Every class in London has its particular pleasures. The gay have their theatres—the philanthropic their Exeter Hall—the wealthy their “ancient concerts”—the costermongers what they term their sing-song. I once penetrated into one of these dens. It was situated in a very low neighbourhood, not far from a gigantic brewery, where you could not walk a yard scarcely without coming to a public house. The costermongers are a numerous race. Walk the poor neighbourhoods on a Saturday night, and hear the cries,—“Chestnuts all ’ot a penny a score,” “Three a penny, Yarmouth bloaters,” “Penny a lot fine russets, a penny a lot,” “Now’s your time, fine whelks, a penny a lot.” Well, the itinerant vendors of these delicacies are costermongers. Or in the daytime see the long carts drawn by donkies loaded with greens and other vegetables, all announced to the public in stentorian lungs—these men are costermongers. Listen to those boys calling, “Ho, ho, hi, hi,—what do you think of this here? a penny a bunch, a penny a bunch. Here’s your turnips!” Those boys are costermongers’ lads. It is seldom they last long as men. They soon lose their voice, and how they pick up a living then no one can tell. Their talk is peculiar. Mr Mayhew tells us their slang consists merely in pronouncing each word as if spelt backwards. “I say, Curly, will you do a _top_ of _reeb_ (pot of beer)?” one costermonger may say to another. “It’s _on doog_, Whelkey, _on doog_” (no good, no good), the second may reply; “I’ve had a regular _troseno_ (bad sort) to-day; I’ve been doing _dab_ (bad) with my _tol_ (lot)—han’t made a _yennep_ (penny), s’ elp me—.” “Why, I’ve cleared a _flatchenorc_ (half a crown) a’ ready.” Master Whelkey will answer perhaps, “But _kool_ the _esilop_ (look at the police), _kool him_ (look at him). Curly: _Nommus_ (be off), I am going _to do the tightner_” (have my dinner). Would you know more of them, come with me.