[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

Pleasant is a rainy winter's day, within doors!
The best study for such a day, or the best amusement,—
call it which you will,—is a book of travels,
describing scenes the most unlike that sombre one,
which is mistily presented through the windows. I
have experienced, that fancy is then most successful
in imparting distinct shapes and vivid colors to the
objects which the author has spread upon his page,
and that his words become magic spells to summon
up a thousand varied pictures. Strange landscapes
glimmer through the familiar walls of the room, and

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

outlandish figures thrust themselves almost within the
sacred precincts of the hearth. Small as my chamber
is, it has space enough to contain the ocean-like
circumference of an Arabian desert, its parched sands
tracked by the long line of a caravan, with the camels
patiently journeying through the heavy sunshine.
Though my ceiling be not lofty, yet I can pile up the
mountains of Central Asia beneath it, till their summits
shine far above the clouds of the middle atmosphere.
And, with my humble means, a wealth that
is not taxable, I can transport hither the magnificent
merchandise of an Oriental bazar, and call a crowd
of purchasers from distant countries, to pay a fair
profit for the precious articles which are displayed on
all sides. True it is, however, that, amid the bustle
of traffic, or whatever else may seem to be going on
around me, the rain-drops will occasionally be heard
to patter against my window-panes, which look forth
upon one of the quietest streets in a New England
town. After a time, too, the visions vanish, and will
not appear again at my bidding. Then, it being
nightfall, a gloomy sense of unreality depresses my
spirits, and impels me to venture out, before the clock
shall strike bedtime, to satisfy myself that the world
is not entirely made up of such shadowy materials as
have busied me throughout the day. A dreamer may
dwell so long among fantasies, that the things without
him will seem as unreal as those within.

When eve has fairly set in, therefore, I sally forth,
tightly buttoning my shaggy over-coat, and hoisting
my umbrella, the silken dome of which immediately
resounds with the heavy drumming of the invisible
rain-drops. Pausing on the lowest door-step, I contrast
the warmth and cheerfulness of my deserted fire-side
with the drear obscurity and chill discomfort
into which I am about to plunge. Now come fearful

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

auguries, innumerable as the drops of rain. Did not
my manhood cry shame upon me, I should turn back
within doors, resume my elbow-chair, my slippers,
and my book, pass such an evening of sluggish
enjoyment as the day has been, and go to bed inglorious.
The same shivering reluctance, no doubt,
has quelled, for a moment, the adventurous spirit of
many a traveller, when his feet, which were destined
to measure the earth around, were leaving their last
tracks in the home-paths.

In my own case, poor human nature may be allowed
a few misgivings. I look upward, and discern
no sky, not even an unfathomable void, but only a
black, impenetrable nothingness, as though heaven
and all its lights were blotted from the system of the
universe. It is as if nature were dead, and the world
had put on black, and the clouds were weeping for
her. With their tears upon my cheek, I turn my
eyes earthward, but find little consolation here below.
A lamp is burning dimly at the distant corner, and
throws just enough of light along the street, to show,
and exaggerate by so faintly showing, the perils and
difficulties which beset my path. Yonder dingily-white
remnant of a huge snow-bank,—which will yet
cumber the sidewalk till the latter days of March,—
over or through that wintry waste must I stride on-ward.
Beyond, lies a certain Slough of Despond, a
concoction of mud and liquid filth, ankle-deep, leg-deep,
neck-deep,—in a word, of unknown bottom,—
on which the lamp-light does not even glimmer, but
which I have occasionally watched, in the gradual
growth of its horrors, from morn till nightfall. Should
I flounder into its depths, farewell to upper earth!
And hark! how roughly resounds the roaring of a
stream, the turbulent career of which is partially reddened
by the gleam of the lamp, but elsewhere brawls

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

noisily through the densest gloom. O, should I be
swept away in fording that impetuous and unclean
torrent, the coroner will have a job with an unfortunate
gentleman, who would fain end his troubles
any where but in a mud-puddle!

