A hoarse crashing babble goes steadily on, forming
the ground-bass of an odious symphony; shrill and discordant laughter
rises by fits and starts above the low tumult; a coarse joke sets one
group sniggering; a vile oath rings out from some foul-mouthed
roysterer; and at intervals some flushed and bleared creature breaks
into a slavering laugh which has a sickly resemblance to weeping. At one
of the side-tables a sodden brute leans forward and wags his head to and
fro with ignoble solemnity; another has fallen asleep and snores at
intervals with a nauseous rattle; smart young men, dressed fashionably,
fling chance witticisms at the busy barmaids, and the nymphs answer with
glib readiness. This is the home of Jollity and Good-fellowship; this is
the place from which Care is banished; this is the happy corner where
the social glass is dispensed. Alas for the jollity and the sociability
and all the rest of it! Force yourself to study the vile spectacle, and
you will soon harbour a brood of aching reflections. The whole of that
chattering, swilling mob are employing their muddled minds on frivolity
or obscenity, or worse things still. You will hear hardly an intelligent
word; you will not catch a sound of sensible discussion; the scraps of
conversation that reach you alternate between low banter, low
squabbling, objectionable narrative, and histories of fights or swindles
or former debauches.
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