Does not this Heart of
London, that nothing moves, nor stops, nor quickens, - that goes on
the same let what will be done, does it not express the City's
character well?
The day begins to break, and soon there is the hum and noise of
life. Those who have spent the night on doorsteps and cold stones
crawl off to beg; they who have slept in beds come forth to their
occupation, too, and business is astir. The fog of sleep rolls
slowly off, and London shines awake. The streets are filled with
carriages and people gaily clad. The jails are full, too, to the
throat, nor have the workhouses or hospitals much room to spare.
The courts of law are crowded. Taverns have their regular
frequenters by this time, and every mart of traffic has its throng.
Each of these places is a world, and has its own inhabitants; each
is distinct from, and almost unconscious of the existence of any
other. There are some few people well to do, who remember to have
heard it said, that numbers of men and women - thousands, they
think it was - get up in London every day, unknowing where to lay
their heads at night; and that there are quarters of the town where
misery and famine always are.
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