Ryle, and the business was carried on under the t.i.tle and style of Paul & Co. In 1845 the partnership was dissolved, Mr. Paul receiving 800 in settlement. He then entered into the public line, taking the Spencer's Arms, at the corner of Monmouth-court. A son that was born to him in 1847, he had christened James Catnach Paul. About this date "The Catnach Press"

had a formidable rival in "The Na.s.sau Steam Press," which was originally started in Na.s.sau Street, Soho, and afterwards removed to No. 60, St.

Martin's Lane. Mr. Paul was especially engaged to manage the song department at this office. He died in the year 1870, just six weeks after Mrs. Ryle, and lies buried in the next grave but one to Catnach and his sister, in Highgate Cemetery.

After Mr. Paul had left the business it was carried on as A. Ryle & Co., and ultimately became the property of Mr. W. S. Fortey, who still carries on the old business in the same premises. A copy of whose trade announcement runs thus:--

"THE CATNACH PRESS." (Established 1813.)

"William S. Fortey, (late A. Ryle, successor to the late J. Catnach,) Printer, Publisher, and Wholesale Stationer, 2 and 3, Monmouth-court, Seven Dials, London, W.C."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR JEFFERY DUNSTAN, _Late Mayor of Garratt, and Itinerant Dealer in Wigs_.]

Sir Jeffery Dunstan--thrice Mayor of Garratt! was the most popular candidate that ever appeared on the Hustings at that very Free and Independent Borough! His occupation was that of buying old wigs, once an article of trade like that of old clothes. Sir Jeffery usually carried his wig bag over his shoulder, and to avoid the charge of vagrancy, vociferated, as he pa.s.sed along the street, "Old Wigs," but having a person like aesop, and a countenance and manner marked by irresistible humour, he never appeared without a train of boys and curious persons, whom he entertained by his sallies of wit, shrewd sayings, and smart repartees; and from whom, without begging, he collected sufficient to help to maintain his dignity of Mayor and Knight.

From the earliest period of Sir Jeffery's life, he was a friend to "good measures," especially those for "spirituous liquors," and he never saw the inside of a pot without going to the bottom of it. This determination of character created difficulties to him; for his freedom was not always regulated by the doctrines of _meum et tuum_, or, of the great Blackstone, "on the rights of persons," and consequences ensued that were occasionally injurious to Sir Jeffery's eyes, face, and nose. The same enlightened Judge's views of "the rights of property," were not comprehended by Sir Jeffery, he had long made free with the porter of manifold pots, and at length he made free with a few of the pots--which the publicans in London seemed to show in the streets as much as to say "Come and steal me." For this he was "questioned" in the high Commission Court of oyer and terminer, and suffered an imprisonment, which, according to his manner of life, and his notions of the liberty of the subject, was "frivolous and vexatious." On his liberation, he returned to an occupation he had long followed, the dealing in "Old Wigs." Some other circ.u.mstances, developed in course of the preceding inquiry, seem to favour a supposition that the bag he carried had enabled him to conceal his previous "free trade" in pewter pots. But, be that as it might, it is certain that in his armorial bearings of four wigs, he added a quart pot for a crest.

Sir Jeffery was remarkably dirty in his person, and always had his shirt thrown open, which exposed his breast to public view. This was in him a sort of pride; for he would frequently in an exulting manner say to _inferiors_ "I've got a _collar_ to my shirt, sir." He had a filthy habit, when he saw a number of girls around him, of spitting in their faces, saying, "There, go about your business."

Sir Jeffery, in the days of his prosperity, took his "Hodges' best," at the "Blind Beggar of Bethnal-green," or the "Horse and Leaping Bar,"

High-street, Whitechapel, at one or other of these favourite retreats, he got in a regular manner "regularly drunk." Then it was that he sung in his best style various popular "London Cries," mimicking others in their crying, especially one who vended "_Lily, lily, lily, lily white--sand oh!

oh!! oh!!!_" this afforded sport to a merry company. Afterwards, should Sir Jeffery receive sufficient metalic support from his friends, he was placed in an arm chair on the table, when he recited to the students of the London Hospital and the Bucks of the East, his mock-election speeches.

