upon the
temples, and the perpetual prayer offered by hearts soon to be broken.
The street-lamps, standing in long line, reveal the silence and the
slumber of the town.

Stupendous thought: a great city asleep! Weary arm gathering strength
for to-morrow's toil. Hot brain getting cooled off. Rigid muscles
relaxing. Excited nerves being soothed. White locks of the
octogenarian in thin drifts across the white pillow--fresh fall of
flakes on snow already fallen. Children with dimpled hands thrown put
over the pillow, with every breath inhaling a new store of fun and
frolic.

Let the great hosts sleep! A slumberless Eye will watch them. Silent
be the alarm-bells and merciful the elements! Let one great wave of
refreshing slumber roll across the heart of the great town, submerging
trouble and weariness and pain. It is the third watch of the night,
and time for the city to sleep.

But be not deceived. There are thousands of people in the great
town who will not sleep a moment to-night. Go up that dark court. Be
careful, or you will fall over the prostrate form of a drunkard lying
on his own worn step. Look about you, or you will feel the garroter's
hug. Try to look in through that broken pane! What do you see?
Nothing. But listen. What is it? "God help us!" No footlights, but
tragedy--mightier, ghastlier than Ristori or Edwin Booth ever acted.
No bread. No light. No fire. No cover. They lie strewn upon the
floor--two whole families in one room. They shiver in the darkness.
They have had no food to-day. You say: "Why don't they beg?" They did
beg, but got nothing. You say: "Hand them over to the almshouse."

Ah! they had rather die than go to the almshouse. Have you never heard
the bitter cry of the man or of the child when told that he must go to
the almshouse?

You say that these are vicious poor, and have brought their own
misfortune on themselves.

So much the more to be pitied. The Christian poor--God helps them!
Through their night there twinkles the round, merry star of hope, and
through the cracked window-pane of their hovel they see the crystals
of heaven. But the vicious are the more to be pitied. They have no
hope. They are in hell now. They have put out their last light. People
excuse themselves from charity by saying they do not deserve to be
helped. If I have ten prayers for the innocent, I shall have twenty
for the guilty. If a ship be dashed upon the rocks, the fisherman, in
his hut on the beach, will w