He passes out into the streets and walks on, with his hands behind him, under the shadow of the lofty houses, many of whose mysteries, difficulties, mortgages, delicate affairs of all kinds, are treasured up within his old black satin waistcoat. He is in the confidence of the very bricks and mortar. The high chimney-stacks telegraph family secrets to him. Yet there is not a voice in a mile of them to whisper, "Don't go home!"
Through the stir and motion of the commoner streets; through the roar and jar of many vehicles, many feet, many voices; with the blazing shop-lights lighting him on, the west wind blowing him on, and the crowd pressing him on, he is pitilessly urged upon his way, and nothing meets him murmuring, "Don't go home!" Arrived at last in his dull room to light his candles, and look round and up, and see the Roman pointing from the ceiling, there is no new significance in the Roman's hand to-night or in the flutter of the attendant groups to give him the late warning, "Don't come here!"

He passes out into the streets and walks on, under the shadow of the lofty houses, many of whose mysteries and mortgages are treasured up within his old black waistcoat. He is in the confidence of the very bricks and mortar. Yet there is not a voice in a mile of them to whisper, "Don't go home!"
Through the stir and motion of the streets; through the roar and jar of many vehicles, many feet, many voices; with the blazing shop-lights lighting him, and the crowd pressing him on, he is pitilessly urged upon his way, and nothing meets him murmuring, "Don't go home!"
Arrived at last in his dull room, he lights his candles. 