“Roger Giles, Imperceptible Penetrator, Surgin, Paroch Clarke, Etc:, Etc:, Romford, Essex, hinforms Ladis and Gentlemen that he cuts their teeth and draws corns without waiten a moment. Blisters on the lowest turms, and fysicks at a penny a peace. Sells godfathers cordial and strap-ile, and undertakes to keep any Ladis nales by the year, and so on. Young Ladis and Gentlemen tort the heart of rideing, and the gramer language in the natest manner, also grate Kare takein to himprove their morals and spelling, sarm singing and whisseling. Teaches the jews-arp, and instructs young Ladis on the gar-tar, and plays the ho-boy. Shotish poker and all other reels tort at home and abroad. Perfumery in all its branches. Sells all sorts of stashionary, barth bricks and all other sorts of sweetmeats, including bees-wax, postage stamps and lusifers: likewise taturs, roobub, sossages, and other garden stufs: also fruits, such as hardbake, inguns, toothpicks, ile and tin ware, and other eatables. Sarve, treacle, winegar, and all other hardware. Further in particular, he has laid in a stock of tripe, china, epsom salts, lollipops, and other pickles, such as oysters, apples, and table beer, also silks, satins, and hearthstones, and all kinds of kimistry, including waxdolls, rasors, dutch cloks, and gridirons, and new laid eggs evry day by me Roger Giles. P.S.--I lectures on joggrefy.” Two very quaint, though modern, tradesmen’s signs are now to be seen in the town of Thaxted, one belonging to a sweep, the other to a farrier. The former is situated at the end of the town nearest Dunmow, and consists of a large picture representing a wide, empty street of houses. A chimney belonging to one of these houses is belching forth flame and smoke like a volcano, and a man is just giving the alarm with much shouting and gesticulation. At the opposite end of the town a farrier displays as his sign a device rudely cut out of tin or thin sheet-iron, and representing a horse, held by a boy, and being shod by the man. The affair evidently once formed a weather-cock, and its appearance in its present position gives it a decidedly comical aspect. None of our Essex inns appear to have names quite as jocose as that of a small public-house to be seen on an unusually long, straight, and uninteresting road near the city of York. It is called the SLIP INN, and probably a good many do “slip in” to relieve the weariness of the way. Nor do our inn-keepers seem able to compete with one at Leigh in Lancashire, who merely places over his door the pithy inscription:--“My sign’s in the cellar.”