The Real Charlotte (1894) Vol. 1

An August Sunday afternoon in the north side of
Dublin. Epitome of all that is hot, arid, and empty.
Tall brick houses, browbeating each other in gloomy
respectability across the white streets ; broad pave-
ments, promenaded mainly by the nomadic cat ;
stifling squares, wherein the infant of unfashionable
parentage is taken for the daily baking that is its
substitute for the breezes and the press of perambu-
lators on the Bray Esplanade or the Kingstown pier.
Few towns are duller out of the season than Dublin,
but the dulness of its north side neither waxes nor
wanes ; it is immutable, unchangeable, fixed as the