He was no respecter of persons, and was so severe in his jokes on the corruptions and compromises of power, that he was prosecuted for using what were then called seditious expressions. In consequence of this affair, and some few charges of dishonesty, he lost his popularity, and, at the next general election was ousted by Sir Harry Dimsdale, m.u.f.fin-seller, a man as much deformed as himself. Sir Jeffery could not long survive his fall, but, in death as in life, he proved a satire on the vices of the proud, for he died, like Alexander the Great, the sailor in Lord Byron's "Don Juan," and many other heroes renowned in history--of suffocation from excessive drinking!.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR HARRY DIMSDALE, M.P., FOR GARRATT, COSMOPOLITE AND m.u.f.fIN-SELLER.

"Those evening bells! those evening bells!

How many a tale their music tells!

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime."]

"m.u.f.fins, oh! Crumpets, oh," rank among the old cries of London, and at least one of the calling has been made famous, namely, Harry Dimsdale, sometime Mayor of Garratt, who, from the moment he stood as candidate, received mock knighthood, and was ever after known under the appellation of "Sir Harry." This half-witted character was a dealer in tin-ware--together with threads, tapes and bootlaces, during the morning, and a m.u.f.fin-seller in the afternoon, when he had a little bell, which he held to his ear, and smiling ironically at its tinkling he would cry:--"_m.u.f.fins! m.u.f.fins! ladies come buy me! pretty, handsome, blooming, smiling maids!_"

Mr. J. T. Smith, in his ever-charming work of "A Book for a Rainy Day; or, Recollections of the Events of the Years 1766-1833," writing under date 1787, gives the following graphic sketch of the sayings and doings--taken from life, of "Sir Harry."

"One of the curious scenes I witnessed on a nocturnal visit to the watch house of St. Anne, Soho, afforded me no small amus.e.m.e.nt. Sir Harry Dinsdale, usually called Dimsdale, a short, feeble little man, was brought in, charged by two colossal guardians of the night with conduct most unruly. 'What have you, Sir Harry, to say to all this?' asked the Dogberry of St. Anne. The knight, who had been roughly handled, commenced like a true orator, in a low tone of voice. 'May it please ye, my magistrate, I am not drunk; it is _languor_. A parcel of the Bloods of the Garden have treated me cruelly, because I would not treat them. This day, sir, I was sent for by Mr. Sheridan, to make a speech upon the table at the Shakespeare Tavern, in _Common_ Garden; he wrote the speech for me, and always gives half a guinea; he sends for me to the tavern. You see I didn't go in my Royal robes, I only put 'um on when I stand to be a member.' The constable--'Well, but Sir Harry, why are you brought here?'

One of the watchmen then observed, 'That though Sir Harry was but a little _shambling_ fellow, he was so _upstroppolus_, and kicked him about at such a rate, that it was as much as he and his comrade could do to bring him along.' As there was no one to support the charge, Sir Harry was advised to go home, which, however, he swore he would not do at midnight without an escort. 'Do you know,' said he, 'there's a parcel of _raps_ now on the outside waiting for me.'

"The constable of the night gave orders for him to be protected to the public-house opposite the west end of St. Giles's Church, where he then lodged. Sir Harry, hearing a noise in the street, muttered, 'I shall catch it; I know I shall.' (_Cries without_,) 'See the conquering hero comes.'

'Ay, they always use that tune when I gain my election at Garratt.'

"There are several portraits of this singular little object, by some called 'Honey-juice.' Flaxman, the sculptor, and Mrs. Mathews, of blue-stocking memory, equipped him as a hardware man, and as such I made two etchings of him."

THE m.u.f.fIN MAN.

(_T. Dibden._)

While you opera-squallers fine verses are singing, Of heroes, and poets, and such like humguffins; While the world's running round, like a mill in a sail, I'll ne'er bother my head with what other folks ail, But careless and frisky, my bell I keep ringing, And walk about merrily crying my m.u.f.fins.

CHORUS.

Lily-white m.u.f.fins, O, rare crumpets smoking, Hot Yorkshire cakes, hot loaves and charming cakes, _One-a-penny, two-a-penny, Yorkshire cakes_.

What matters to me if great folks run a gadding, For politics, fashions, or such botheration; Let them drink as they brew, while I merrily bake; For though I sell m.u.f.fins, I'm not such a cake-- To let other fools' fancies e'er set me a gadding, Or burthen my thoughts with the cares of the nation.

