Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/531

modious, elegant affair, sheltered by the great oak-tree that spreads its branches over the gateway, and I can drop into it from the oak boughs as softly and lightly as a snowflake. There I have solitude and shadowed gloom; the moonlight reveals the cold statues glimmering in the groves and bathes the dead fountain in white streams. Not wishing to be selfish, and sensible of the lack of sleeping-places, I invited a chance acquaintance, Speckle Devil by name, to occupy the other urn. He refused in a sullen, dogged manner, saying in a shamefaced way that "he didn't want to sleep in no Symbol"; but Speckle is of a rough and superstitious nature, given to foolish and groundless prejudices. He and two friends of his, Stealthy Rake and Smutty Sneak, make a strange trio. Careless of appearances, rough and defiant in manner, theirs seem to be characters of intense swagger and bravado; but their adventures and their conversation I find highly interesting. I detect a certain eloquence and clear-cutness in their expressions. I find that their lack of conventionality renders them at once picturesque and convincing. Hence I ask the question—can it be that it is only the vagabond and the social outcast to whom it has been given to utter plain truths? Is it only a rake that can call a spade a spade?

Tuesday.—. . . . Mild weather. Perhaps spring is coming. I spent the morning wandering through some empty sewer-pipes. It is a stealthy mode of travel, and one that much pleases me. Things that I wish to eat I often secrete in these pipes until such time as I can enjoy them. The only difficulty is that the pipes are all very much alike, and are placed end to end in long lines down the different streets, so that it is often hard for me to remember in which pipe I placed the bone or bacon rind that I wished to preserve. I sometimes wander on through miles and miles of pipe in search of the treasure, only to discover at last that I have entered the wrong line of pipes. However, my travels are entertaining, and often bring me out to interesting places. This morning, as I stepped out of the end of the pipe-tunnel into the open sunlight, I found myself facing a dog-kennel, which I concluded was empty. There was a saucer of milk by the door. I stopped to quench my thirst, when immediately I was set upon by an old blind creature, who flew out of the kennel and hurled furious invective at me. I drew back. "Madam," said I, "there is some mistake here."

"You are the mistake!" retorted the old creature. "Get out of here!"—uttering horrible imprecations. This unpleasant exhibition of feminine temper completely unnerved me. Though I wished to explain that my interest in the milk had been merely that of endeavoring to test the accuracy of casual observation, I refrained, and, completely disgusted, moved rapidly back into the sewer-pipe.

It will be called the "Yearn Chord," or the "Song of
Unnumbered Woes"

Wednesday.—. . . . I was in an ailantus-tree in Pigeon Place the other day, devoting my leisure to nature-study. I was endeavoring to concentrate upon the innocent gambols of a flock of sparrows, one of whom, by her artless coquetries, particularly engaged my attention. Her fascination for me was exceedingly pleasant and I cast about for some means of drawing nearer to her, for nothing could have been more coy and retiring than the little sparrows. As I gently advanced along the limb upon which she perched, gazing at me with a pretty shyness, I was startled to perceive some one else climbing the tree. Looking down, I recognized my acquaintance, Speckle Devil, who rapidly ascended. I concealed myself, but the astute Speckle soon discovered me. When he approached, the sparrows ceased their interesting sports and flew away. I was disappointed, and could not conceal my chagrin from the clumsy Speckle. He stopped and surveyed me.

"Chasing dicky-birds, hey?" he volunteered, in his coarse way.

I was irritated, and did not hesitate to