Christian life -- Fiction; Farm life -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
To a man like Chester, the solitude of his night watches was at times
a luxury. When the great city lay slumbering around him, his mind
found subjects of deep thought in itself and in surrounding things.
Even on the night when we present him to the reader, the cold air,
while it chilled his body, seemed only to invigorate his mind. Instead
of brooding gloomily over his own position, certainly very inferior
to what it had been, he had many a compassionate thought for those
poorer than himself, without one envious feeling for the thousands
and thousands who would have deemed his small income of ten dollars
a week absolute poverty.
The ward in which he was stationed exhibited in a striking degree
the two great extremes of social life. Blocks of palatial buildings
loomed imposingly along the broad streets. Each dwelling, with its
spacious rooms and luxurious accommodations, was occupied by a single
family, sometimes of not more than two or three persons. Here plate
glass, silver mounted doors, and rich traceries in bronze and iron,
gave brilliant evidence of wealth; while many small gardens thrown
together, rich with shrubbery and vines in their season of verdure,
threw a fresh glow of nature around the rich man's dwelling. Resources
of enjoyment were around him on every hand. Each passing cloud seemed
to turn its silver lining upon these dwellings, as it rolled across
the heavens.
You had but to turn a corner, and lo! the very earth seemed vital
and teeming with human beings. Poor men and the children of poor men,
disputed possession of every brick upon the sidewalks. Every hole
in those dilapidated buildings swarmed with a family; every corner
of the leaky garrets and damp cellars was full of poverty-stricken
life. Here were no green trees, no leaf-clad vines climbing upon the
walls; empty casks, old brooms, and battered wash-tubs littered the
back yards, which the sweet fresh grass should have carpeted. Ash
pans and tubs of kitchen offal choked up the areas. The very light,
as it struggled through those dingy windows, seemed pinched and smoky.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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