THIS TIME, the city really seems serious. It wants to squeeze Baltimore's beloved a-rabs out of existence, banishing the vendors' colorful horse-drawn carts and silencing their nearly undecipherable sales-pitch yells for local produce, like "Annarannall loopes" (Anne Arundel cantaloupes).

And how would this 2-centuries-old merchandising tradition be killed? By a committee, of course. Indeed, a city-appointed panel is perfecting a regulatory strangulation of this expression of inner-city entrepreneurship.

If the committee's wishes come true, a-rab horses will be banned from Baltimore streets any time the temperature rises above 90 degrees -- which happened 47 times this year. In cold weather, the horses would have to be back at stables whenever the temperature dips to 32 degrees or below, which would play havoc with a-rabs' trade in winter conditions.

The authorities have been on the a-rabs' case since the mid-1960s. Early crackdowns were driven by commendable concern for horses' well-being. Unsafe and unsanitary stables were razed, and owners were punished for mistreating animals.

But in early 1994, the campaign's tone changed. "I think it makes sense to gradually phase out the a-rab horses," declared Dr. Peter L. Beilenson, the city's health commissioner. "As we all know, horses may not be best kept in cities like Baltimore."

That same year, the Arabber Preservation Society was formed. It moved to repair stables and to encourage aspiring blacksmiths to get into shoeing horses.

About 30 a-rabs, mostly part-timers, remain in business as relics of a once-important itinerant sales force.

Before the advent of motor vehicles, a-rabs were a crucial link in the chain of food distribution. Depending on season, they took produce, vegetables, fruits, oysters or crabs from wholesalers to the neighborhoods, advertising their offerings with staccato yells.

West Baltimore's Sandtown-Winchester, in particular, was known for its many a-rab families.

Handy Janey operated a dozen or so teams out of his stable. But when it was time for his son to choose a vocation in the 1960s, he opted for law school and became a leading jurist.

Another a-rab son, Roland L. Freeman, became a photographer. In the 1980s, he won national recognition as a chronicler of the declining way of life.

So many local traditions have vanished in recent decades that much of old Baltimore's flavor has been lost. If the city succeeds in its shortsighted efforts and forces the a-rabs out of business, what will be the next Charm City charm to be outlawed? The proud mounted police unit?