the uncommercial traveller- 第62部分

dirty；　is　for　the　moment　all　bejewelled。　　Then　the　light　passes　and

the　colours　die。　　Though　even　then；　if　there　be　room　enough　for　me

to　fall　back　so　far　as　that　I　can　gaze　up　to　the　top　of　the　Church

Tower；　I　see　the　rusty　vane　new　burnished；　and　seeming　to　look　out

with　a　joyful　flash　over　the　sea　of　smoke　at　the　distant　shore　of

country。



Blinking　old　men　who　are　let　out　of　workhouses　by　the　hour；　have　a

tendency　to　sit　on　bits　of　coping　stone　in　these　churchyards；

leaning　with　both　hands　on　their　sticks　and　asthmatically　gasping。

The　more　depressed　class　of　beggars　too；　bring　hither　broken　meats；

and　munch。　　I　am　on　nodding　terms　with　a　meditative　turncock　who

lingers　in　one　of　them；　and　whom　I　suspect　of　a　turn　for　poetry；

the　rather；　as　he　looks　out　of　temper　when　he　gives　the　fire…plug　a

disparaging　wrench　with　that　large　tuning…fork　of　his　which　would

wear　out　the　shoulder　of　his　coat；　but　for　a　precautionary　piece　of

inlaid　leather。　　Fire…ladders；　which　I　am　satisfied　nobody　knows

anything　about；　and　the　keys　of　which　were　lost　in　ancient　times；

moulder　away　in　the　larger　churchyards；　under　eaves　like　wooden

eyebrows；　and　so　removed　are　those　corners　from　the　haunts　of　men

and　boys；　that　once　on　a　fifth　of　November　I　found　a　'Guy'　trusted

to　take　care　of　himself　there；　while　his　proprietors　had　gone　to

dinner。　　Of　the　expression　of　his　face　I　cannot　report；　because　it

was　turned　to　the　wall；　but　his　shrugged　shoulders　and　his　ten

extended　fingers；　appeared　to　denote　that　he　had　moralised　in　his

little　straw　chair　on　the　mystery　of　mortality　until　he　gave　it　up

as　a　bad　job。



You　do　not　come　upon　these　churchyards　violently；　there　are　shapes

of　transition　in　the　neighbourhood。　　An　antiquated　news　shop；　or

barber's　shop；　apparently　bereft　of　customers　in　the　earlier　days

of　George　the　Third；　would　warn　me　to　look　out　for　one；　if　any

discoveries　in　this　respect　were　left　for　me　to　make。　　A　very　quiet

court；　in　combination　with　an　unaccountable　dyer's　and　scourer's；

would　prepare　me　for　a　churchyard。　　An　exceedingly　retiring　public…

house；　with　a　bagatelle…board　shadily　visible　in　a　sawdusty　parlour

shaped　like　an　omnibus；　and　with　a　shelf　of　punch…bowls　in　the　bar；

would　apprise　me　that　I　stood　near　consecrated　ground。　　A　'Dairy；'

