To the cellar

On the way Wilson said Davenport was a good fellow,toygh too much of the Methodee,That his children were too young to work,but not too young to be coldand hungry;that they had sunk lower and lower,and pawned thing aftrer thing,and that they now lived in a cellar in Berry street.Barton growled inarticulatewords of no benevolent import to a large class of makind,and so they went along till they arrived in Berry Srteet.It was unpaved,and down the middle a gutter force its way,every nowand then forming pools in the holes with which the street abounded.Never was the old Edinburg cry of"Gardez l'eau!"more necessary than in this street.As they passed ,women from their doors tossed houseold slops of every description into the gutter ;they ran into the next pool,which ower flowed and stagnated.Heaps of ashes were the stepping-stones,on which the passer-by,who cared in the least for cleanlinnes, took care not to put his foot.Our friends were not dainty,but even they picked their way,till they got to some stepsleading down into a small area,where a person standing would have his head about one foot below the level of the street,and might at the same time ,without the least motion of his body,touch the window of the cellar and the dump muddluy wall right opposite.You went down one step even from the foul area into the cellar in which a family of human beings lived. It was very dark inside. The windowpanes where many of them broken and stuffed with rags, which was reason enough for the dusky light that pervaded the place even at mid-day. After tha account I have given of the state of the street, no one can be surprised that on going into the cellar inhabited by Davenport, the smell was so fetid as almost to knock the two men down. Quickly recovering themselves, as those inured to such things do, they began to penetrate the thick darkness of the place, and to see three or four little children rolling on the damp, nay wet, brick floor, through which the stagnant, filthy moisture of the street oozed up; the fireplace was empty and black; the wife sat on her husband's lair, and cried in the dank loneliness. "See, missis, I'm back again. - Hold your noise, children, and don't mither your mammy for bread; here's a cheap as has got some for you." In that dim light, which was darkness to strangers, they clustered round Barton, and tore from him the food he had brought with him. It was a large hunch of bread, but it vanished in an istant.

Breakfast Time At The Mill Owner's

Mr carson's was a good house,and furnished with disregard to expense.But,in addition to lavish expenditure,there was much taste shown,and many articles chosen for their beauty and elegance adorned his rooms.As Wilson passed a window which a housemaid had thrown open, he saw pictures and gilding, at which he was tempted to stop and look; but then he thought it would not be respectful. So he hastened on to the kitchen door.The servants seemed very busy with preparations for breakfast; but good naturedly, though hastily, told him to step in, and they could soon let Mr Carson know he was there.So he was ushered into a kitchen hung round with glittering tins, where a roaring fire burnt merrily, and where numbers of utensils hung round, at whose nature and use Wilson amuse himself by guessing. Meanwhile, the servants bustled to and for; an outdoor man servant came in for orders, and sat down near Wilson.The cook broiled steaks and the kitchenmaid toasted bread, and boiled eggs.The coffee steamed upon the fire,and altogether the odours were so mixed and appetising, that Wilson began to yearn food. A servant, semi-upper-housemaid, semi-lady's- maid, now came down with orders from her mistress."Missis will have her breakfast up-stairs, cook, and the cold partridge as was left yestrerday, and put plenty of cream in her coffee, and she thinks there's a rolll left, and would like it well buttered."So saying, the made left the kitchen to be ready to attend to the young ladies' bell when they chose to ring, after their late assembly the night before. In the luxourious library, at the well-spread breakfast-table, sat the two Mr Carsons, father and son. Both were reading-the father a newspaper, the son a review-while they lazily enjoied their nicely prepared food.