A deep feeling of melancholy came over us, a few days ago, as we passed along the turnpike between this place and Harpers-Ferry. In one part of the road, where, six weeks since, about thirty hands were at work, we saw a solitary workman, seated upon a stonepile, thumping away, without a neighbouring hammer to echo the sound of his. In another place, where forty-five hands had been busily emplyed, we saw four poor fellows, who seemed left merely as mementoes of the clemency of the Destroying Angel.
But cheerfulness again pervades the countenances of the contractors; and in a few days more the “busy hum of industry” will be once more heard on the highway. Travelling is now brisk, and “Indian Summer,” with its bland though smoky atmosphere, will give time to complete the unfinished labors of the victims to Cholera.
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We believe the Halltown neighborhood has become perfectly healthy. No cholera exists in Charlestown, or any other village in the county.
