The Yellow Flag: A Novel. Volume 1 (of 3)Yates, Edmund
General
The Yellow Flag: A Novel. Volume 1 (of 3)
Yates, Edmund
Fiction
In its precincts gravity and decorum have set up their head-quarters;
on many of its door-plates the passers-by may read the names of
distinguished members of the faculty, old in age and high in renown,
pupils of Abernethy and Astley Cooper, who with the first few hundreds
which they could scrape together after their degrees were obtained,
hired, and furnished, as a first step to professional status, the
houses in which they still reside, and in which they have since
inspected so many thousand tongues, and passed the verdict of life or
death upon so many thousand patients. Youth must be resident here and
there in Great Walpole-street, as in other places, but if so, it is
never seen. No nursemaids with heads obstinately turned the other way
drive the pleasant perambulator against the legs of elderly people
airing themselves in the modified sunlight which occasionally visits
the locality; no merry children troop along its pavement; from the
long drawing-room windows, hung with curtains of velvet and muslin,
issues no sound of piano or human voice. Although there is no beadle
to keep inviolate its sanctity, the street-boy as he approaches its
confines stops his shrill whistling, and puts his tip-cat into his
pocket; the "patterers" of the second editions pass it by, conscious
that the rumours of war, or of the assassinations of eminent
personages, will fall flat upon the ears of the inhabitants; while
even the fragmentary announcement, "Elopement--young lady--noble
markis," will fail in extracting the pence from the pockets of the
denizens of the lower regions in this respectable quarter.
It is essentially a carriage neighbourhood, with ranges of mews
branching out of and running parallel to it; and the vehicles are
quite in keeping with the street and with their owners. Besides the
doctors' broughams, high swinging chariots, now scarcely ever seen
save on drawing-room days or in carriage bazaars, with huge
hammercloths and vast emblazoned panels, are there common enough.
Roomy landaus, broad barouches, with fat-horses, the leather of whose
harness is almost invisible beneath the heavy silver plating, coachmen
in curly white bob-wigs, and giant footmen gorgeous in hair-powder;
all these are to be found in Great Walpole-street.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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