dation in the neighbouring districts.

Between these and the fugitives whom curiosity had led to the road,
dialogues frequently took place, to which I was suffered to listen. From
every mouth the tale of sorrow was repeated with new aggravations.
Pictures of their own distress, or of that of their neighbours, were
exhibited in all the hues which imagination can annex to pestilence and
poverty.

My preconceptions of the evil now appeared to have fallen short of the
truth. The dangers into which I was rushing seemed more numerous and
imminent than I had previously imagined. I wavered not in my purpose. A
panic crept to my heart, which more vehement exertions were necessary to
subdue or control; but I harboured not a momentary doubt that the course
which I had taken was prescribed by duty. There was no difficulty or
reluctance in proceeding. All for which my efforts were demanded was to
walk in this path without tumult or alarm.

Various circumstances had hindered me from setting out upon this journey
as early as was proper. My frequent pauses to listen to the narratives
of travellers contributed likewise to procrastination. The sun had
nearly set before I reached the precincts of the city. I pursued the
track which I had formerly taken, and entered High Street after
nightfall. Instead of equipages and a throng of passengers, the voice of
levity and glee, which I had formerly observed, and which the mildness
of the season would, at other times, have produced, I found nothing but
a dreary solitude.

The market-place, and each side of this magnificent avenue, were
illuminated, as before, by lamps; but between the verge of Schuylkill
and the heart of the city I met not more than a dozen figures; and these
were ghost-like, wrapped in cloaks, from behind which they cast upon me
glances of wonder and suspicion, and, as I approached, changed their
course, to avoid touching me. Their clothes were sprinkled with vinegar,
and their nostrils defended from contagion by some powerful perfume.

I cast a look upon the houses, which I recollected to have formerly
been, at this hour, brilliant with lights, resounding with lively
voices, and thronged with busy faces. Now they were closed, above and
below; dark, and without tokens of being inhabited. From the upper
windows of some, a gleam sometimes fell upon the pavement I was
traversing, and showed that their tenants had not fled, but were
secluded or disabled.

These tokens were ne