
                          Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn

                                      Ruth

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                           Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

                                      Ruth

                                   Chapter I

                      The Dressmaker's Apprentice at Work

There is an assize-town in one of the eastern counties which was much
distinguished by the Tudor sovereigns, and, in consequence of their favour and
protection, attained a degree of importance that surprises the modern traveller.
    A hundred years ago its appearance was that of picturesque grandeur. The old
houses, which were the temporary residences of such of the county families as
contented themselves with the gaieties of a provincial town, crowded the
streets, and gave them the irregular but noble appearance yet to be seen in the
cities of Belgium. The sides of the streets had a quaint richness, from the
effect of the gables, and the stacks of chimneys which cut against the blue sky
above; while, if the eye fell lower down, the attention was arrested by all
kinds of projections in the shape of balcony and oriel; and it was amusing to
see the infinite variety of windows that had been crammed into the walls long
before Mr. Pitt's days of taxation. The streets below suffered from all these
projections and advanced storeys above; they were dark, and ill-paved with
large, round, jolting pebbles, and with no side-path protected by kerbstones;
there were no lamp-posts for long winter nights; and no regard was paid to the
wants of the middle class, who neither drove about in coaches of their own, nor
were carried by their own men in their own sedans into the very halls of their
friends. The professional men and their wives, the shopkeepers and their
spouses, and all such people, walked about at considerable peril both night and
day. The broad, unwieldy carriages hemmed them up against the houses in the
narrow streets. The inhospitable houses projected their flights of steps almost
into the carriage-way, forcing pedestrians again into the danger they had
avoided for twenty or thirty paces. Then, at night, the only light was derived
from the glaring, flaring oil-lamps, hung above the doors of the more
aristocratic mansions; just allowing space for the passers-by to become visible,
before they again disappeared into the darkness, where it was no uncommon thing
for robbers to be in waiting for their prey
