oup in one corner attracted him as had the lighted window
and the revolving globe.

A hatchet-faced woman, wearing a faded straw hat of antique pattern, a
cloak to match, and a soiled and largely plaided dress, was vainly
endeavoring to still the cries of a miserable babe swaddled in an
assortment of dirty garments.

Two children, of ages evidently beginning at prompt and regular
intervals from the one in her arms, extended from her at right-angles on
the bench, their legs straddled about with a childish disregard of
modesty. They were asleep--at least one of them was, and the other was
equally silent.

By and by, the woman arose and walked the floor with the babe. At this,
the child who was not asleep arose also and stared at its mother with
wide, round eyes. Then, as she approached it and turned in her march, it
began to follow her, keeping close behind and in step.

The other slept on unconsciously. The lamps flared and flickered; the
babe, partially soothed, sobbed and moaned, and the squalid pair marched
on.

Begotten in bliss--brought forth in suffering--retired in privation.

Suddenly there is a prolonged, shrill shriek in the night, a trampling
of many feet, a shouting of discordant voices, and the midnight train is
snorting at the platform.

Hastily the mother gathers up the sleeping child, and bidding the other
cling close to her skirts, hurries out into the night, past the
fiery-eyed Polyphemus, on toward the coaches behind.

The people that are going somewhere jostle against her in their haste to
get into the coaches and secure seats. Mechanically the artist follows.
Everybody is going somewhere; he will go, too.

The monster ahead begins to puff and grunt, and the bell that is
fastened to its back, to ring wildly.

The men who are loading baggage shout and swear and hurl coarse jokes at
each other, and the midnight train begins to move. The bell still clangs
frantically, the demon puffs and grunts faster and faster, and the light
from its one fearful eye penetrates farther and farther into the
darkness ahead.

Faster, and faster, and faster--the sound of the wheels falling into a
regular measure, until it has become a weird, rhythmical monotone.

"Gentlemen's shoes--Gentlemen's shoes--Gentlemen's shoes."

Then there is a momentary flare of light, a final, blood-curdling
scream, and the one-eyed demon--the faded and soiled woman--the sobbing
baby--the sleeping child--the marching child with t