in the eyes of the prognosticators.
Weak-spirited women died of fear as they listened to their denunciations;
men of robust form and seeming strength fell into idiotcy and madness,
racked by the dread of coming eternity. A man of this kind was now pouring
forth his eloquent despair among the inhabitants of Windsor. The scene of
the morning, and my visit to the dead, which had been spread abroad, had
alarmed the country-people, so they had become fit instruments to be played
upon by a maniac.

The poor wretch had lost his young wife and lovely infant by the plague. He
was a mechanic; and, rendered unable to attend to the occupation which
supplied his necessities, famine was added to his other miseries. He left
the chamber which contained his wife and child--wife and child no more,
but "dead earth upon the earth"--wild with hunger, watching and grief,
his diseased fancy made him believe himself sent by heaven to preach the
end of time to the world. He entered the churches, and foretold to the
congregations their speedy removal to the vaults below. He appeared like
the forgotten spirit of the time in the theatres, and bade the spectators
go home and die. He had been seized and confined; he had escaped and
wandered from London among the neighbouring towns, and, with frantic
gestures and thrilling words, he unveiled to each their hidden fears, and
gave voice to the soundless thought they dared not syllable. He stood under
the arcade of the town-hall of Windsor, and from this elevation harangued a
trembling crowd.

"Hear, O ye inhabitants of the earth," he cried, "hear thou, all seeing,
but most pitiless Heaven! hear thou too, O tempest-tossed heart, which
breathes out these words, yet faints beneath their meaning! Death is among
us! The earth is beautiful and flower-bedecked, but she is our grave! The
clouds of heaven weep for us--the pageantry of the stars is but our
funeral torchlight. Grey headed men, ye hoped for yet a few years in your
long-known abode--but the lease is up, you must remove--children, ye
will never reach maturity, even now the small grave is dug for ye--
mothers, clasp them in your arms, one death embraces you!"

Shuddering, he stretched out his hands, his eyes cast up, seemed bursting
from their sockets, while he appeared to follow shapes, to us invisible, in
the yielding air--"There they are," he cried, "the dead! They rise in
their shrouds, and pass in silent procession towards the far land of their