hour, are ditto per half pint; and asparagus, that looks like candle-wicks, is tied up in bundles; while little salads made of two radishes, a couple of onions, a few slices of beet-root, mustard, cress, and a halfpenny bunch of water-cresses, sit in little baskets marked sixpence, and try to tempt the passers-by to purchase. Now men, who smell of the aroma of old woods, stand before the doors of public-houses, with young honeysuckles and eglantine, the roots buried in moss; and violets and primroses, fresh and blowing in their own native earth, just as they were dug up on the sunny banks by Sanderstead, or in the tree-shaded lanes around Cobham.
Finally, old hats, boots, shoes, and cast-off garments of every description are routed out at the cry of “All a-blowing! all a-growing!” and exchanged for flowers, the bearers of which barter on the principle of getting all they can and giving as little as possible in return. Even the lady of the house cannot resist the entreaties of her children, who, attracted by the well-known call, and the sight of the basket of flowers outside the window, drag her to the door, and let her have no peace until she has purchased the lovely heath, the beautiful Iris, the pot of American primroses, or the gaudier group of gold and silver-coloured crocuses. The servant-girl must also have her flower-pot in the high attic window, and she looks at it the first thing in the morning and the last at night, and feels thankful, in the words of Solomon, that “the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.”
