I remember, myself, a particular crier of flounders in London, who arrived at so much fame for the loudness of his voice, that he had the honour to be mentioned upon that account, in a comedy.  He hath disturbed me many a morning, before he came within fifty doors of my lodging.  And although I were not in those days so fully apprized of the designs, which our common enemy had then in agitation, yet, I know not how, by a secret impulse, young as I was, I could not forbear conceiving a strong dislike against the fellow; and often said to myself, “This cry seems to be forged in the Jesuits’ school.  Alas, poor England!  I am grievously mistaken if there be not some Popish Plot at the bottom.”  I communicated my thoughts to an intimate friend, who reproached me with being too visionary in my speculations:  But, it proved afterwards, that I conjectured right.  And I have often since reflected, that if the wicked faction could have procured only a thousand men, of as strong lungs as the fellow I mentioned, none can tell how terrible the consequences might have been, not only to these two Kingdoms, but over all Europe, by selling Flanders to France.  And yet these cries continue unpunished, both in London and Dublin, although I confess, not with equal vehemency or loudness, because the reason for contriving this desperate plot, is, to our great felicity, wholly ceased.

It is well known, that the majority of the British House of Commons in the last years of Queen Anne’s reign, were in their hearts directly opposite to the Earl of Oxford’s pernicious measures; which put him under the necessity of bribing them with salaries.  Whereupon he had again recourse to his old politics.  And accordingly, his emissaries were very busy in employing certain artful women of no good life or conversation, (as it was fully proved before Justice Peyton) to cry that vegetable commonly called celery, through the town.  These women differed from the common criers of that herb, by some private mark which I could never learn; but the matter was notorious enough, and sufficiently talked of, and about the same period was the cry of celery brought over into this kingdom.  But since there is not at this present, the least occasion to suspect the loyalty of our criers upon that article, I am content that it may still be tolerated.

I shall mention but one cry more, which hath any reference to politics; but is indeed, of all others the most insolent, as well as treasonable, under our present happy Establishment.  I mean that of turnups; not of turnips, according to the best orthography, but absolutely turnups.  Although this cry be of an older date than some of the preceding enormities, for it began soon after the Revolution; yet was it never known to arrive at so great a height, as during the Earl of Oxford’s power.  Some people, (whom I take to be private enemies) are, indeed, as ready as myself to profess their disapprobation of this cry, on pretence that it began by the contrivance of certain old procuresses, who kept houses of ill-fame, where lewd women met to draw young men into vice.  And this they pretend to prove by some words in the cry; because, after the crier had bawled out, “Turnups, ho, buy my dainty turnups,” he would sometimes add the two following verses:—­