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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