The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 74: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| ] . ' 2 r t | a | A | > h EVENING IN LONDON 5d he passed, the drunkard reeling home from the tavern, and the shivering beggar gazing wistfully at the windows of the bakers’ shops and the eating-houses. Then, too, might be observed the pauper-woman with an infant in her arms and a little family of shoeless and stock- ingless children trooping along miserably behind her; here a ballad-singer, standing in the gutter, had collected a small knot of idlers; and there a costermonger was pushing along his barrow, reckless of whose shins he might bruise or break at the crossings. Amidst the people thus passing to and fro in all directions might be observed the juvenile pickpocket, with rapid walk, as if intent upon gaining some particular destination, al- though in reality having no settled point in view; while the older thief sauntered more leisurely along, with his hands in his own pockets, as if he had not the slightest intention of dipping them into the pockets of others. The shop-windows were all rendered dim by the rain that settled upon them; the coloured waters in the chemists’ dispensaries reflected a sinister light upon the countenances of the passers-by; and the chains, watches, and earrings in the jewellers’ windows shone like tarnished gold. While the wealthy and the well-off were seated at home in their warm rooms and by their cheerful fires, how many thousands of houseless wretches were wandering about the wet streets, or crowding in gateways, or lying crouched up on the door-steps! In the mansions of the great there were luxuriously spread tables, the delicious viands being served up on silver, and the generous wines sparkling through crystal; and at the same time, and in the same city, children were crying for food in cold, damp, and wretched garrets. While the merchant sat down to his supper, rejoicing in the day’s gains, which amounted to hundreds, the hard-working man was devouring a sorry crust, the thought that he had no employment for the morrow imparting bitterness to the sorry meal. But let us return to our narrative. It was, as we have observed, nine o’clock in the evening when Mr. Page, enveloped in a cloak, and with a thick shawl- kerchief tied around his neck, reached that point whence Tooley Street branched off from the foot of Old London Bridge. (C(O) anil Doo (C(O)