Of the _dramatis personæ_ who perform the vocal parts, the first is a fellow in a tone that would rend hell's concave, bawling, "Dust, ho! dust, ho! dust!" Next to him, an amphibious animal, who nightly pillows his head on the sedgy bosom of old Thames, in a voice that emulates the rush of many waters, or the roaring of a cataract, is bellowing, "Flounda-a-a-rs!" A daughter of May-day, who dispenses what in London is called milk, and is consequently a _milkmaid_, in a note pitched at the very top of her voice, is crying, "Be-louw!" While a ballad-singer dolefully drawls out _The Ladie's Fall_, an infant in her arms joins its treble pipe in chorus with the screaming parrot, which is on a lamp-iron over her head. On the roof of an opposite house are two cats, performing what an amateur of music might perhaps call a _bravura_ duet; near them appears A sweep, shrill twittering on the chimney-top. A little French drummer, singing to his rub-a-dub, and the agreeable yell of a dog, complete the vocal performers. Of the instrumental, a fellow blowing a horn with a violence that would have almost shaken down the walls of Jericho claims the first notice; next to him, the dustman rattles his bell with ceaseless clangour, until the air reverberates the sound. The intervals are filled up by a pavior, who to every stroke of his rammer adds a loud, distinct, and echoing "Haugh!" The pedestrian cutler is grinding a butcher's cleaver with such earnestness and force, that it elicits sparks of fire. This, added to the agonizing howls of his unfortunate dog, must afford a perfect specimen of the ancient chromatic. The poor animal,[129] between a man and a monkey, piping harsh discords upon a hautboy, the girl whirling her _crepitaculum_, or rattle, and the boy beating his drum, conclude the catalogue of this harmonious band. Thus much we may be almost said to hear; and we see, by the flag displayed at the church, that the fanciers of corals for grown gentlemen are performing a round of double bob-majors in the belfry. "John Long, pewterer," is inscribed over a door, and intimates the business going on in the house, where the strokes of some thirty or forty hammers ringing incessantly upon pewter, produce a sound more sonorous than that which is echoed from the forge of Vulcan.