Pshaw! I will linger not another instant at arm's
length from these dim terrors, which grow more obscurely
formidable, the longer I delay to grapple with
them. Now for the onset! And lo! with little damage,
save a dash of rain in the face and breast, a
splash of mud high up the pantaloons, and the left
boot full of ice-cold water, behold me at the corner
of the street. The lamp throws down a circle of red
light around me; and, twinkling onward from corner
to corner, I discern other beacons, marshalling my
way to a brighter scene. But this is a lonesome and
dreary spot. The tall edifices bid gloomy defiance to
the storm, with their blinds all closed, even as a man
winks when he faces a spattering gust. How loudly
tinkles the collected rain down the tin spouts! The
puffs of wind are boisterous, and seem to assail me
from various quarters at once. I have often observed
that this corner is a haunt and loitering-place
for those winds which have no work to do upon the
deep, dashing ships against our iron-bound shores;
nor in the forest, tearing up the sylvan giants with
half a rood of soil at their vast roots. Here they
amuse themselves with lesser freaks of mischief. See,
at this moment, how they assail yonder poor woman,
who is passing just within the verge of the lamp-light!
One blast struggles for her umbrella, and turns it
wrong side outward; another whisks the cape of her
cloak across her eyes; while a third takes most unwarrantable
liberties with the lower part of her attire.
Happily, the good dame is no gossamer, but a figure
of rotundity and fleshly substance; else would these

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

aërial tormentors whirl her aloft, like a witch upon
a broomstick, and set her down, doubtless, in the
filthiest kennel hereabout.

From hence I tread upon firm pavements into the
centre of the town. Here there is almost as brilliant
an illumination as when some great victory has been
won, either on the battle-field or at the polls. Two
rows of shops, with windows down nearly to the
ground, cast a glow from side to side, while the black
night hangs overhead like a canopy, and thus keeps
the splendor from diffusing itself away. The wet
sidewalks gleam with a broad sheet of red light.
The rain-drops glitter, as if the sky were pouring
down rubies. The spouts gush with fire. Methinks
the scene is an emblem of the deceptive glare which
mortals throw around their footsteps in the moral
world, thus bedazzling themselves, till they forget the
impenetrable obscurity that hems them in, and that
can be dispelled only by radiance from above. And,
after all, it is a cheerless scene, and cheerless are the
wanderers in it. Here comes one who has so long
been familiar with tempestuous weather, that he takes
the bluster of the storm for a friendly greeting, as if
it should say, “How fare ye, brother?” He is a
retired sea-captain, wrapped in some nameless garment
of the pea-jacket order, and is now laying his course
towards the Marine Insurance Office, there to spin
yarns of gale and shipwreck, with a crew of old sea-dogs
like himself. The blast will put in its word
among their hoarse voices, and be understood by all
of them. Next I meet an unhappy slip-shod gentleman,
with a cloak flung hastily over his shoulders,
running a race with boisterous winds, and striving to
glide between the drops of rain. Some domestic
emergency or other has blown this miserable man
from his warm fireside, in quest of a doctor! See

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

that little vagabond,—how carelessly he has taken
his stand right underneath a spout, while staring at
some object of curiosity in a shop window! Surely
the rain is his native element; he must have fallen
with it from the clouds, as frogs are supposed to do.

