s, showmen, all swelled the roar.

"Here's your cakes! All _yontovdik_ (for the festival)! _Yontovdik_--"

"Braces, best braces, all--"

"_Yontovdik_! Only one shilling--"

"It's the Rav's orders, mum; all legs of mutton must be porged or my
license--"

"Cowcumbers! Cowcumbers!"

"Now's your chance--"

"The best trousers, gentlemen. Corst me as sure as I stand--"

"On your own head, you old--"

"_Arbah Kanfus_ (four fringes)! _Arbah_--"

"My old man's been under an operation--"

"Hokey Pokey! _Yontovdik_! Hokey--"

"Get out of the way, can't you--"

"By your life and mine, Betsy--"

"Gord blesh you, mishter, a toisand year shall ye live."

"Eat the best _Motsos_. Only fourpence--"

"The bones must go with, marm. I've cut it as lean as possible."

"_Charoises_ (a sweet mixture). _Charoises! Moroire_ (bitter herb)!
_Chraine_ (horseradish)! _Pesachdik_ (for Passover)."

"Come and have a glass of Old Tom, along o' me, sonny."

"Fine plaice! Here y'are! Hi! where's yer pluck! S'elp me--"

"Bob! _Yontovdik! Yontovdik_! Only a bob!"

"Chuck steak and half a pound of fat."

"A slap in the eye, if you--"

"Gord bless you. Remember me to Jacob."

"_Shaink_ (spare) _meer_ a 'apenny, missis _lieben_, missis _croin_
(dear)--"

"An unnatural death on you, you--"

"Lord! Sal, how you've altered!"

"Ladies, here you are--"

"I give you my word, sir, the fish will be home before you."

"Painted in the best style, for a tanner--"

"A spoonge, mister?"

"I'll cut a slice of this melon for you for--"

"She's dead, poor thing, peace be upon him."

"_Yontovdik_! Three bob for one purse containing--"

"The real live tattooed Hindian, born in the African Harchipellygo. Walk
up."

"This way for the dwarf that will speak, dance, and sing."

"Tree lemons a penny. Tree lemons--"

"A _Shtibbur_ (penny) for a poor blind man--"

"_Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik!_"

And in this last roar, common to so many of the mongers, the whole Babel
would often blend for a moment and be swallowed up, re-emerging anon in
its broken multiplicity.

Everybody Esther knew was in the crowd--she met them all sooner or
later. In Wentworth Street, amid dead cabbage-leaves, and mud, and
refuse, and orts, and offal, stood the woe-begone Meckisch, offering his
puny sponges, and wooing the charitable with grinning grimaces tempered
by epileptic fits at judicious intervals. A few inches off, his wife in
costly s