than the loneliness of a great city; and Susan felt it so, as passenger after passenger passed, hurrying on their errands of pleasure or of business, or hastening to the shelter of their own roofs, heedless of the poor stranger, houseless and homeless, whose sobs met their ears. A few turned their head to look at her; but none stopped or spoke; for there, where vice and misery walk the streets by night, or keep unholy vigils in unblest abodes, the sight of women's wretchedness is too common to excite either curiosity or compassion.
At length, the cold and damp, for it had come on to rain hard, forced her to get upon her legs and move on; and considering her desperate condition, without a penny in the world even to procure a night's lodging, she thought, unwilling as she was to disturb the family, that she had better try and find her way to Dobbs, late as it was. But the difficulty was to find the way. Some to whom she ventured an inquiry abused her—some insulted her; one man flung his arm round her waist and said he'd go with her any where she liked; and she had much ado to get rid of him; and another told her if she didn't leave him alone he'd call the watch. As for the women she addressed
