The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain: The Works of William Carleton, Volume OneCarleton, William
General
The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain: The Works of William Carleton, Volume One
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The weather, for the fortnight preceding, had been genial, mild, and
beautiful. For some time before they reached the city, that gradual
withdrawing of darkness began to take place, which resembles the
disappearance of sorrow from a heavy heart, and harbinges to the world
the return of cheerfulness and light. The dim, spectral paleness of the
eastern sky by degrees received a clearer and healthier tinge, just as
the wan cheek of an invalid assumes slowly, but certainly, the glow of
returning health. Early as it was, an odd individual was visible here
and there, and it may, be observed, that at a very early hour every
person visible in the streets is characterized by a chilly and careworn
appearance, looking, with scarcely an exception, both solitary and sad,
just as if they had not a single friend on earth, but, on the contrary,
were striving to encounter; struggles and difficulties which they were
incompetent to meet.
As our travellers entered the city, that bygone class who, as guardians
of the night, were appointed to preserve the public peace, every one of
them a half felon and whole accomplice, were seen to pace slowly along,
their poles under their left arm, their hands mutually thrust into the
capacious cuffs of their watchcoats, and each with a frowzy woollen
nightcap under his hat. Here and there a staggering toper might be
seen on his way home from the tavern brawl or the midnight debauch,
advancing, or attempting to advance, as if he wanted to trace Hogarth's
line of beauty. From some quarters the wild and reckless shriek of
female profligacy might be heard, the tongue, though loaded with
blasphemies, nearly paralyzed by intoxication. Nor can we close here.
The fashionable carriage made its appearance filled with beauty shorn of
its charms by a more refined dissipation--beauty, no longer beautiful,
returning with pale cheeks, languid eyes, and exhausted frame--after
having breathed a thickened and suffocating atmosphere, calculated to
sap the physical health, if not to disturb the pure elements of moral
feeling, principle, and delicacy, without which woman becomes only an
object of contempt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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