Dicken's works . reets of Lon^don an hour before sunrise, on a summers morning,is most striking even to the few whose unfortunatepursuits of pleasure, or scarcely less unfortunatepursuits of business, cause them to be well ac-quainted with the scene. There is an air of cold,solitary desolation about the noiseless streets whichwe are accustomed to see thronged at other timesby a busy, eager crowd, and over the quiet, closely-shut buildings, which throughout the day are swarm-ing with life and bustle, that is very impressive. The last drunken man, who shall find his wayhome before sunlight, has
Dicken's works . reets of Lon^don an hour before sunrise, on a summers morning,is most striking even to the few whose unfortunatepursuits of pleasure, or scarcely less unfortunatepursuits of business, cause them to be well ac-quainted with the scene. There is an air of cold,solitary desolation about the noiseless streets whichwe are accustomed to see thronged at other timesby a busy, eager crowd, and over the quiet, closely-shut buildings, which throughout the day are swarm-ing with life and bustle, that is very impressive. The last drunken man, who shall find his wayhome before sunlight, has just staggered heavilyalong, roaring out the burden of the drinking songof the previous night: the last houseless vagrantwhom penury and police have left in the streets,has coiled up his chilly limbs in some paved corner,to dream of food and warmth. The drunken, thedissipated, and the wretched have disappeared; themore sober and orderly part of the population havenot yet awakened to the labors of the day, and the. SKETCHES BY BOZ. 69 stillness of death is over the streets ; its very hueseems to be imparted to them, cold and lifeless asthey look in the gray, sombre light of coach-stands in the larger thoroughfares are de-serted: the night-houses are closed; and the chosenpromenades of profligate misery are empty. An occasional policeman may alone be seen at thestreet corners, listlessly gazing on the deserted pros-pect before him ; and now and then a rakish-lookingcat runs stealthily across the road and descends hisown area with as much caution and slyness — bound-ing first on the water-butt, then on the dust-liole, andthen alighting on the fiag-stones — as if he wereconscious that his character depended on his gal-lantry of the preceding night escaping public obser-vation. A partially opened bedroom window hereand there, bespeaks the lieat of the weather, andthe uneasy slumbers of its occupant; and the dimscanty flicker of the rushlight, through the window-blin
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1890
