“The child, itself, told a very artless and moving tale of its own sufferings. The prisoner, it appears, used to strip him naked, and flog him in the dust cellar, to make him go up the chimney, to which, it seems, he had an utter aversion. When in the chimney, he was urged to proceed by the prisoner having a stick, at the top of which was fastened a pin, with which he goaded the poor infant; at other times he would make the poor child descend into vaults, and used other cruelties too shocking for recital. On inquiry at the workhouse, the child discovered that his father is a smith by trade, a poor man, with six children, living near Sloane Street. Its parents had used every means to discover their child, and, at length found him in the workhouse. The prisoner was committed to Tothill Fields Bridewell; and we suppose that Mrs. Bridges, as soon as she can safely leave her bed, will also be brought up to answer this charge.” In 1803, if not before, there was in existence an “Association for Improving the Situation of Infant Chimney Sweepers,” of which John Julius Angerstein, Esq. (whose collection of pictures founded the National Gallery), was the chairman. May-day was also sacred to another class of early morning workers—the Milkmaids. Curiously enough, the carriage and delivery of milk—by no means a light task, whether looked at from the distance walked, or the load carried—was entirely in the hands of women, strapping country wenches, principally recruited from Wales. The cows were kept in hovels in, and near, London, and a “milkmaid’s” daily life began at from 4 to 6 a.m. when the cows had to be milked; they then delivered the milk at the various houses until near ten. Then there were the dairy vessels to wash, and at noon, the cows again to be milked. [Illustration: “HOT CROSS BUNS! TWO A PENNY BUNS!”] The delivery of milk again occupied them till nearly 6 p.m., when they had to wash up all cans, &c., for the morning. In 1808 it was reckoned that about 8,500 cows were kept in London and its vicinity; one cowkeeper at Islington owning between 800 and 900 cows. It is sad to read, however, in 1804, that “Milk is sold at fourpence per quart, or fivepence for a better sort; yet the advance of price does not insure its purity, for it is generally mixed in a great proportion with water, by the retailers before they leave the milk houses. The adulteration of the milk, added to the wholesale cost, leaves an average profit of cent. per cent., to the vendors of this useful article. Few retail trades are exercised with equal gains.” [Illustration: “DO YOU WANT ANY BRICK-DUST?”] Following the milkwoman, would come the early Baker calling out “Hot loaves!” and ringing a bell: he would appear on the scene between 8 and 9 a.m., selling his rolls at one, or two, a penny—in winter he added, or substituted, muffins and crumpets.