University of Virginia Library

OF THE "SMITHFIELD RACES."

Having set forth the costermonger's usual mode
of conveying his goods through the streets of
London, I shall now give the reader a descrip-
tion of the place and scene where and when he
purchases his donkeys.

When a costermonger wishes to or buy a
donkey, he goes to Smithfield-market on a Fri-
day afternoon. On this day, between the hours
of one and five, there is a kind of fair held,

[Description: 915EAF. Page 028.]

attended solely by costermongers, for whose con-
venience a long paved slip of ground, about eighty
feet in length, has been set apart. The animals
for sale are trotted up and down this — the "race-
course," as it is called — and on each side of it
stand the spectators and purchasers, crowding
among the stalls of peas-soup, hot eels, and other
street delicacies.

Every thing necessary for the starting of a
costermonger's barrow can be had in Smithfield
on a Friday, — from the barrow itself to the
weights — from the donkey to the whip. The
animals can be purchased at prices ranging from
5s. to 3l. On a brisk market-day as many as
two hundred donkeys have been sold. The bar-
rows for sale are kept apart from the steeds, but
harness to any amount can be found everywhere,
in all degrees of excellence, from the bright
japanned cart saddle with its new red pads, to
the old mouldy trace covered with buckle marks.
Wheels of every size and colour, and springs in
every stage of rust, are hawked about on all
sides. To the usual noise and shouting of a
Saturday night's market is added the shrill
squealing of distant pigs, the lowing of the
passing oxen, the bleating of sheep, and the
braying of donkeys. The paved road all down
the "race-course" is level and soft, with the
mud trodden down between the stones. The
policeman on duty there wears huge fishermen's
or flushermen's boots, reaching to their thighs;
and the trouser ends of the costers' corduroys
are black and sodden with wet dirt. Every
variety of odour fills the air; you pass from
the stable smell that hangs about the donkeys,
into an atmosphere of apples and fried fish, near
the eating-stalls, while a few paces further on
you are nearly choked with the stench of goats.
The crowd of black hats, thickly dotted with red
and yellow plush caps, reels about; and the
"hi-hi-i-i" of the donkey-runners sounds on all
sides. Sometimes a curly-headed bull, with a
fierce red eye, on its way to or from the adjacent
cattle-market, comes trotting down the road,
making all the visitors rush suddenly to the
railings, for fear — as a coster near me said — of
"being taught the hornpipe."

The donkeys standing for sale are ranged in
a long line on both sides of the "race-course,"
their white velvetty noses resting on the wooden
rail they are tied to. Many of them wear
their blinkers and head harness, and others are
ornamented with ribbons, fastened in their hal-
ters. The lookers-on lean against this railing,
and chat with the boys at the donkeys' heads,
or with the men who stand behind them,
and keep continually hitting and shouting at
the poor still beasts to make them prance.
Sometimes a party of two or three will be seen
closely examining one of these "Jerusalem
ponys," passing their hands down its legs, or
looking quietly on, while the proprietor's ash
stick descends on the patient brute's back,
making a dull hollow sound. As you walk in
front of the long line of donkeys, the lads seize
the animals by their nostrils, and show their
large teeth, asking if you "want a hass, sir,"
and all warranting the creature to be "five
years old next buff-day." Dealers are quarrel-
ling among themselves, downcrying each other's
goods. "A hearty man," shouted one proprietor,
pointing to his rival's stock, "could eat three
sich donkeys as yourn at a meal."

One fellow, standing behind his steed, shouts
as he strikes, "Here's the real Brittannia
mettle;" whilst another asks, "Who's for the
Pride of the Market?" and then proceeds to flip
"the pride" with his whip, till she clears away
the mob with her kickings. Here, standing by
its mother, will be a shaggy little colt, with a
group of ragged boys fondling it, and lifting it
in their arms from the ground.

During all this the shouts of the drivers and
runners fill the air, as they rush past each
other n the race-course. Now a tall fellow,
dragging a donkey after him, runs by crying,
as he charges in amongst the mob, "Hulloa!
Hulloa! hi! hi!' his mate, with his long coat-
tails flying in the wind, hurrying after and roar-
ing, between his blows, "Keem-up!"

On nearly every post are hung traces or
bridles; and in one place, on the occasion of my
visit, stood an old collar with a donkey nibbling
at the straw that had burst out. Some of the
lads, in smock-frocks, walk about with cart-
saddles on their heads, and crowds gather
round the trucks, piled up with a black heap
of harness studded with brass. Those without
trays have spread out old sacks on the ground,
on which are laid axle-trees, bound-up springs,
and battered carriage-lamps. There are plenty
of rusty nails and iron bolts to be had, if a
barrow should want mending; and if the handles
are broken, an old cab-shaft can be bought
cheap, to repair them.

In another "race-course," opposite to the
donkeys, — the ponies are sold. These make a
curious collection, each one showing what was
his last master's whim. One has its legs and
belly shorn of its hair, another has its mane
and tail cut close, and some have switch tails,
muddy at the end from their length. A big-
hipped black nag, with red tinsel-like spots on
its back, had its ears cut close, and another
curly-haired brute that was wet and steaming
with having been shown off, had two huge
letters burnt into its hind-quarters. Here the
clattering of the hoofs and the smacking of
whips added to the din; and one poor brute,
with red empty eye-holes, and carrying its head
high up — as a blind man does — sent out show-
ers of sparks from its hoofs as it spluttered over
the stones, at each blow it received. Occasion-
ally, in one part of the pony market, there may
be seen a crowd gathered round a nag, that
some one swears has been stolen from him.

Raised up over the heads of the mob are
bundles of whips, and men push their way past,
with their arms full of yellow-handled curry-
combs; whilst, amongst other cries, is heard that
of "Sticks ½d. each! sticks — real smarters."
At one end of the market the barrows for sale

[Description: 915EAF. Page 029.]

are kept piled up one on another, or filled
with old wheels, and some with white un-
painted wood, showing where they have been
repaired. Men are here seen thumping the
wooden trays, and trying the strength of the
springs by leaning on them; and here, too,
stood, on the occasion of my visit, a ragged
coster lad trying to sell his scales, now the
cherry-season had past.

On all sides the refreshment-barrows are sur-
rounded by customers. The whelk-man peppers
his lots, and shouts, "A lumping penn'orth for a
ha'penny;" and a lad in a smock-frock carries
two full pails of milk, slopping it as he walks, and
crying, "Ha'penny a mug-full, new milk from
the ke-ow!" The only quiet people to be seen
are round the peas-soup stall, with their cups in
their hands; and there is a huge crowd cover-
ing in the hot-eel stand, with the steam rising
up in the centre. Baskets of sliced cake, apples,
nuts, and pine-apple rock, block up the path-
way; and long wicker baskets of live fowls hem
you in, round which are grouped the costers,
handling and blowing apart the feathers on the
breast.