exhibiting　in　its　modest　window　one　very　little　milk…can　and　three

eggs；　would　suggest　to　me　the　certainty　of　finding　the　poultry　hard

by；　pecking　at　my　forefathers。　　I　first　inferred　the　vicinity　of

Saint　Ghastly　Grim；　from　a　certain　air　of　extra　repose　and　gloom

pervading　a　vast　stack　of　warehouses。



From　the　hush　of　these　places；　it　is　congenial　to　pass　into　the

hushed　resorts　of　business。　　Down　the　lanes　I　like　to　see　the　carts

and　waggons　huddled　together　in　repose；　the　cranes　idle；　and　the

warehouses　shut。　　Pausing　in　the　alleys　behind　the　closed　Banks　of

mighty　Lombard…street；　it　gives　one　as　good　as　a　rich　feeling　to

think　of　the　broad　counters　with　a　rim　along　the　edge；　made　for

telling　money　out　on；　the　scales　for　weighing　precious　metals；　the

ponderous　ledgers；　and；　above　all；　the　bright　copper　shovels　for

shovelling　gold。　　When　I　draw　money；　it　never　seems　so　much　money

as　when　it　is　shovelled　at　me　out　of　a　bright　copper　shovel。　　I

like　to　say；　'In　gold；'　and　to　see　seven　pounds　musically　pouring

out　of　the　shovel；　like　seventy；　the　Bank　appearing　to　remark　to　me

…　I　italicise　APPEARING　…　'if　you　want　more　of　this　yellow　earth；

we　keep　it　in　barrows　at　your　service。'　　To　think　of　the　banker's

clerk　with　his　deft　finger　turning　the　crisp　edges　of　the　Hundred…

Pound　Notes　he　has　taken　in　a　fat　roll　out　of　a　drawer；　is　again　to

hear　the　rustling　of　that　delicious　south…cash　wind。　　'How　will　you

have　it？'　　I　once　heard　this　usual　question　asked　at　a　Bank　Counter

of　an　elderly　female；　habited　in　mourning　and　steeped　in

simplicity；　who　answered；　open…eyed；　crook…fingered；　laughing　with

expectation；　'Anyhow！'　　Calling　these　things　to　mind　as　I　stroll

among　the　Banks；　I　wonder　whether　the　other　solitary　Sunday　man　I

pass；　has　designs　upon　the　Banks。　　For　the　interest　and　mystery　of

the　matter；　I　almost　hope　he　may　have；　and　that　his　confederate　may

be　at　this　moment　taking　impressions　of　the　keys　of　the　iron

closets　in　wax；　and　that　a　delightful　robbery　may　be　in　course　of

transaction。　　About　College…hill；　Mark…lane；　and　so　on　towards　the

Tower；　and　Dockward；　the　deserted　wine…merchants'　cellars　are　fine

subjects　for　consideration；　but　the　deserted　money…cellars　of　the

Bankers；　and　their　plate…cellars；　and　their　jewel…cellars；　what

subterranean　regions　of　the　Wonderful　Lamp　are　these！　　And　again：

possibly　some　shoeless　boy　in　rags；　passed　through　this　street

yesterday；　for　whom　it　is　reserved　to　be　a　Banker　in　the　fulness　of

time；　and　to　be　surpassing　rich。　　Such　reverses　have　been；　since

the　days　of　Whittington；　and　were；　long　before。　　I　want　to　know

whether　the　boy　has　any　foreglittering　of　that　glittering　fortune

now；　when　he　treads　these　stones；　hungry。　　Much　as　I　also　want　to

know　whether　the　next　man　to　be　hanged　at　Newgate　yonder；　had　any

suspicion　upon　him　that　he　was　moving　steadily　towards　that　fate；


when　he　talked　so　much　about　the　last　man　who　paid　the　same　great

debt　at　the　same　small　Debtors'　Door。



Where　are　all　the　people　who　on　busy　working…days　pervade　these

scenes？　　The　locomotive　banker's　clerk；　who　carries　a　black

portfolio　chained　to　him　by　a　chain　of　steel；　where　is　he？　　Does　he

go　to　bed　with　his　chain　on　…　to　church　with　his　chain　on　…　or　does

he　lay　it　by？　　And　if　he　lays　it　by；　what　becomes　of　his　portfolio

when　he　is　unchained　for　a　holiday？　　The　wastepaper　baskets　of

these　closed　counting…houses　would　let　me　into　many　hints　of

business　matters　if　I　had　the　exploration　of　them；　and　what　secrets

of　the　heart　should　I　discover　on　the　'pads'　of　the　young　clerks　…

the　sheets　of　cartridge…paper　and　blotting…paper　interposed　between

their　writing　and　their　desks！　　Pads　are　taken　into　confidence　on

the　tenderest　occasions；　and　oftentimes　when　I　have　made　a　business

visit；　and　have　sent　in　my　name　from　the　outer　office；　have　I　had

it　forced　on　my　discursive　notice　that　the　officiating　young

gentleman　has　over　and　over　again　inscribed　AMELIA；　in　ink　of

various　dates；　on　corners　of　his　pad。　　Indeed；　the　pad　may　be

regarded　as　the　legitimate　modern　successor　of　the　old　forest…tree：

whereon　these　young　knights　（having　no　attainable　forest　nearer

than　Epping）　engrave　the　names　of　their　mistresses。　　After　all；　it

is　a　more　satisfactory　process　than　carving；　and　can　be　oftener

repeated。　　So　these　courts　in　their　Sunday　rest　are　courts　of　Love

Omnipotent　（I　rejoice　to　bethink　myself）；　dry　as　they　look。　　And

here　is　Garraway's；　bolted　and　shuttered　hard　and　fast！　　It　is

possible　to　imagine　the　man　who　cuts　the　sandwiches；　on　his　back　in

a　hayfield；　it　is　possible　to　imagine　his　desk；　like　the　desk　of　a

clerk　at　church；　without　him；　but　imagination　is　unable　to　pursue

the　men　who　wait　at　Garraway's　all　the　week　for　the　men　who　never

come。　　When　they　are　forcibly　put　out　of　Garraway's　on　Saturday

night　…　which　they　must　be；　for　they　never　would　go　out　of　their

own　accord　…　where　do　they　vanish　until　Monday　morning？　　On　the

first　Sunday　that　I　ever　strayed　here；　I　expected　to　find　them

hovering　about　these　lanes；　like　restless　ghosts；　and　trying　to

peep　into　Garraway's　through　chinks　in　the　shutters；　if　not

endeavouring　to　turn　the　lock　of　the　door　with　false　keys；　picks；

and　screw…drivers。　　But　the　wonder　is；　that　they　go　clean　away！

And　now　I　think　of　it；　the　wonder　is；　that　every　working…day

pervader　of　these　scenes　goes　clean　away。　　The　man　who　sells　the

dogs'　collars　and　the　little　toy　coal…scuttles；　feels　under　as

great　an　obligation　to　go　afar　off；　as　Glyn　and　Co。；　or　Smith；

Payne；　and　Smith。　　There　is　an　old　monastery…crypt　under　Garraway's

（I　have　been　in　it　among　the　port　wine）；　and　perhaps　Garraway's；

taking　pity　on　the　mouldy　men　who　wait　in　its　public…room　all　their

lives；　gives　them　cool　house…room　down　there　over　Sundays；　but　the

catacombs　of　Paris　would　not　be　large　enough　to　hold　the　rest　of

the　missing。　　This　characteristic　of　London　City　greatly　helps　its

being　the　quaint　place　it　is　in　the　weekly　pause　of　business；　and

greatly　helps　my　Sunday　sensation　in　it　of　being　the　Last　Man。　　In

my　solitude；　the　ticket…porters　being　all　gone　with　the　rest；　I

venture　to　breathe　to　the　quiet　bricks　and　stones　my　confidential

wonderment　why　a　ticket…porter；　who　never　does　any　work　with　his

hands；　is　bound　to　wear　a　white　apron；　and　why　a　great

Ecclesiastical　Dignitary；　who　never　does　any　work　with　his　hands

either；　is　equally　bound　to　wear　a　black　one。







CHAPTER　XXIV　…　AN　OLD　STAGE…COACHING　HOUSE







Before　the　waitress　had　shut　the　door；　I　had　forgotten　how　many

stage…coaches　she　said　used　to　change　horses　in　the　town　every　day。

But　it　was　of　lit