seem! They are never cold, and seldom very hungry,
and the world is dry to them, and comfortable. And they all have
beds,--delicious beds. Mothers' hands tuck them in; mothers' lips teach
them to say their little prayers, and kiss them good-night. Foolish
fellow! why didn't you be one of those fortunate children, well fed,
rosy, and bright, instead of a starved and stupid tatterdemalion? A
question which shapes itself vaguely in his dull, aching soul, as he
stands trembling in the sleet, with only a few transparent squares of
glass dividing him and his misery from them and their joy.

Mighty question! it is vast and dark as the night to him. He cannot
answer it; can you?

Vast and dark and pitiless is the night. But the morning will surely
come; and after all the wrongs and tumults of life will rise the dawn of
the Day of God. And then every question of fate, though it fill the
universe for you now, shall dissolve in the brightness like a vapor, and
vanish like a little cloud.

Meanwhile a servant comes out and drives Fessenden's away from the
fence. He recommenced his wanderings,--up one street and down another,
in search of a place to lay his head. The inferior dwellings he passed
by. But when he arrived at a particularly fine one, there he rang. Was
it not natural for him to infer that the largest houses had amplest
accommodations, and that the rich could best afford to be bounteous? If
in all these spacious mansions there was no little nook for him, if out
of their luxuries not a blanket or crust could be spared, what could he
hope from the poor? You see, he was not altogether witless, if he was
a--Fessenden's. Another proof: At whatever house he applied, he never
committed the vulgarity of a _detour_ to the back-entrance, but advanced
straight, with bold and confident port, to the front-door. The reason of
which was equally simple and clear: Front-doors were the most convenient
and inviting; and what were they made for, if not to go in at?

But he grew weary of ringing and of being repulsed. It was dismal
standing still, however, and quite as comfortless sitting down. He was
so cold! So, to keep his blood in motion, he keeps his limbs in
motion,--till, lo! here he is again at the house where the happy
children were! They have ceased their play. Two young girls are at the
window, gazing out into the darkness, as if expecting some one. Not you,
miserable! You needn't stop and make signs for them to admit you. Ther