But， ah！ a most lamentable disaster. Bewildered by thered， blue， and yellow meteors， in an apothecary’s window，they have stepped upon a slippery remnant of ice， and areprecipitated into a confluence of swollen floods， at the cornerof two streets. Luckless lovers！ Were it my nature to be otherthan a looker-on in life， I would attempt your rescue. Sincethat may not be， I vow， should you be drowned， to weave sucha pathetic story of your fate， as shall call forth tears to drownyou both anew. Do ye touch bottom， my young friends？ Yes；they emerge like a water-nymph and a river deity， and paddlehand in hand out of the depths of the dark pool. They hurryhomeward， dripping， disconsolate， abashed， but with love toowarm to be chilled by the cold water. They have stood a testwhich proves too strong for many. Faithful， though over headand ears in trouble！
Onward I go， deriving a sympathetic joy or sorrow from thevaried aspect of mortal affairs， even as my figure catches agleam from the lighted windows， or is blackened by an intervalof darkness. Not that mine is altogether a chameleon spirit，with no hue of its own. Now I pass into a more retired street，where the dwellings of wealth and poverty are intermingled，presenting a range of strongly contrasted pictures. Here， too，may be found the golden mean. Through yonder casement Idiscern a family circle，—the grandmother， the parents， and thechildren，—all flickering， shadow-like， in the glow of a woodfire.
Bluster， fierce blast， and beat， thou wintry rain， againstthe window-panes！ Ye cannot damp the enjoyment of thatfireside. Surely my fate is hard， that I should be wanderinghomeless here， taking to my bosom night， and storm， andsolitude， instead of wife and children. Peace， murmurer！ Doubtnot that darker guests are sitting round the hearth， though thewarm blaze hides all but blissful images. Well； here is still abrighter scene. A stately mansion， illuminated for a ball， withcut-glass chandeliers and alabaster lamps in every room， andsunny landscapes hanging round the walls. See！ a coach hasstopped， whence emerges a slender beauty， who， canopied bytwo umbrellas， glides within the portal， and vanishes amidlightsome thrills of music. Will she ever feel the night-windand the rain？ Perhaps，—perhaps！ And will Death and Sorrowever enter that proud mansion？ As surely as the dancers will begay within its halls to-night. Such thoughts sadden， yet satisfymy heart； for they teach me that the poor man， in his mean，weather-beaten hovel， without a fire to cheer him， may call therich his brother， brethren by Sorrow， who must be an inmateof both their households，—brethren by Death， who will leadthem， both to other homes.
Onward， still onward， I plunge into the night. Now haveI reached the utmost limits of the town， where the last lampstruggles feebly with the darkness， like the farthest starthat stands sentinel on the borders of uncreated space. It isstrange what sensations of sublimity may spring from a veryhumble source. Such are suggested by this hollow roar of asubterranean cataract， where the mighty stream of a kennelprecipitates itself beneath an iron grate， and is seen no moreon earth. Listen awhile to its voice of mystery； and fancy willmagnify it， till you start and smile at the illusion. And nowanother sound，—the rumbling of wheels，—as the mail-coach，outward bound， rolls heavily off the pavements， and splashesthrough the mud and water of the road. All night long， the poorpassengers will be tossed to and fro between drowsy watchand troubled sleep， and will dream of their own quiet beds， andawake to find themselves still jolting onward. Happier my lot，who will straightway hie me to my familiar room， and toastmyself comfortably before the fire， musing， and fitfully dozing，and fancying a strangeness in such sights as all may see. Butfirst let me gaze at this solitary figure， who comes hitherwardwith a tin lantern， which throws the circular pattern of itspunched holes on the ground about him. He passes fearlesslyinto the unknown gloom， whither I will not follow him.
This figure shall supply me with a moral， wherewith， forlack of a more appropriate one， I may wind up my sketch.
He fears not to tread the dreary path before him， because hislantern， which was kindled at the fireside of his home， willlight him back to that same fireside again. And thus we， nightwanderersthrough a stormy and dismal world， if we bear thelamp of Faith， enkindled at a celestial fire， it will surely lead ushome to that Heaven whence its radiance was borrowed.
