CHAPTER VI. A BRIEF EPISODE. Away from these scenes of darkness and of crime, let us, for a moment, turn aside and dwell, for a little while, on the fireside ray of a quiet home. Yes, leaving Arthur and Herman to pursue their way, let us indulge in a quiet episode: It is a neat two-storied dwelling, standing apart from the street, somewhere in the upper region of the Empire City. Through the drawn window-curtains, a softened light trembles forth upon the darkness. Gaze through the curtains, and behold the scene which is disclosed by the mingled light of the open fire, and of the lamp whose beams are softened by a clouded shade. A young mother sitting beside a cradle, with her baby on her breast, and a flaxen-haired boy, some three years old, crouching on the stool at her feet. A very beautiful sight,--save in the eyes of old bachelors, for whom this work is not written, and who are affectionately requested to skip this chapter,--a very beautiful sight, save in the eyes of that class of worn-out profligates, who never having had a mother or sister, and having spent their lives in degrading the holiest impulse of our nature, into a bestial appetite, come, at last, to look upon woman as a mere animal; come, at last, to sneer with their colorless lips and lack-luster eyes, at the very idea of a holy chastity, as embodied in the form of a pure woman. Of all the miserable devils, who crawl upon this earth, the most miserable is that lower devil, whose heart is foul with pollution at the very mention of woman. Take my word for it, (and if you look about the world, you'll find it so,) the man who has not, somewhere about his heart, a high, a holy ideal of woman,--an ideal hallowing every part of her being, as mother, sister, wife,--is a vile sort of man, anyhow you choose to look at him; a very vile man, rotten at the heart, and diffusing moral death wherever he goes. Avoid such a man;--not as you would the devil, for the devil is a king to him,--but as you would avoid the last extreme of depravity, loathsome, not only for its wretchedness, but for its utter baseness. It's a good rule to go by,--never trust that man who has a low idea of woman,--trust him not with purse, with confidence, in the street or over your threshold,--trust him not: his influence is poison; and the atmosphere which he carries with him, is that of hell. It is a quiet room, neatly furnished; a lamp, with a clouded shade, stands on the table; a piano stands in one corner; the portrait of the absent father hangs on the wall; a wood fire burns briskly on the hearth. A very quiet room, full of the atmosphere of home.