MEDITATIONS ON A BROOMSTICK. 
179 
besides some halfpence for the immortal “ brooms.” In 
the most squalid wretchedness, confined within the pre¬ 
cincts of Whitechapel and Petticoat Lane, these modest 
broom-merchants took up their abode, to sally forth every 
morning into the genteel squares and by-streets of 
London, having a bobbing courtesy ready the moment 
a face was seen at a window, and a song at the first 
appearance of a child. William Hone published an 
engraving of them in his inimitable “ Year Book,” with 
the following doggrel of his own composition attached 
to the print: — 
“These poor ‘ Buy-a-broom ’ girls exactly dress now 
As Hollar etched such girls two centuries ago; 
All formal and stiff, with legs only at ease, 
Yet, pray judge for yourself; and don’t, if you please, 
Like Matthews’s 4 Chyle,’ in his Monolo-play, 
Cry, 4 The Every-Day Book is quite right , I dare say/ 
But ask for the print at old shops (they’ll show it), 
And look at it 4 with your own eyes,’ and you’ll know it.’* 
We took Hone’s advice, and found they wouldn’t 
cc show it ” at the print shops, and so waited for an 
opportunity to see it at the British Museum, and then 
were satisfied as to the identity hinted at by Hone. 
Was ever dress so comical? The hair skewered into an 
immense tight knob, and covered with a cap too small 
for an infant, and tied under the chin; the body as 
unbending as an oak tree, and apparently encased in 
metal clothing set out in formal flutes, like a large bee¬ 
hive or cone of carpeniery; and the grey legs—oh, 
for Bloomer trousers to hide such! our veritable broom¬ 
stick is more flexible. But they were poor, and suffered 
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