nday rest along the curbstones
suggested the presence of a race of sturdier strength than theirs. March
liked the swarthy, strange visages; he found nothing menacing for the
future in them; for wickedness he had to satisfy himself as he could
with the sneering, insolent, clean-shaven mug of some rare American of
the b'hoy type, now almost as extinct in New York as the dodo or the
volunteer fireman. When he had found his way, among the ash-barrels
and the groups of decently dressed church-goers, to the docks, he
experienced a sufficient excitement in the recent arrival of a French
steamer, whose sheds were thronged with hacks and express-wagons, and
in a tacit inquiry into the emotions of the passengers, fresh from the
cleanliness of Paris, and now driving up through the filth of those
streets.

Some of the streets were filthier than others; there was at least
a choice; there were boxes and barrels of kitchen offal on all the
sidewalks, but not everywhere manure-heaps, and in some places the
stench was mixed with the more savory smell of cooking. One Sunday
morning, before the winter was quite gone, the sight of the frozen
refuse melting in heaps, and particularly the loathsome edges of the
rotting ice near the gutters, with the strata of waste-paper and straw
litter, and egg-shells and orange peel, potato-skins and cigar-stumps,
made him unhappy. He gave a whimsical shrug for the squalor of the
neighboring houses, and said to himself rather than the boy who was
with him: "It's curious, isn't it, how fond the poor people are of
these unpleasant thoroughfares? You always find them living in the worst
streets."

"The burden of all the wrong in the world comes on the poor," said the
boy. "Every sort of fraud and swindling hurts them the worst. The city
wastes the money it's paid to clean the streets with, and the poor have
to suffer, for they can't afford to pay twice, like the rich."

March stopped short. "Hallo, Tom! Is that your wisdom?"

"It's what Mr. Lindau says," answered the boy, doggedly, as if not
pleased to have his ideas mocked at, even if they were second-hand.

"And you didn't tell him that the poor lived in dirty streets because
they liked them, and were too lazy and worthless to have them cleaned?"

"No; I didn't."

"I'm surprised. What do you think of Lindau, generally speaking, Tom?"

"Well, sir, I don't like the way he talks about some things. I don't
suppose this country is perfect, but I think