Sunday Under Three Heads | Page 2

cant about
the over- dressing of the common people. There is not a manufacturer
or tradesman in existence, who would not employ a man who takes a
reasonable degree of pride in the appearance of himself and those about
him, in preference to a sullen, slovenly fellow, who works doggedly on,
regardless of his own clothing and that of his wife and children, and
seeming to take pleasure or pride in nothing.
The pampered aristocrat, whose life is one continued round of
licentious pleasures and sensual gratifications; or the gloomy enthusiast,
who detests the cheerful amusements he can never enjoy, and envies
the healthy feelings he can never know, and who would put down the
one and suppress the other, until he made the minds of his
fellow-beings as besotted and distorted as his own;--neither of these
men can by possibility form an adequate notion of what Sunday really
is to those whose lives are spent in sedentary or laborious occupations,
and who are accustomed to look forward to it through their whole
existence, as their only day of rest from toil, and innocent enjoyment.
The sun that rises over the quiet streets of London on a bright Sunday
morning, shines till his setting, on gay and happy faces. Here and there,
so early as six o'clock, a young man and woman in their best attire, may
be seen hurrying along on their way to the house of some acquaintance,
who is included in their scheme of pleasure for the day; from whence,
after stopping to take "a bit of breakfast," they sally forth, accompanied
by several old people, and a whole crowd of young ones, bearing large
hand-baskets full of provisions, and Belcher handkerchiefs done up in
bundles, with the neck of a bottle sticking out at the top, and
closely-packed apples bulging out at the sides,--and away they hurry
along the streets leading to the steam-packet wharfs, which are already
plentifully sprinkled with parties bound for the same destination. Their
good humour and delight know no bounds--for it is a delightful
morning, all blue over head, and nothing like a cloud in the whole sky;
and even the air of the river at London Bridge is something to them,
shut up as they have been, all the week, in close streets and heated
rooms. There are dozens of steamers to all sorts of places- -Gravesend,

Greenwich, and Richmond; and such numbers of people, that when you
have once sat down on the deck, it is all but a moral impossibility to get
up again--to say nothing of walking about, which is entirely out of the
question. Away they go, joking and laughing, and eating and drinking,
and admiring everything they see, and pleased with everything they
hear, to climb Windmill Hill, and catch a glimpse of the rich corn-fields
and beautiful orchards of Kent; or to stroll among the fine old trees of
Greenwich Park, and survey the wonders of Shooter's Hill and Lady
James's Folly; or to glide past the beautiful meadows of Twickenham
and Richmond, and to gaze with a delight which only people like them
can know, on every lovely object in the fair prospect around. Boat
follows boat, and coach succeeds coach, for the next three hours; but all
are filled, and all with the same kind of people--neat and clean, cheerful
and contented.
They reach their places of destination, and the taverns are crowded; but
there is no drunkenness or brawling, for the class of men who commit
the enormity of making Sunday excursions, take their families with
them: and this in itself would be a check upon them, even if they were
inclined to dissipation, which they really are not. Boisterous their mirth
may be, for they have all the excitement of feeling that fresh air and
green fields can impart to the dwellers in crowded cities, but it is
innocent and harmless. The glass is circulated, and the joke goes round;
but the one is free from excess, and the other from offence; and nothing
but good humour and hilarity prevail.
In streets like Holborn and Tottenham Court Road, which form the
central market of a large neighbourhood, inhabited by a vast number of
mechanics and poor people, a few shops are open at an early hour of
the morning; and a very poor man, with a thin and sickly woman by his
side, may be seen with their little basket in hand, purchasing the scanty
quantity of necessaries they can afford, which the time at which the
man receives his wages, or his having a good deal of work to do, or the
woman's having been out charing till a late hour, prevented their
procuring over-night. The coffee-shops too, at which clerks and young
men employed in counting-houses can procure their