In the present race of street criers there are tricksters in a small way; as, for instance, the well known character who picks up a living by selling a bulky-looking volume of songs. His long-drawn and never varied cry of "Three un-derd an' fif-ty songs for a penny!" is really "Three under fifty songs for a penny." The book is purposely folded very loosely so as to bulk well; but a little squeezing reduces it to the thickness of an ordinary tract. Street criers are honest enough, however, in the main. If vegetables are sometimes a little stale, or fruit is suspiciously over-ripe, they do not perhaps feel absolutely called upon to mention these facts; but they give bouncing penn'orths, and their clients are generally shrewd enough to take good care of themselves. Petty thieves of the area-sneak type use well-known cries as a blind while pursuing their real calling,--match-selling often serving as an opportunity for pilfering. Blacker sheep than these there are; but fortunately one does not often come across them. Walking one foggy afternoon towards dusk along the Bayswater Road, I was accosted by a shivering and coatless vagabond who offered a tract. Wishing to shake off so unsavoury a companion, I attempted to cross the road, but a few yards from the kerb he barred farther progress "Sixpence, Sir, only sixpence; I _must_ have sixpence!" and as he spoke he bared a huge arm knotted like a blacksmith's. Raising a fist to match, he more than once shot it out unpleasantly near, exhibiting every time he did so an eruption of biceps perfectly appalling in its magnitude. That tract is at home somewhere. [Illustration: "_Antique Ballads, sung to crowds of old, _Now cheaply bought at thrice their weight in gold._" ] There are persons in London who get their living by manufacturing amusing or useful penny articles, with which they supply the wholesale houses in Houndsditch, who in turn find their customers in the hawkers and street criers. The principal supply, however, is imported from the Continent at prices against which English labour cannot compete. Soon forgotten, each novelty has its day, and is cried in a different manner. Until the law stepped in and put a stop to the sale, the greatest favourite on public holidays was the flexible metal tube containing scented water, which was squirted into the faces of passers-by with strict impartiality and sometimes with blinding effect.