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are several Hebrew terms in our Cant language, obtained, it would appear, from the intercourse of the thieves with the Jew fences (receivers of stolen goods); many of the Cant terms, again, are Sanscrit, got from the Gipseys; many Latin, got by the beggars from the Catholic prayers before the Reformation; and many, again, Italian, got from the wandering musicians and others; indeed the showmen have but lately introduced a number of Italian phrases into their Cant language.”24 The Hindostanèe also contributes several words, and these have been introduced by the Lascar sailors, who come over here in the East Indiamen, and lodge during their stay in the low tramps’ lodging houses at the East end of London. Speaking of the learned tongues, I may mention that, precarious and abandoned as the vagabond’s existence is, many persons of classical or refined education have from time to time joined the ranks, – occasionally from inclination, as in the popular instance of Bamfylde Moore Carew, but generally through indiscretion, and loss of character.25 This will in some measure account for numerous classical and learned words figuring as Cant terms in the vulgar Dictionary.

      In the early part of the last century, when highwaymen were by all accounts so plentiful, a great many new words were added to the canting vocabulary, whilst several old terms fell into disuse. Cant, for instance, as applied to thieves’ talk, was supplanted by the word FLASH.

      A singular feature, however, in vulgar language, is the retention and the revival of sterling old English words, long since laid up in ancient manuscripts, or the subject of dispute among learned antiquaries. Disraeli somewhere says, “the purest source of neology is in the revival of old words” —

“Words that wise Bacon or brave Rawleigh spake,”

      and Dr. Latham honours our subject by remarking that “the thieves of London are the conservators of Anglo-Saxonisms.” Mayhew, too, in his interesting work, London Labour and London Poor, admits that many Cant and Slang phrases are merely old English terms, which have become obsolete through the caprices of fashion. And the reader who looks into the Dictionary of the vagabonds’ lingo, will see at a glance that these gentlemen were quite correct, and that we are compelled to acknowledge the singular truth that a great many old words, once respectable, and in the mouths of kings and fine ladies, are now only so many signals for shrugs and shudders amongst exceedingly polite people. A Belgravian gentleman who had lost his watch or his pocket-handkerchief, would scarcely remark to his mamma that it had been BONED – yet BONE, in old times, meant to steal amongst high and low. And a young lady living in the precincts of dingy, but aristocratic May-Fair, although enraptured with a Jenny Lind or a Ristori, would hardly think of turning back in the box to inform papa that she, Ristori or Lind, “made no BONES of it” – yet the phrase was most respectable and well-to-do, before it met with a change of circumstances. “A CRACK article,” however first-rate, would, as far as speech is concerned, have greatly displeased Dr. Johnson and Mr. Walker – yet both CRACK, in the sense of excellent, and CRACK UP, to boast or praise, were not considered vulgarisms in the time of Henry VIII. Dodge, a cunning trick, is from the Anglo-Saxon; and ancient nobles used to “get each other’s DANDER UP” before appealing to their swords, – quite FLABERGASTING (also a respectable old word) the half score of lookers-on with the thumps and cuts of their heavy weapons. Gallavanting, waiting upon the ladies, was as polite in expression as in action; whilst a clergyman at Paule’s Crosse, thought nothing of bidding a noisy hearer to “hold his GAB,” or “shut up his GOB.” Gadding, roaming about in an idle and trapesing manner, was used in an old translation of the Bible; and “to do anything GINGERLY” was to do it with great care. Persons of modern tastes will be shocked to know that the great Lord Bacon spoke of the lower part of a man’s face as his GILLS.

      Shakespere, or as the French say, “the divine William,” also used many words which are now counted as dreadfully vulgar. “Clean gone,” in the sense of out of sight, or entirely away; “you took me all A-MORT,” or confounded me; “it won’t FADGE,” or suit, are phrases taken at random from the great dramatist’s works. A London costermonger, or inhabitant of the streets, instead of saying “I’ll make him yield,” or “give in,” in a fight or contest, would say, “I’ll make him BUCKLE under.” Shakespere, in his Henry the Fourth (Part 2, Act i., Scene 1) has the word, and Mr. Halliwell, one of the greatest and most industrious of living antiquaries, informs us, that “the commentators do not supply another example.” How strange, then, that the Bard of Avon, and the Cockney costermongers, should be joint partners and sole proprietors of the vulgarism. If Shakespere was not a pugilist, he certainly anticipated the terms of the prize ring – or they were respectable words before the prize ring was thought of – for he has PAY, to beat or thrash, and PEPPER, with a similar meaning; also FANCY, in the sense of pets and favourites, – pugilists are often termed the FANCY. The cant word PRIG, from the Saxon, priccan, to filch, is also Shakesperian; so indeed is PIECE, a contemptuous term for a young woman. Shakespere was not the only vulgar dramatist of his time. Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Brome, and other play-writers, occasionally put cant words into the mouths of their low characters, or employed old words which have since degenerated into vulgarisms. Crusty, poor tempered; “two of a KIDNEY,” two of a sort; LARK, a piece of fun; LUG, to pull; BUNG, to give or pass; PICKLE, a sad plight; FRUMP, to mock, are a few specimens casually picked from the works of the old histrionic writers.

      One old English mode of canting, simple and effective when familiarised by practice, was the inserting a consonant betwixt each syllable; thus, taking g, “How do you do?” would be “Houg dog youg dog?” The name very properly given to this disagreeable nonsense, we are informed by Grose, was Gibberish.

      Another Cant has recently been attempted by transposing the initial letters of words, so that a mutton chop becomes a cutton mop, a pint of stout a stint of pout; but it is satisfactory to know that it has gained no ground. This is called Marrowskying, or Medical Greek, from its use by medical students at the hospitals. Albert Smith terms it the Gower-street Dialect.

      The Language of Ziph, I may add, is another rude mode of disguising English, in use among the students at Winchester College.

      ACCOUNT OF THE HIEROGLYPHICS USED BY VAGABONDS

One of the most singular chapters in a History of Vagabondism would certainly be an account of the Hieroglyphic signs used by tramps and thieves. The reader may be startled to know that, in addition to a secret language, the wandering tribes of this country have private marks and symbolic signs with which to score their successes, failures, and advice to succeeding beggars; in fact, that the country is really dotted over with beggars’ finger posts and guide stones. The assertion, however strange it may appear, is no fiction. The subject was not long since brought under the attention of the Government by Mr. Rawlinson.26 “There is,” he says in his report, “a sort of blackguards’ literature, and the initiated understand each other by slang [cant] terms, by pantomimic signs, and by HIEROGLYPHICS. The vagrant’s mark may be seen in Havant, on corners of streets, on door posts, and on house steps. Simple as these chalk lines appear, they inform the succeeding vagrants of all they require to know; and a few white scratches may say, ‘be importunate,’ or ‘pass on.’”

      Another very curious account was taken from a provincial newspaper, published in 1849, and forwarded to Notes and Queries,27 under the head of Mendicant Freemasonry. “Persons,” remarks the writer, “indiscreet enough to open their purses to the relief of the beggar tribe, would do well to take a readily learned lesson as to the folly of that misguided benevolence which encourages and perpetuates vagabondism. Every door or passage is pregnant with instruction as to the error committed by the patron of beggars, as the beggar-marks show that a system of freemasonry is followed, by which a beggar knows whether it will be worth his while to call into a passage or knock at a door. Let any one examine the entrances to the passages in any town, and there he will find chalk marks, unintelligible to him, but significant enough to beggars. If a thousand towns are examined, the same marks will be found at every passage entrance. The passage mark is a cypher with a twisted tail: in some cases the tail

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