The first class of noises, then, against which "Morose" protected his ears by "a huge turban of night-caps," is that of the ancient and far-famed LONDON CRIES. We have here the very loudest of them--fish-wives, orange-women, chimney-sweepers, broom-men, costard-mongers. But we might almost say that there were _hundreds_ of other cries; and therefore, reserving to ourselves some opportunity for a special enumeration of a few of the more remarkable of these cries, we shall now slightly group them, as they present themselves to our notice during successive generations.
We shall not readily associate any very agreeable sounds with the voices of the "fish-wives." The one who cried "_Mackerel_" in Lydgate's day had probably no such explanatory cry as the "_Mackerel alive, alive ho!_" of modern times. In the seventeenth century the cry was "_New Mackerel_." And in the same way there was:--
The freshness of fish must have been a considerable recommendation in those days of tardy intercourse. But quantity was also to be taken into the account, and so we find the cries of "_Buy my dish of Great Smelts_;" "_Great Plaice_;" "_Great Mussels_." Such are the fish-cries enumerated in Lauron's and various other collections of "London Cries."
But, we are forgetting "Morose," and his "turban of night-caps." Was Hogarth familiar with the old noise-hater when he conceived his own:--
In this extraordinary gathering together of the producers of the most discordant sounds, we have a representation which may fairly match the dramatist's description of street noises. Here we have the milk-maid's scream, the mackerel seller's shout, the sweep upon the house top,--to match the fish-wives and orange-women, the broom-men and costard-mongers. The smith, who was "ominous," had no longer his forge in the busy streets of Hogarth's time; the armourer was obsolete: but Hogarth can rival their noises with the pavior's hammer, the sow-gelder's horn, and the knife-grinder's wheel. The waits of the city had a pension not to come near "Morose's" ward; but it was out of the power of the "Enraged Musician" to avert the terrible discord of the blind hautboy-player. The bellman who frightened the sleepers at midnight, was extinct; but modern London had acquired the dustman's bell. The bear-ward no longer came down the street with the dogs of four parishes, nor did the fencer march with a drum to his prize; but there was the ballad-singer, with her squalling child, roaring worse than bear or dog; and the drum of the little boy playing at soldiers was a more abiding nuisance than the fencer. "Morose" and the "Enraged Musician" had each the church bells to fill up the measure of discord.