n Slough of Despond, a concoction of mud and
liquid filth, ankle-deep, leg-deep, neck-deep--in a word, of unknown
bottom--on which the lamplight does not even glimmer, but which I have
occasionally watched in the gradual growth of its horrors from morn
till nightfall. Should I flounder into its depths, farewell to upper
earth! And hark! how roughly resounds the roaring of a stream the
turbulent career of which is partially reddened by the gleam of the
lamp, but elsewhere brawls noisily through the densest gloom! Oh,
should I be swept away in fording that impetuous and unclean torrent,
the coroner will have a job with an unfortunate gentleman who would
fain end his troubles anywhere but in a mud-puddle.

Pshaw! I will linger not another instant at arm's-length from these
dim terrors, which grow more obscurely formidable the longer I delay
to grapple with them. Now for the onset, and, lo! with little damage
save a dash of rain in the face and breast, a splash of mud high up
the pantaloons and the left boot full of ice-cold water, behold me at
the corner of the street. The lamp throws down a circle of red light
around me, and twinkling onward from corner to corner I discern other
beacons, marshalling my way to a brighter scene. But this is a
lonesome and dreary spot. The tall edifices bid gloomy defiance to the
storm with their blinds all closed, even as a man winks when he faces
a spattering gust. How loudly tinkles the collected rain down the tin
spouts! The puffs of wind are boisterous, and seem to assail me from
various quarters at once. I have often observed that this corner is a
haunt and loitering-place for those winds which have no work to do
upon the deep dashing ships against our iron-bound shores, nor in the
forest tearing up the sylvan giants with half a rood of soil at their
vast roots. Here they amuse themselves with lesser freaks of mischief.
See, at this moment, how they assail yonder poor woman who is passing
just within the verge of the lamplight! One blast struggles for her
umbrella and turns it wrong side outward, another whisks the cape of
her cloak across her eyes, while a third takes most unwarrantable
liberties with the lower part of her attire. Happily, the good dame is
no gossamer, but a figure of rotundity and fleshly substance; else
would these aerial tormentors whirl her aloft like a witch upon a
broomstick, and set her down, doubtless, in the filthiest kennel
hereabout.

From hence I tread u