492 Ups and Downs of London. [MAY, 



he could lean in case of accident. Imagine this, and then that, by one 

 fatal step, of the fatality of which he could have no knowledge (and 

 there are many such, any one of which would be sufficient) ; and think 

 what must be his feelings, if he shall, one would almost say nnfortu- 

 natch/, have strength of mind to bear the first shock. If he goes 

 abroad, he instinctively shuns those with whom he talked business, or 

 laughed amusement ; the activity and apparent success and happiness of 

 other people only serve as contrasts to deepen his misery, or as arrows to 

 pierce him to the heart ; and the one burning thought that he once was 

 as them, but is not now, and never shall be again, consumes him. Then, 

 though he attempt to escape by foregoing the haunts of men, and seeking 

 the quiet of nature such as it is in the purlieus of a great city the 

 anguish is with him still. To him there is no beauty in the landscape, 

 and no balmyness in the gale. The memorials of human happiness are 

 scattered every where ; but, to him, happiness is a fountain that is dry 

 -a torch, which is extinguished. He may long for one little moment, 



fe for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 

 Some boundless continuity of shade ;" 



but the longing is momentary, and leads to despair. He wanders to his 

 apartment most likely in the house of some person with whom he has 

 never exchanged a word, save in bargaining for terms and making pay- 

 ments, and to whom the least hint at the change of his condition 

 would change vulgarity into cruelty, and neglect into insult. Therefore, 

 he has no alternative but the cold silence of his chamber, which is now 

 to him the world in its wane, and near its close. He counts over and 

 over the fragments of his store scanty enough, it may be ; and he 

 numbers the days and the hours that he can subsist, bundling also 

 any straws of hope that may still remain, and which cease to be hope 

 the moment that he surveys them. Then he lays down an aching head 

 upon a sleepless pillow, where, during the long and lonely night, though 

 there be no slumber to refresh, he is " scared with dreams, and terrified 

 with visions/' 



Even when a man has nothing in his circumstances to give him pain, 

 it is not a very pleasant thing to be compelled to think for a whole night 

 in the dark and alone ; but where there is mental and hopeless loneli- 

 ness in the case, it is dreadful. The mind starts from thought to thought, 

 and, at every change, the gloom deepens. Then comes the fearful 

 thought a thought which, under such c r rcumstances, even religion is 

 too weak to resist: annihilation as to this world is felt absolute anni- 

 hilation glides before the fancy ! Its form is hideous ; and the darkness, 

 which hides every thing else, only makes it the more apparent. The 

 curtain of the future will not rise the stern, the stubborn image "turns 

 the man into nothing ;" and the oblivion of destruction is felt. This it 

 is which charms him on to his fate ; and, when once it takes hold on the 

 mind, it will not quit till it brings about that fearful accomplishment 

 which the fortunate and the happy think impossible ; but to which the 

 wounded in spirit have recourse, as a last and an only deliverance. And, 

 truly, when one thinks of it, not as the wonder of a century or an age, 

 but as a monthly and weekly occurrence, there is in it a mournful set- 

 off against all the pleasures of a mighty city ! 