SPOKEN.--What have I to do with politicians? And for your _Parliament cakes_. Why! everybody knows they are _bought_ and _sold_, and often _done brown_, and made _crusty_ all over the nation. No, no, its enough for me to cry--

Lily-white m.u.f.fins, &c.

Let soldiers and sailors, contending for glory, Delight in the rattle of drums and of trumpets; Undertakers get living by other folks dying, While actors make money by laughing or crying; Let lawyers with quizzels and quiddities bore ye, It's nothing to me, while I'm crying my crumpets.

SPOKEN.--What do I care for lawyers? A'nt I a baker, and consequently, Master of the Rolls:--Droll enough, too, for a Master of the Rolls to be crying--

Lily-white m.u.f.fins, &c.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE m.u.f.fIN MAN.

"m.u.f.fins, oh! crumpets, oh!

Come buy, come buy of me.

m.u.f.fins and crumpets, m.u.f.fins, For breakfast or for tea."]

The ringing of the m.u.f.fin-man's bell--attached to which the pleasant a.s.sociations are not a few--is prohibited by a ponderous Act of Parliament, but the prohibition has been all but inoperative, for the m.u.f.fin bell still tinkles along the streets, and is rung vigorously in the suburbs, and just at the time when City gents, at winter's eve, are comfortably enveloped in fancy-patterned dressing gowns, prettily-worked smoking-caps, and easy-going and highly-coloured slippers, and saying within themselves or aloud:--

"Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in."

"Hot Cross Buns!" Perhaps no "cry"--though it is only for one day in the year, is more familiar to the ears of a Londoner, than that of "_One-a-penny, two-a-penny, hot cross-buns_." We lie awake early upon Good Friday morning and listen to the London bells:--

"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's Pancakes and fritters, say the bells of St. Peter's, Two sticks and an apple, say the bells of Whitechapel.

Kettles and pans, say the bells of St. Ann's.

Pokers and tongs, say the bells of St. John's Brickbats and tiles, say the bells of St. Giles'

Halfpence and farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.

Bull's eyes and targets, say the bells of St. Marg'rets."

And all the other London bells having rung--or, rather _toll'd_ out their own tale of joy or trouble: then comes--rattling over the stones--W. H.

SMITH'S well-known red EXPRESS-CARTS laden with the early printed newspapers of the coming day, while all night long the carts and waggons come rumbling in from the country to Covent-garden, and not the least pleasant sound--pleasant for its old recollections--is the time-honoured old cry of "Hot Cross-Buns." Century after century pa.s.ses by, and those who busily drove their carts day after day from Isleworth, Romford, Enfield, Battersea, Blackheath, or Richmond, one hundred years ago, are as still and silent as if they had never been; yet still, Pa.s.sion week after Pa.s.sion week, comes that old cry, n.o.body knows how old, "Hot Cross Buns, Hot Cross Buns." And as we lie in a half dreamy state we hear and think of the chimes of St. Clement Danes, which may still be heard, as Fallstaff describes, having heard them with Justice Shallow; also, how Pope, as he lay in Holywell-street--now Bookseller's-row; and Addison and Johnson; and, before their time, Waller, at the house of his old friend the merchant of St. Giles's; and the goodly company of poets that lived at the cost of the king, near Whitehall; then of the quaint old gossiping diarist, Samuel Pepys, Secretary of the Admiralty; John Taylor, the _Water-Poet_; even Shakespeare himself, having each in their turn been awakened on the Good Friday morning by the same sound ringing in their ears. For this is a custom which can hardly be traced to a beginning: and all we know about it is, that as far as we can go back, the Good Friday was ushered in by the old Good Friday bun; and that the baker in the towns, and the old good wife in the country, would have thought the day but badly kept, and augured badly for the coming summer's luck, without it.

But between the cakes of Cecrops and the modern Hot Cross Bun there is a wide gulf of 3,400 years; and yet the one may be traced up to the other.

There are some, indeed, who would wish to give to the Good Friday Hot Cross Bun a still longer pedigree, and to take it back to the time of the Patriarchs and their consecrated bread; and there are others who would go yet further, and trace it to the earliest age of the world, in a portion of Cain's sacrifice. We may, however, content ourselves with stopping short at the era of the Egyptian Cecrops, founder of Athens, who made his sweet cakes of flour and honey. Such cakes as these, as we learn from the prophet Jeremiah, were offered by the idolatrous Hebrew women to "the Queen of Heaven,"

"Ashtoreth, whom the Phoenicians called Astarte, Queen of Heaven, with cresent horns."

