Betweenthebridgeandthetwogreattheatres，therewasbutthedistanceofafewhundredpaces，sothetheatrescamenext。Grimandblackwithin，atnight，thosegreatdryWells，andlonesometoimagine，withtherowsoffacesfadedout，thelightsextinguished，andtheseatsallempty。OnewouldthinkthatnothinginthemknewitselfatsuchatimebutYorick’sskull。Inoneofmynightwalks，asthechurchsteepleswereshakingtheMarchwindsandrainwiththestrokesofFour，Ipassedtheouterboundaryofoneofthesegreatdeserts，andenteredit。Withadimlanterninmyhand，Igropedmywell-knownwaytothestageandlookedovertheorchestra-whichwaslikeagreatgravedugforatimeofpestilence-intothevoidbeyond。Adismalcavernofanimmenseaspect，withthechandeliergonedeadlikeeverythingelse，andnothingvisiblethroughmistandfogandspace，buttiersofwinding-sheets。Thegroundatmyfeetwhere，whenlastthere，I
hadseenthepeasantryofNaplesdancingamongthevines，recklessoftheburningmountainwhichthreatenedtooverwhelmthem，wasnowinpossessionofastrongserpentofengine-hose，watchfullylyinginwaitfortheserpentFire，andreadytoflyatitifitshoweditsforkedtongue。Aghostofawatchman，carryingafaintcorpsecandle，hauntedthedistantuppergalleryandflittedaway。
Retiringwithintheproscenium，andholdingmylightabovemyheadtowardstherolled-upcurtain-greennomore，butblackasebony-
mysightlostitselfinagloomyvault，showingfaintindicationsinitofashipwreckofcanvasandcordage。MethoughtIfeltmuchasadivermight，atthebottomofthesea。
Inthosesmallhourswhentherewasnomovementinthestreets，itaffordedmatterforreflectiontotakeNewgateintheway，and，touchingitsroughstone，tothinkoftheprisonersintheirsleep，andthentoglanceinatthelodgeoverthespikedwicket，andseethefireandlightofthewatchingturnkeys，onthewhitewall。