Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
But when the cruel black night had set regularly in, a dim sleek soft
drizzle began to fall, and all hopes or fears of frost were at an end.
Slowly and gently it came down, wrapping the streets as with a damp
pall; stealing quietly in under umbrellas; eating its way through the
thickest broadcloth, matting the hair and hanging in dank, unwholesome
beads on the beards of all unlucky enough to be exposed to it. It
meant mischief, this drizzle, and it carried out its intention.
Omnibus-drivers and cabmen knew it at once from long experience, donned
their heavy tarpaulin-capes, and made up their minds for the worst.
The professional beggars knew it too. The pavement-chalking tramp, who
had selected a tolerably dry spot under the lee of a wall, no sooner
felt its first damp breath than he blew out his paper-lantern, put the
candle into his pocket, stamped out as much of the mackerel and the
ship at sea as he had already stencilled, and made off. The man in
the exemplary shirt-collar and apron, who had planted himself before
the chemist's window to procure an extra death-tinge from the light
reflected from the blue bottle, packed up his linen and decamped,
fearing lest his stock-in-trade--his virtue and his lucifers--might be
injured by damp. The brass bands which had been playing outside the
public-houses shouldered their instruments and went inside; the vendors
of secondhand books covered their openly-displayed stock with strips of
baize and dismissed their watchful boys, conscious that no petty thief
would risk the weather for so small a prey. The hot-potato men blew
fiercer jets of steam out of their tin kitchens, as though calling on
the public to defy dull care and comfort themselves with an antidote to
the general wretchedness; and the policemen stamped solemnly and slowly
round their beats, as men impressed with the full knowledge that, as
there was not the remotest chance of their being relieved from their
miserable fate until the morning, they might as well bear themselves
with as much dignity as possible under the circumstances.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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