Some can even discern Astarte in our "Easter." The Jews of old had the shew-bread and the wafer of unleavened bread; and the Egyptians, under the Pharaohs, had also their cakes, round, oval, and triangular. The Persians had their sacred cakes of flour and honey; and Herodotus speaks of similar cakes being offered by the Athenians to a sacred serpent in the temple of their citadel. And, not to mention other nations, the circ.u.mstance that accompanied the outbreak of the Indian Mutiny, 1857, will make memorable the "chupatties" or sacred cakes of Khrishna.

The cakes that were offered to Luna by the Greeks and Romans were either crescent-shaped, or were marked with the crescent moon; and this stamp must have been very similar to that impressed on the cakes offered by the Hebrew women to the Queen of Heaven. This mark also resembles that representing the horns of the sacred ox which was stamped on the Grecian cakes; and the ox was _bous_, and, in one of its oblique cases, _boun_, so we derive from that word _boun_ our familiar "bun." There were not only horn-marked cakes, but horn-marked pieces of money; so that it is very difficult to ascertain the true meaning of that pa.s.sage in the opening of the "Agamemnon" of aeschylus, where the watchman says that a great _bous_ has come, or set foot, upon his tongue. Although it might mean that something as weighty as an ox's hoof had weighed down his tongue, yet it more probably signifies either that he was bribed to silence with a piece of money marked with the ox's horns, or that the partaking of a sacred horn-marked cake had initiated him into a certain secret. Curiously enough, in the _argot_ of thieves, at the present day, a crown piece is termed "a bull;" and it may also be noted that _pecunia_, "money," is derived from _pecus_, "cattle;" and "bull" is derived from _bous_, and also "cow" from the same word, through the Sanscrit _gou_, the _b_ and _g_ being convertible.

Thus, originally, the _boun_ or bun was the cake marked with the horns of the sacred ox. The cross mark was first adopted by the Greeks and Romans to facilitate the division of the cake into four equal parts; and two such cross-marked cakes were found in the ruins of Herculaneum. These cakes were adopted by the early Christians in a spirit of symbolism; but, although the cross was marked on the cake in token of the badge of their faith, yet it was also used by the priest for the breaking of the cake, or Eucharistic wafer, into four pieces; and this was so ordered in the Liturgy of St. Chrysostom. The cross-marked buns are now, for popular use, reserved for Good Friday, and, as Lenten cakes, are peculiar to this country. Among the Syrian Christians of Travancore and Cochin, who trace their descent from those who were converted by St. Thomas on his (supposed) visit to India, a peculiar cake is made for "Sorrowful Friday"--as they term Good Friday. The cake is stuffed with sweetmeats in the form of an eye, to represent the evil eye of Judas, coveting the thirty pieces of silver; and the cake is flung at with sticks by the members of the family until the eye is quite put out; they then share the remains of the cake among them.

In the days before the Reformation, _eulogiae_, or cross-marked consecrated cakes, were made from the dough of the ma.s.s-bread, and distributed by the priests to be eaten at home by those who had been prevented by sickness or infirmity from attending the ma.s.s. After the Reformation, Protestants would readily retain the custom of eating in their houses a cross marked cake, although no longer connecting it with a sacred rite, but restricting its use to that one day of the year known as "Holy Friday," or "Long Friday"--from the length of the service on that day--but which gradually came to be called, by the Anglican Church, "Good Friday," in remembrance of the good things secured to mankind on that day. The presence upon the breakfast-table of the cross marked bun, flavoured with allspice, in token of the spices that were prepared by the pious women of Galilee, was, therefore, regarded in the light of a remembrancer of the solemnities of the day. The buns were made on the previous evening, Maundy Thursday so called, either from the "maunds," or baskets, in which Easter gifts were distributed, or, more probably, because it was the _Dies mandati_, the day of the command, "That thou doest, do quickly!" as also, "Do this in remembrance of Me!" and that the disciples should love one another and should show humility in the washing of feet.

As Chelsea was long famous for its buns--which are mentioned by Swift to Stella, in 1712--it was not to be wondered at that it should be celebrated for its production of hot cross buns on Good Friday. Early in the present century there were two bun-houses at Chelsea, both claiming to be "Royal"