Porters with heavy burdens, women and men with fish, watercresses, &c.,
you run against every few minutes, and think nothing of. Sometimes you
are knocked down, then again it is their lot to fall; and finding that
the average runs pretty fair for and against the feller and the fallen,
you rest contented on that score--considering the running of the edges
of half a dozen umbrellas into your mouth as so many little ones in. If
you mistake a dimly-lighted shop-front for some turning, and chance to
shove your head through a pane of glass, all you can do is to walk as
quietly on as if nothing were amiss--two strides and you are in safety,
and as far out of sight as if buried in Egyptian darkness; and they are
sure to seize the first unfortunate fellow they can lay hands upon, who
might have been just as likely to have made the mistake as yourself--to
know which is some comfort. That two or three dogs have run full gallop
between your legs, and thrown you down as many times, are accidents too
common to need recording. As for your watch, that of course went before
you had walked one hundred yards: you saw the fellow's arm that dragged
it out of your pocket, and that was all; it was a jerk amid the deep
fog, a rush, in which your nose came against a dead wall, and by the
time you had rubbed the grazed tip a little, you thought that you might
as well hunt for a needle in a bottle of hay, as attempt to follow the
thief in that dusky, woolly, and deceptive light.
With great difficulty, and after many inquiries, you find a tavern; for
you know no more than the man in the moon what part of London you are
in. You enter a dim, cheerless room without a fire, in which the gas
burns faintly, as if unable to pierce the fleecy fog which surrounds it.
You wonder whether the peg on which you hang your hat would bear your
weight; and, as you lay hold of the bell-rope, cannot help trying the
strength of it: the height of the ceiling also catches your eye, and you
marvel that more people do not hang themselves on such a day. The very
poker in the fireless grate has a cold, clammy, and murderous look; and
when the waiter enters, you fancy that he has just been cut down. You
light a cigar, and begin to think a little better of matters, and to
reckon how many glasses of hot brandy-and-water would throw you into a
state of oblivion--that is, leave you dead drunk until the dawning of
another day. These thoughts vanish with a second glass, and you again
venture forth, resolved this time to get into an omnibus, should one be
found bold enough to venture out on such a day. After waiting for some
time, and hailing by mistake half a dozen coal-wagons and carriers'
carts, you perceive an omnibus creeping by at a snail's pace, enter, and
squeeze yourself into a seat behind the door. You cannot see to the top
of it for the fog, so have no fear of your tailor recognising you,
should he happen to be inside--one comfort out of so many evils. While