he caught sight of the river, speeding in its course towards the bridge, and scarcely knowing whither he was going, sauntered to its edge.  The tide had just turned, and the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, but no craft could be discovered upon its bosom; and except a few barges moored to its sides, all vestiges of the numberless vessels with which it was once crowded were gone.  Its quays were completely deserted.  Boxes and bales of goods lay untouched on the wharves; the cheering cries with which the workmen formerly animated their labour were hushed.  There was no sound of creaking cords, no rattle of heavy chains—­none of the busy hum ordinarily attending the discharge of freight from a vessel, or the packing of goods and stores on board.  All traffic was at an end; and this scene, usually one of the liveliest possible, was now forlorn and desolate.  On the opposite shore of the river it appeared to be the same—­indeed, the borough of Southwark was now suffering the utmost rigour of the scourge, and except for the rows of houses on its banks, and the noble bridge by which it was spanned, the Thames appeared as undisturbed as it must have been before the great city was built upon its banks.

The apprentice viewed this scene with a singular kind of interest.  He had become so accustomed to melancholy sights, that his feelings had lost their acuteness, and the contemplation of the deserted buildings and neglected wharves around him harmonized with his own gloomy thoughts.  Pursuing his walk along the side of the river, he was checked by a horrible smell, and looking downward, he perceived a carcass in the last stage of decomposition lying in the mud.  It had been washed ashore by the tide, and a large bird of prey was contending for the possession of it with a legion of water-rats.  Sickened by the sight, he turned up a narrow thoroughfare near Baynard’s Castle, and crossing Thames-street, was about to ascend Addle-hill, when he perceived a man wheeling a hand-barrow, containing a couple of corpses, in the direction of the river, with the intention, doubtless, of throwing them into it, as the readiest means of disposing of them.  Both bodies were stripped of their clothing, and the blue tint of the nails, as well as the blotches with which they were covered, left no doubt as to the disease of which they had died.  Averting his gaze from the spectacle, Leonard turned off on the right along Carter-lane, and threading a short passage, approached the southern boundary of the cathedral; and proceeding towards the great door opposite him, passed through it.  The mighty lazar-house was less crowded than he expected to find it, but its terrible condition far exceeded his worst conceptions.  Not more than half the pallets were occupied; but as the sick were in a great measure left to themselves, the utmost disorder prevailed.  A troop of lazars, with sheets folded around them, glided, like phantoms, along Paul’s Walk, and mimicked in a ghastly