Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
It was between nine and ten oclock on a January night, and the London
streets were in a state of slush. During the previous night snow had
fallen heavily, and the respectable portion of the community, which,
according to regular custom, had retired to bed at eleven oclock,
had been astonished, on peering out from behind a corner of the
window-curtain when they arose, to find the roads and the neighbouring
housetops covered with a thick white incrustation. The pavements
were already showing dank dabs of footmarks, which even the snow
then falling failed to fill up; and the roadway speedily lost its
winter-garment and became sticky with congealed mud. Then the snow
ceased, and a sickly straggling bit of winter-sunlight, a mere parody
on the real thing, half light and half warmth, came lurking out between
the dun clouds; and under its influence the black-specked covering of
the roofs melted, and the water-pipes ran with cold black liquid filth.
The pavement had given it up long ago, and resumed its normal winter
state of sticky slippery grease--grease which clung to the boots and
roused the wildest rage of foot-passengers by causing them to slip
backward when they wanted to make progress, and which accumulated
in the direst manner on the landing-places and street corners,--the
first bits of refuge after the perils of the crossing,--where it
heaped itself in aggravating lumps and shiny rings under the heels of
foot passengers just arrived, having been shaken and stamped off the
soles of passengers who had just preceded them. So it had continued
all day; but towards the afternoon the air had grown colder, and a
whisper had run round that it froze again. Cutlers who had been gazing
with a melancholy air on the placards "Skates" in their window, and
had determined on removing them, as a bad joke against themselves,
decided on letting them remain. Boys who had been delighted in the
morning at the sight of the snow, and proportionately chopfallen
towards middle-day at the sight of the thaw, had plucked up again and
seen visions of snowballing matches, slides on the gutters, and, most
delicious of all, omnibus-horses both down at once on the slippery
road. Homeward-bound City-clerks, their day's work over, shivered in
the omnibuses, and told each other how they were afraid it had come at
last, and reminded each other of what the newspapers had said about
the flocks of wild-geese and other signs of a hard winter, and moaned
lugubriously about the advanced price of coals and the difficulties of
locomotion certain to be consequent on the frost.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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