Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day PeopleDickens, Charles
General
Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day People
Dickens, Charles
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century; London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after all,’ resumed
Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look and flash air, with which he
had repeated the previous anecdote—‘and I’m sorry to say, it’s the side
one sees very, very seldom, in comparison with the dark one. The
civility which money will purchase, is rarely extended to those who
have none; and there’s a consolation even in being able to patch up one
difficulty, to make way for another, to which very poor people are
strangers. I was once put into a house down George’s-yard—that little
dirty court at the back of the gas-works; and I never shall forget the
misery of them people, dear me! It was a distress for half a year’s
rent—two pound ten, I think. There was only two rooms in the house, and
as there was no passage, the lodgers up-stairs always went through the
room of the people of the house, as they passed in and out; and every
time they did so—which, on the average, was about four times every
quarter of an hour—they blowed up quite frightful: for their things had
been seized too, and included in the inventory. There was a little
piece of enclosed dust in front of the house, with a cinder-path
leading up to the door, and an open rain-water butt on one side. A
dirty striped curtain, on a very slack string, hung in the window, and
a little triangular bit of broken looking-glass rested on the sill
inside. I suppose it was meant for the people’s use, but their
appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, that I’m certain they
never could have plucked up courage to look themselves in the face a
second time, if they survived the fright of doing so once. There was
two or three chairs, that might have been worth, in their best days,
from eightpence to a shilling a-piece; a small deal table, an old
corner cupboard with nothing in it, and one of those bedsteads which
turn up half way, and leave the bottom legs sticking out for you to
knock your head against, or hang your hat upon; no bed, no bedding.
There was an old sack, by way of rug, before the fireplace, and four or
five children were grovelling about, among the sand on the floor. The
execution was only put in, to get ’em out of the house, for there was
nothing to take to pay the expenses; and here I stopped for three days,
though that was a mere form too: for, in course, I knew, and we all
knew, they could never pay the money. In one of the chairs, by the side
of the place where the fire ought to have been, was an old ’ooman—the
ugliest and dirtiest I ever see—who sat rocking herself backwards and
forwards, backwards and forwards, without once stopping, except for an
instant now and then, to clasp together the withered hands which, with
these exceptions, she kept constantly rubbing upon her knees, just
raising and depressing her fingers convulsively, in time to the rocking
of the chair. On the other side sat the mother with an infant in her
arms, which cried till it cried itself to sleep, and when it ’woke,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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