Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 January 1884 — Some Boston Customs Fifty Years Ago. [ARTICLE]

Some Boston Customs Fifty Years Ago.

Forty or fifty years ago when Boston’s streets were silent after,the 9 o’clook bells had ceased ringing, and were deserted at 10 except by tlie few people returning home from the Tremont or Warren theater, those who had retiredio bed were wont to hear a deep melodious cry in the quiet of the night “Oys! oi-i-se! byenny Oise!” “Here’s Oys; buy enny oise-Oys!” This was the cry of the oystenuan, who, with two tin cans swung by a yoke over his shoulders, perambulated the streets cryihg his merchandise. Oyster saloons were few and far between, and the delicious bivalve could not lie obtained, 'at every hotel and case as at' present. - ’ r " : Jk> euftoaUri, jaMytes ’aystefman as he came around at abofit 9 p. m., Imy a quart of his merchandise and have it cooked over the big wood fire in the kitchen, in fragrant stew for an evening feast. , The oysterinan’s cry wa s said once to have awakened a newly arrived countryman at a city hotel, who hearing the stentorian, “Oys! buy any Oys!” shouted out in the street, roused his room-mate with the inquirv of: “What’s that?” “Oh, go to sleep,” was the reply, “it’s nothing but oysters. ” “Gpod gracious!” said the other, “do oystef holler as loud as that?” Old Wilson, the old city crier, was a character. With his huge bell and big voice he cried all the lost children and public meetings, and later on the frnit auctions of John Tyler that took place on India wharf. When his bell Was heard in the quiet, old-fashioned streets of the North end, where then were houses of clean doorsteps," polished brass door-knockers and white-draped windows, it was an event, Women came to the gate from the wash-tub, with sleeves rolled up from their steaming arms; mothers with children in their arms looked out of the front story windows; old ladies with their knittingwork, dragging the ball of yarn behind, came to the front door; the blacksmith with paper cap from around the corner, and bricklayer halting the c inking of his trowel that had broken the stillness jof the,summer air, jdl paused and listened for tho little waif that had been > lest, with a mental resolution to take better scare themselves of their own children. Wilson, like Tyler, the auctioneer, as he grew older had a style of crying pe--cUliarij nis own, and such that but few could understand him. With his bell, in one hand and a huge, pineapple', a sample of a forthcoming fijiit saleunder his as cry a lost child something in this style: (Ring! Bing!) “Child lost! A bo.

’bout or-gl-ul es-rs ojd! Had on er-ging-er-gn-txr-b r-r-dress ’n blue eyes. An um-er-glug-in-er-ong 'n straw hat. Whoever will, mer-um-el-ig in-up-ner-sen nr. Number-ug-en-dr, Hull street er-uz parents—sn-a-bly rewarded I” (Ring).— Boston Commercial Bulletin. 5 .