Here is a picture, and a pretty one—a young man
and a girl, both enveloped in cloaks, and huddled beneath
the scanty protection of a cotton umbrella.
She wears rubber over-shoes; but he is in his dancing
pumps; and they are on their way, no doubt, to
some cotillon party, or subscription ball, at a dollar a
head, refreshments included. Thus they struggle
against the gloomy tempest, lured onward by a vision
of festal splendor. But, ah! a most lamentable disaster.
Bewildered by the red, blue, and yellow meteors
in an apothecary's window, they have stepped
upon a slippery remnant of ice, and are precipitated
into a confluence of swollen floods, at the corner of
two streets. Luckless lovers! Were it my nature
to be other than a looker-on in life, I would attempt
your rescue. Since that may not be, I vow, should
you be drowned, to weave such a pathetic story of
your fate, as shall call forth tears enough to drown
you both anew. Do ye touch bottom, my young
friends? Yes; they emerge like a water-nymph and
a river-deity, and paddle hand-in-hand out of the
depths of the dark pool. They hurry homeward,
dripping, disconsolate, abashed, but with love too
warm to be chilled by the cold water. They have
stood a test which proves too strong for many.
Faithful, though over head and ears in trouble!

Onward I go, deriving a sympathetic joy or sorrow
from the varied aspect of mortal affairs, even as my
figure catches a gleam from the lighted windows, or
is blackened by an interval of darkness. Not that
mine is altogether a chameleon spirit, with no hue of

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

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 I discern a family circle,—
the grandmother, the parents, and the children,—all
flickering, shadow-like, in the glow of a wood-fire.
Bluster, fierce blast, and beat, thou wintry rain,
against the window-panes! Ye cannot damp the
enjoyment of that fire-side. Surely my fate is hard,
that I should be wandering homeless here, taking to
my bosom night, and storm, and solitude, instead of
wife and children. Peace, murmurer! Doubt not that
darker guests are sitting round the hearth, though
the warm blaze hides all but blissful images. Well,
here is still a brighter scene—a stately mansion,
illuminated for a ball, with cut-glass chandeliers and
alabaster lamps in every room, and sunny landscapes
hanging round the walls. See! a coach has stopped,
whence emerges a slender beauty, who, canopied by
two umbrellas, glides within the portal, and vanishes
amid lightsome thrills of music. Will she ever feel
the night-wind and the rain? Perhaps,—perhaps!
And will death and sorrow ever enter that proud
mansion? As surely as the dancers will be gay
within its halls to-night. Such thoughts sadden, yet
satisfy my heart; for they teach me that the poor
man, in this mean, weather-beaten hovel, without a
fire to cheer him, may call the rich his brother,—
brethren by sorrow, who must be an inmate of both
their households,—brethren by death, who will lead
them both to other homes.

Onward, still onward, I plunge into the night.
Now have I reached the utmost limits of the town,
where the last lamp struggles feebly with the darkness,
like the farthest star that stands sentinel on the

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

borders of uncreated space. It is strange what sensations
of sublimity may spring from a very humble
source. Such are suggested by this hollow roar of a
subterranean cataract, where the mighty stream of
a kennel precipitates itself beneath an iron grate, and
is seen no more on earth. Listen awhile to its voice
of mystery; and fancy will magnify it, till you start,
and smile at the illusion. And now another sound,—
the rumbling of wheels,—as the mail-coach, outward
bound, rolls heavily off the pavements, and
splashes through the mud and water of the road. All
night long, the poor passengers will be tossed to and
fro between drowsy watch and troubled sleep, and
will dream of their own quiet beds, and awake to find
themselves still jolting onward. Happier my lot, who
will straightway hie me to my familiar room, and
toast myself comfortably before the fire, musing, and
fitfully dozing, and fancying a strangeness in such
sights as all may see. But first let me gaze at this
solitary figure, who comes hitherward with a tin lantern,
which throws the circular pattern of its punched
holes on the ground about him. He passes fearlessly
into the unknown gloom, whither I will not follow
him.

This figure shall supply me with a moral, wherewith,
for lack of a more appropriate one, I may wind
up my sketch. He fears not to tread the dreary path
before him, because his lantern, which was kindled
at the fireside of his home, will light him back to that
same fireside again. And thus we, night-wanderers
through a stormy and dismal world, if we bear the
lamp of faith, enkindled at a celestial fire, it will
surely lead us home to that heaven whence its
radiance was borrowed.