ere shelter is, and beds and
sleepers are by thousands; a houseless rejected creature. To pace
the echoing stones from hour to hour, counting the dull chimes of the
clocks; to watch the lights twinkling in chamber windows, to think what
happy forgetfulness each house shuts in; that here are children coiled
together in their beds, here youth, here age, here poverty, here wealth,
all equal in their sleep, and all at rest; to have nothing in common
with the slumbering world around, not even sleep, Heaven's gift to
all its creatures, and be akin to nothing but despair; to feel, by the
wretched contrast with everything on every hand, more utterly alone and
cast away than in a trackless desert; this is a kind of suffering, on
which the rivers of great cities close full many a time, and which the
solitude in crowds alone awakens.

The miserable man paced up and down the streets--so long, so wearisome,
so like each other--and often cast a wistful look towards the east,
hoping to see the first faint streaks of day. But obdurate night had
yet possession of the sky, and his disturbed and restless walk found no
relief.

One house in a back street was bright with the cheerful glare of lights;
there was the sound of music in it too, and the tread of dancers,
and there were cheerful voices, and many a burst of laughter. To this
place--to be near something that was awake and glad--he returned again
and again; and more than one of those who left it when the merriment
was at its height, felt it a check upon their mirthful mood to see him
flitting to and fro like an uneasy ghost. At last the guests departed,
one and all; and then the house was close shut up, and became as dull
and silent as the rest.

His wanderings brought him at one time to the city jail. Instead of
hastening from it as a place of ill omen, and one he had cause to shun,
he sat down on some steps hard by, and resting his chin upon his hand,
gazed upon its rough and frowning walls as though even they became a
refuge in his jaded eyes. He paced it round and round, came back to the
same spot, and sat down again. He did this often, and once, with a hasty
movement, crossed to where some men were watching in the prison lodge,
and had his foot upon the steps as though determined to accost them. But
looking round, he saw that the day began to break, and failing in his
purpose, turned and fled.

He was soon in the quarter he had lately traversed, and pacing to and
fro again