n approaching funeral, now urged
by curiosity to observe the state of a particular spot; my wanderings were
instinct with pain, for silence and desertion characterized every place I
visited, and the few beings I met were so pale and woe-begone, so marked
with care and depressed by fear, that weary of encountering only signs of
misery, I began to retread my steps towards home.

I was now in Holborn, and passed by a public house filled with uproarious
companions, whose songs, laughter, and shouts were more sorrowful than the
pale looks and silence of the mourner. Such an one was near, hovering round
this house. The sorry plight of her dress displayed her poverty, she was
ghastly pale, and continued approaching, first the window and then the door
of the house, as if fearful, yet longing to enter. A sudden burst of song
and merriment seemed to sting her to the heart; she murmured, "Can he have
the heart?" and then mustering her courage, she stepped within the
threshold. The landlady met her in the passage; the poor creature asked,
"Is my husband here? Can I see George?"

"See him," cried the woman, "yes, if you go to him; last night he was taken
with the plague, and we sent him to the hospital."

The unfortunate inquirer staggered against a wall, a faint cry escaped her
--"O! were you cruel enough," she exclaimed, "to send him there?"

The landlady meanwhile hurried away; but a more compassionate bar-maid gave
her a detailed account, the sum of which was, that her husband had been
taken ill, after a night of riot, and sent by his boon companions with all
expedition to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. I had watched this scene, for
there was a gentleness about the poor woman that interested me; she now
tottered away from the door, walking as well as she could down Holborn
Hill; but her strength soon failed her; she leaned against a wall, and her
head sunk on her bosom, while her pallid cheek became still more white. I
went up to her and offered my services. She hardly looked up--"You can do
me no good," she replied; "I must go to the hospital; if I do not die
before I get there."

There were still a few hackney-coaches accustomed to stand about the
streets, more truly from habit than for use. I put her in one of these, and
entered with her that I might secure her entrance into the hospital. Our
way was short, and she said little; except interrupted ejaculations of
reproach that he had left her, exclamations on the unkindness of