No Thoroughfare

Day of the month a and year, November the thirtieth, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five. London Time by the great clock of Saint Pauls, ten at night. All the lesser London churches strain their flmetallic throats. Some, flippantly begin before the heavy bell of the great cathedral; some, tardily begin three, four, half a dozen, strokes behind it; all are in ffsufficiently near accord, to leave a resonance in the air, as if the winged father who devours his children, had made a sounding sweep with his gigantic scythe in flflying over the city.