eet are cold and bare, poor brat!
But this has always been his lot.
He trudges on, or stops to steal
Quick glances at the dainty meal;
And then his purple lips do bless
The heart that pitied his distress.

At home, how will the meagre ones
Clutch at those broken bits of bread!
How will they banquet on those bones,
Like ravens feasting on the dead!
A dainty stomach would refuse
Such food; but 'beggars cannot choose:'
_They_ relish what the rich condemn,
But hunger makes the sauce for them.

Ah, sister! when the beggar-boy
Returns, think still on hunger's pain;
Lighten his little heart with joy,
And fill his basket up again.
Who _pities_ wretchedness does well,
But who _relieves_ it, doth excel.
Then ever, till the common end,
Let Misery find in thee, a friend.

THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.

Harry Harson.

CHAPTER XXVI.

At the dead of the night, when all others were at rest, Michael Rust
glided out of his office. It was a strange hour, but he had become a
strange man. Through the silent streets he stole, with a step so noiseless
that it awoke no echo. Along Broadway, passing where the city ended and
the fields began, mile after mile he went. He met no one. Every house that
he passed was as silent as the grave; excepting a solitary one, standing
by itself, with a light shining through an upper window, as if some one
kept watch at a sick bed. Sometimes the road ran between high trees, whose
skeleton outlines stood grimly up between him and the stars, stiff and
motionless. At other times, it coursed along dreary wastes; then again, it
was buried in dense shadow; now ascending, now descending. At times he
caught a glimpse of the distant gray river, gleaming in the darkness, with
here and there the light on board some vessel at anchor, glittering like a
star. In some places, where it was shut in by high banks, the road seemed
inky black; and parts of it were so solitary, that even a stout heart
might have shrunk from traversing it at that dreary hour. But Rust thought
not of fear. What had _he_ to do with that feeling, who sought only
revenge and a grave?

It was yet night, when he reached a house in the upper part of the island,
and near the river. Little except its dim outline was visible in the
obscurity; and as he opened the gate, and passed beneath an avenue of tall
trees which led to it, the darkness was such that he could scarcely see.
But he was