The True History of a Little Ragamuffin

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I was born at Number Nineteen, Fryingpan Alley, Turnmill Street, in the Parish of Clerkenwell.

It is scarcely probable that the reader is acquainted with the locality in question, and even less probable, if he undertook a journey of exploration in search of it, that any great amount of success would attend his labours. This especially, if he addressed himself to the individual best qualified to give him the required information. This would be. the Clerkenwell costermonger. He may have resided within ear-shot of Clerkenwell Church bells all his life; nay, he may be a lodger in Turk’s Head Alley, which is not more than twenty paces from my alley, and still he will shake his head ignorantly in reply to your question. Fryingpan Alley, Turnmill Street! He never heard tell of it. He knows all the courts and alleys thereabout. There’s Rose Alley, and Lamb and Flag Court, and Crozier’s Alley, and Fringpun Alley. The last-mentioned comes closest to what you are inquiring after; but that can’t be the one, because it is in Tummel Street. Even though he had a suspicion that your “Fryingpan” and his “Fringpun,” and his “Tummel” and your “Turnmill” were identical, it is very doubtful if you would gain advantage, your use of the full and proper terms being regarded by him as priggish affectation; and against all such it is the costermonger’s creed to set his countenance.

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