Shrinking back from her mother’s arms, while the tears flowed down her wan little cheeks, she cried, “No, no, sweet, dear mamma, you are so sick and I am so cold; I told brother Arthur I would try to keep you warm till he came back.” And seeing the tears fill her mother’s eyes, she continued, “Dear, pretty mamma, _I_ am not cold, but Buhddy said I would make you sick; and when he comes home, he will bring me some bread, and take me in his arms to warm me”—and she continued blowing on her little cold fingers. On rushed the spirit-wind along a public thoroughfare, making harsh music with the loose shutters and creaking signs, while the gas-lamps shone with a ghost-like light through the murky atmosphere. On a corner, heedless of the beating hail, stood a lad of some twelve years; near hovered an angel, as if to shelter him from the storm—but he heeded it not. Dark forms of temptation encircled him—hunger, want, and despair shone from his dark, full eyes, as he gazed eagerly into the countenance of each passer-by. Oh! could but one have heeded that imploring look—given but one word, one tone of sympathy, one mite from their abundance, what a host of dark spirits had been banished, what years of misery had been saved. But no, each one hurried on to his own comfortable abode, leaving that young, untaught heart to battle with its fierce temptations. At length, as the pale faces of his mother and sister rose before him, he put forth his hand for charity. It was repulsed—and oh! with what withering blight that look sunk to his heart, while the dark spirits gathered round him closer and closer. But still his angel hovered near, as he rushed recklessly along the streets, until exhausted nature yielding, he sunk on the steps of an elegant mansion. The soft light peeping through the half-closed shutters, whence issued the sound of merry voices, recalled to mind the dear image of his once happy home. Again the voice of the angel echoed in his heart, “Here is plenty of bread, and here are kind hearts also!” One hand was tremblingly raised to the knocker, while the other was pressed upon his heart to hush its throbbings. A liveried porter answered his feeble summons. Again was he repulsed, and with harsh words. Despair now seized his heart; and as the dying form of his mother, that mother, so dearly, fondly loved, his only parent and friend in the cold, dark world—and the little patient, suffering face of his sweet sister, whose smile was once so bright—as they rose before his reeling brain, he rushed toward the market-place. Here was bread enough—and should all that he loved die for one morsel? The angel whispered him a Father in heaven—but hunger, and love, and despair urged him on; and as the vender turned from the stand, he seized a loaf, and thrusting it beneath his threadbare coat, sped with the wings of lightning along the now nearly deserted streets until he entered a dark alley.