SUNDAY MORNING ON PETTICOAT LANE
In the core of the City, on a Sunday morning, there are streets as silent as sepulchres. When you disturb their bush with your echoing footfall, you do not see another human being, except, perhaps, some weary watchman or housekeeper looking down with lack-lustre eyes on the bare pavement of the deserted close-shuttered thoroughfares, or into a disused churchless churchyard, walled in, like the bottom of a well, with towering warehouses.
It is startling to cross from that drowsy calm into the BRAWLING BUSTLE OF THE ALDGATE AND WHITECHAPEL JEWS' QUARTER.
In and about Houndsditch SHOPS ARE OPEN and watchmakers at work, heedless of the chaff upon their screwed-up eyes shouted in at them by filthy young roughs hanging before their windows. Every now and then some one passes with a garment or hat in his hand, or a CLOTHES BAG ON HIS BACK. Phil's Buildings and Cutler Street are choked with buyers and sellers of OLD CLOTHES male and female, pouring in and out of the old-clothes exchanges like very dirty bees at the entrances of very dingy hives. The atmosphere of those densely-thronged marts does not remind one of "spicy breezes [-171-] blowing soft from Ceylon's isle "-it is redolent of oleaginous malodours, of a general dusty musty, fustiness. And yet what energetic bargaining is going on over the old garments!
STUDY THAT!
'
In the core of the City, on a Sunday morning, there are streets as silent as sepulchres. When you disturb their bush with your echoing footfall, you do not see another human being, except, perhaps, some weary watchman or housekeeper looking down with lack-lustre eyes on the bare pavement of the deserted close-shuttered thoroughfares, or into a disused churchless churchyard, walled in, like the bottom of a well, with towering warehouses.
It is startling to cross from that drowsy calm into the BRAWLING BUSTLE OF THE ALDGATE AND WHITECHAPEL JEWS' QUARTER.
In and about Houndsditch SHOPS ARE OPEN and watchmakers at work, heedless of the chaff upon their screwed-up eyes shouted in at them by filthy young roughs hanging before their windows. Every now and then some one passes with a garment or hat in his hand, or a CLOTHES BAG ON HIS BACK. Phil's Buildings and Cutler Street are choked with buyers and sellers of OLD CLOTHES male and female, pouring in and out of the old-clothes exchanges like very dirty bees at the entrances of very dingy hives. The atmosphere of those densely-thronged marts does not remind one of "spicy breezes [-171-] blowing soft from Ceylon's isle "-it is redolent of oleaginous malodours, of a general dusty musty, fustiness. And yet what energetic bargaining is going on over the old garments!
STUDY THAT!
'
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