And as they had been upturned in terror towards the mountain, all faces were more or less snowed or spotted with soot.

Nor marble, nor flesh, nor the sad spirit of man, may in this cindery City of Dis abide white.
As retired at length, midway, in a recess of the bridge, Israel surveyed them, various individual aspects all but frighted him.

Knowing not who they were; never destined, it may be, to behold them again; one after the other, they drifted by, uninvoked ghosts in Hades.

Some of the wayfarers wore a less serious look; some seemed hysterically merry; but the mournful faces had an earnestness not seen in the others: because man, "poor player," succeeds better in life's tragedy than comedy.
Arrived, in the end, on the Middlesex side, Israel's heart was prophetically heavy; foreknowing, that being of this race, felicity could never be his lot.
For five days he wandered and wandered.

Without leaving statelier haunts unvisited, he did not overlook those broader areas--hereditary parks and manors of vice and misery.