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。
Notaninappropriatetimeeither，tolingerbythatwickedlittleDebtors’Door-shuttingtighterthananyotherdooroneeversaw-
whichhasbeenDeath’sDoortosomany。Inthedaysoftheutteringofforgedone-poundnotesbypeopletemptedupfromthecountry，howmanyhundredsofwretchedcreaturesofbothsexes-
manyquiteinnocent-swungoutofapitilessandinconsistentworld，withthetowerofyonderChristianchurchofSaintSepulchremonstrouslybeforetheireyes！IsthereanyhauntingoftheBankParlour，bytheremorsefulsoulsofolddirectors，inthenightsoftheselaterdays，Iwonder，orisitasquietasthisdegenerateAceldamaofanOldBailey？
TowalkontotheBank，lamentingthegoodoldtimesandbemoaningthepresentevilperiod，wouldbeaneasynextstep，soIwouldtakeit，andwouldmakemyhouselesscircuitoftheBank，andgiveathoughttothetreasurewithin；likewisetotheguardofsoldierspassingthenightthere，andnoddingoverthefire。Next，IwenttoBillingsgate，insomehopeofmarket-people，butitprovingasyettooearly，crossedLondon-bridgeandgotdownbythewater-sideontheSurreyshoreamongthebuildingsofthegreatbrewery。
Therewasplentygoingonatthebrewery；andthereek，andthesmellofgrains，andtherattlingoftheplumpdrayhorsesattheirmangers，werecapitalcompany。Quiterefreshedbyhavingmingledwiththisgoodsociety，Imadeanewstartwithanewheart，settingtheoldKing’sBenchprisonbeforemeformynextobject，andresolving，whenIshouldcometothewall，tothinkofpoorHoraceKinch，andtheDryRotinmen。
AverycuriousdiseasetheDryRotinmen，anddifficulttodetectthebeginningof。IthadcarriedHoraceKinchinsidethewalloftheoldKing’sBenchprison，andithadcarriedhimoutwithhisfeetforemost。Hewasalikelymantolookat，intheprimeoflife，welltodo，ascleverasheneededtobe，andpopularamongmanyfriends。Hewassuitablymarried，andhadhealthyandprettychildren。But，likesomefair-lookinghousesorfair-lookingships，hetooktheDryRot。ThefirststrongexternalrevelationoftheDryRotinmen，isatendencytolurkandlounge；tobeatstreet-cornerswithoutintelligiblereason；tobegoinganywherewhenmet；tobeaboutmanyplacesratherthanatany；todonothingtangible，buttohaveanintentionofperformingavarietyofintangibledutiesto-morroworthedayafter。Whenthismanifestationofthediseaseisobserved，theobserverwillusuallyconnectitwithavagueimpressiononceformedorreceived，thatthepatientwaslivingalittletoohard。Hewillscarcelyhavehadleisuretoturnitoverinhismindandformtheterriblesuspicion’DryRot，’whenhewillnoticeachangefortheworseinthepatient’sappearance:acertainslovenlinessanddeterioration，whichisnotpoverty，nordirt，norintoxication，norill-health，butsimplyDryRot。Tothis，succeedsasmellasofstrongwaters，inthemorning；tothat，aloosenessrespectingmoney；tothat，astrongersmellasofstrongwaters，atalltimes；
tothat，aloosenessrespectingeverything；tothat，atremblingofthelimbs，somnolency，misery，andcrumblingtopieces。Asitisinwood，soitisinmen。DryRotadvancesatacompoundusuryquiteincalculable。Aplankisfoundinfectedwithit，andthewholestructureisdevoted。ThusithadbeenwiththeunhappyHoraceKinch，latelyburiedbyasmallsubscription。Thosewhoknewhimhadnotnighdonesaying，’Sowelloff，socomfortablyestablished，withsuchhopebeforehim-andyet，itisfeared，withaslighttouchofDryRot！’whenlo！themanwasallDryRotanddust。
Fromthedeadwallassociatedonthosehouselessnightswiththistoocommonstory，IchosenexttowanderbyBethlehemHospital；
partly，becauseitlayonmyroadroundtoWestminster；partly，becauseIhadanightfancyinmyheadwhichcouldbebestpursuedwithinsightofitswallsanddome。Andthefancywasthis:Arenotthesaneandtheinsaneequalatnightasthesanelieadreaming？Arenotallofusoutsidethishospital，whodream，moreorlessintheconditionofthoseinsideit，everynightofourlives？Arewenotnightlypersuaded，astheydailyare，thatweassociatepreposterouslywithkingsandqueens，emperorsandempresses，andnotabilitiesofallsorts？Dowenotnightlyjumbleeventsandpersonagesandtimesandplaces，asthesedodaily？Arewenotsometimestroubledbyourownsleepinginconsistencies，anddowenotvexedlytrytoaccountforthemorexcusethem，justasthesedosometimesinrespectoftheirwakingdelusions？Saidanafflictedmantome，whenIwaslastinahospitallikethis，’Sir，Icanfrequentlyfly。’IwashalfashamedtoreflectthatsocouldI-bynight。Saidawomantomeonthesameoccasion，’QueenVictoriafrequentlycomestodinewithme，andherMajestyandI
