of probability to engage the undivided interest of the enlightened
and judicious reader. Believing as I do that the romance of reality--the
details of common, everyday life--the secret history of things hidden
from the public gaze, but of the existence of which there can be no
manner of doubt--are endowed with a more powerful and absorbing interest
than any extravagant flight of imagination can be, it shall be my aim in
the following pages to adhere as closely as possible to truth and
reality; and to depict scenes and adventures which have actually
occurred, and which have come to my knowledge in the course of an
experience no means limited--an experience replete with facilities for
acquiring a perfect insight into human nature, and a knowledge of the
many secret springs of human action.

The most favorable reception which my former humble productions have met
with, at the hands of a kind and indulgent public, will, I trust,
justify the hope that the present Tale may meet with similar
encouragement. It certainly shall not prove inferior to any of its
predecessors in the variety of its incidents or the interest of its
details; and as a _romance of city life_, it will amply repay the
perusal of all country readers, as well as those who reside in cities.

With these remarks, preliminary and explanatory, I proceed at once to
draw the curtain, and unfold the opening scene of my drama.

CHAPTER I

_The blind Basket-maker and his family._

It was a winter's day, and piercing cold; very few pedestrians were to
be seen in Boston, and those few were carefully enveloped in warm cloak
and great coats, for the weather was of that intense kind that chills
the blood and penetrates to the very bone. Even Washington street--that
great avenue of wealth and promenade of fashion, usually thronged with
the pleasure-seeking denizens of the metropolis--was comparatively
deserted, save by a few shivering mortals, who hurried on their way with
rapid footsteps, anxious to escape from the relentless and iron grasp
of hoary winter. And yet on that day, and in that street, there stood
upon the pavement directly opposite the "Old South Church," a young girl
of about the age of fourteen years, holding in her hand a small basket
of fruit, which she offered to every passer-by. Now there was nothing
very extraordinary in this, neither was there anything very unusual in
the meek and pleading look of the little fruit girl, as she timidly
rais