,
Or with new life relume the swimming eye."

At the corners of streets of traffic, and more especially

"Where fam'd St. Giles's ancient limits spread,"

the matutinal huckster may be seen administering to costermongers,
hackney-coachmen, and "fair women without discretion," a fluid "all
hot, all hot," ycleped by the initiated elder wine, which, we should
think, might give the partakers a tolerable notion of the fermenting
beverage extracted by Tartars from mare's milk not particularly fresh.
Hard by we find a decent matron super-intending her tea-table at the
lamp-post, and tendering to a remarkably select company little, blue,
delft cups of bohea, filled from time to time from a prodigious
kettle, that simmers unceasingly on its charcoal tripod, though the
refractory cad often protests that the fuel fails before the boiling
stage is consummated by an ebullition. Hither approaches perhaps
an interesting youth from Magherastaphena, who, ere night-fall, is
destined to figure in some police-office as a "juvenile delinquent."
The shivering sweep, who has just travelled through half a dozen
stacks of chimneys, also quickens every motion of his weary little
limbs, when he comes within sight of the destined breakfast, and
beholds the reversionary heel of a loaf and roll of butter awaiting
his arrival. Another unfailing visiter is the market-gardener, on
his way to deposit before the Covent Garden piazza such a pyramid
of cabbages as might well have been manured in the soil with Master
Jack's justly celebrated bean-stalk. Surely Solomon in all his
glory was not arrayed like one of these. The female portion of
such assemblages, for the most part, consists of poor Salopian
strawberry-carriers, many of whom have walked already at least
four miles, with a troublesome burden, and for a miserable
pittance--egg-women, with sundry still-born chickens, goslings, and
turkey-pouts--and passing milk-maidens, peripatetic under the yoke of
their double pail. Their professional cry is singular and sufficiently
unintelligible, although perhaps not so much so as that of the Dublin
milk-venders in the days of Swift; it used to run thus,--

"Mugs, jugs, and porringers,
Up in the garret and down in the cellar."

They are in general a hale, comely, well-favoured race,
notwithstanding the assertion of the author of Trivia to the
contrary.[5]

[5] "On doors the sallow milk maid chalks her gains.
Oh! how unlike the milk