dineoffpeachesandmaccaroniinournight-gowns，andhisRoyalHighnessthePrinceConsortdoesusthehonourtomakeathirdonhorsebackinaField-Marshal’suniform。’CouldIrefrainfromreddeningwithconsciousnesswhenIrememberedtheamazingroyalpartiesImyselfhadgivenatnight，theunaccountableviandsI
hadputontable，andmyextraordinarymannerofconductingmyselfonthosedistinguishedoccasions？Iwonderthatthegreatmasterwhokneweverything，whenhecalledSleepthedeathofeachday’slife，didnotcallDreamstheinsanityofeachday’ssanity。
BythistimeIhadlefttheHospitalbehindme，andwasagainsettingtowardstheriver；andinashortbreathingspaceIwasonWestminster-bridge，regalingmyhouselesseyeswiththeexternalwallsoftheBritishParliament-theperfectionofastupendousinstitution，Iknow，andtheadmirationofallsurroundingnationsandsucceedingages，Idonotdoubt，butperhapsalittlethebetternowandthenforbeingprickeduptoitswork。TurningoffintoOldPalace-yard，theCourtsofLawkeptmecompanyforaquarterofanhour；hintinginlowwhisperswhatnumbersofpeopletheywerekeepingawake，andhowintenselywretchedandhorribletheywererenderingthesmallhourstounfortunatesuitors。
WestminsterAbbeywasfinegloomysocietyforanotherquarterofanhour；suggestingawonderfulprocessionofitsdeadamongthedarkarchesandpillars，eachcenturymoreamazedbythecenturyfollowingitthanbyallthecenturiesgoingbefore。Andindeedinthosehouselessnightwalks-whichevenincludedcemeterieswherewatchmenwentroundamongthegravesatstatedtimes，andmovedthetell-talehandleofanindexwhichrecordedthattheyhadtoucheditatsuchanhour-itwasasolemnconsiderationwhatenormoushostsofdeadbelongtooneoldgreatcity，andhow，iftheywereraisedwhilethelivingslept，therewouldnotbethespaceofapin’spointinallthestreetsandwaysforthelivingtocomeoutinto。Notonlythat，butthevastarmiesofdeadwouldoverflowthehillsandvalleysbeyondthecity，andwouldstretchawayallroundit，Godknowshowfar。
Whenachurchclockstrikes，onhouselessearsinthedeadofthenight，itmaybeatfirstmistakenforcompanyandhailedassuch。
But，asthespreadingcirclesofvibration，whichyoumayperceiveatsuchatimewithgreatclearness，goopeningout，foreverandeverafterwardswideningperhapsasthephilosopherhassuggested
ineternalspace，themistakeisrectifiedandthesenseoflonelinessisprofounder。Once-itwasafterleavingtheAbbeyandturningmyfacenorth-IcametothegreatstepsofSt。
Martin’schurchastheclockwasstrikingThree。Suddenly，athingthatinamomentmoreIshouldhavetroddenuponwithoutseeing，roseupatmyfeetwithacryoflonelinessandhouselessness，struckoutofitbythebell，thelikeofwhichIneverheard。Wethenstoodfacetofacelookingatoneanother，frightenedbyoneanother。Thecreaturewaslikeabeetle-browedhair-lippedyouthoftwenty，andithadaloosebundleofragson，whichitheldtogetherwithoneofitshands。Itshiveredfromheadtofoot，anditsteethchattered，andasitstaredatme-persecutor，devil，ghost，whateveritthoughtme-itmadewithitswhiningmouthasifitweresnappingatme，likeaworrieddog。Intendingtogivethisuglyobjectmoney，Iputoutmyhandtostayit-foritrecoiledasitwhinedandsnapped-andlaidmyhanduponitsshoulder。Instantly，ittwistedoutofitsgarment，liketheyoungmanintheNewTestament，andleftmestandingalonewithitsragsinmyhands。
Covent-gardenMarket，whenitwasmarketmorning，waswonderfulcompany。Thegreatwaggonsofcabbages，withgrowers’menandboyslyingasleepunderthem，andwithsharpdogsfrommarket-gardenneighbourhoodslookingafterthewhole，wereasgoodasaparty。
ButoneoftheworstnightsightsIknowinLondon，istobefoundinthechildrenwhoprowlaboutthisplace；whosleepinthebaskets，fightfortheoffal，dartatanyobjecttheythinktheycanlaytheirtheirthievinghandson，diveunderthecartsandbarrows，dodgetheconstables，andareperpetuallymakingabluntpatteringonthepavementofthePiazzawiththerainoftheirnakedfeet。Apainfulandunnaturalresultcomesofthecomparisononeisforcedtoinstitutebetweenthegrowthofcorruptionasdisplayedinthesomuchimprovedandcaredforfruitsoftheearth，andthegrowthofcorruptionasdisplayedinthesealluncaredforexceptinasmuchasever-huntedsavages。
TherewasearlycoffeetobegotaboutCovent-gardenMarket，andthatwasmorecompany-warmcompany，too，whichwasbetter。Toastofaverysubstantialquality，waslikewiseprocurable:thoughthetowzled-headedmanwhomadeit，inaninnerchamberwithinthecoffee-room，hadn’tgothiscoatonyet，andwassoheavywithsleepthatineveryintervaloftoastandcoffeehewentoffanewbehindthepartitionintocomplicatedcross-roadsofchokeandsnore，andlosthiswaydirectly。IntooneoftheseestablishmentsamongtheearliestnearBow-street，therecameonemorningasI