The Old Homestead. Ann S. Stephens

      In this case the clerk had done wonders, and taking a copy for study, his honor disposed himself in the great easy-chair of his private room, with the manuscript before him, as if profoundly occupied with some intricate law opinion, and commenced the arduous task of committing the ideas of a better cultivated mind to his own sterile brain. While he was thus occupied, a man entered with a good-humored, blustering air, and threw himself into a seat by the fire, carelessly shaking the Mayor's hand as he passed, as if quite certain of a good reception at all times.

      "Busy making out a new veto case, I dare say?" observed the visitor, glancing at the sheet of manuscript which his honor held.

      The Mayor folded up his unlearned speech, and turning quietly in his seat, dropped into a desultory conversation with this man about city matters, talking in a circle, and gradually drawing toward the subject which he had at heart, till it seemed to drop in quite by accident.

      "Speaking of policemen," said the Mayor, "there is a man in our ward, Alderman, whom I have heard of very often, lately, a tall, gentlemanly sort of a fellow—Chester, I think that is his name. Do you happen to know anything about him?"

      "Chester—Chester—yes, I should think so. A fellow that reads like a minister and writes like a clerk; he is a perfect nuisance in the ward. You have no idea what mischief he does with his gentlemanly airs."

      "What! a strong politician is he?"

      "I hardly know; but he is not one of us, that is certain."

      "It is due to the party—the fellow ought to be removed," said the

       Mayor. "I wonder some one has never preferred charges against him."

      "Plenty of our people have been lying in wait for him, but he is not to be trapped; he understands all the rules, and lives up to them. Never drinks—is always respectful—appears on his beat punctual as a clock. In short, it is a hopeless case."

      "Then it must be a very singular one," said the Mayor, with a meaning smile. "Is there no good friend of your own who would be glad of the situation?"

      "Oh, yes—one to whom I have made a half promise, but we can get no hold on this Chester, he will baffle us, depend on it."

      "Perhaps not. Let your friend, who is waiting for the situation, continue vigilant. If he is keen-sighted, his evidence will have weight with me."

      Our Alderman looked hard at the Mayor, somewhat doubtful if he understood the whole meaning conveyed, more in the glance than in the words of that honorable gentleman, who saw his perplexity and spoke again.

      "You know, my dear friend, how far I would strain a point to serve you, but there must be some evidence—something, however slight, you understand—which can be readily obtained against any man."

      The Mayor saw by the smile that disturbed the lip of his friend, that he was at length thoroughly understood.

      "You know that there is no appeal from my decision," he added, with a smile, "and I decide alone!"

      "I comprehend," replied the Alderman, standing up and rubbing his palms pleasantly together. "This is very kind of you, very kind, indeed. I shall not forget it."

      "I think your friend may be sure of his situation," was the amiable reply; "you know it is our duty to watch these people well. I think your friend may deem himself secure."

      "No doubt of it, now that we have a friend at court."

      "Oh, not a word of that," said the Mayor, lifting his hand reprovingly, "everything must be in order, according to rule, you know."

      The Mayor smiled, while his friend laughed outright, repeating to himself between each chuckle—"Oh, yes, according to rule, according to rule;" and eager to undertake his new enterprise, the elated Alderman took his leave, walking through the outer room with an exaggeration of his previous blustering importance, that quite astonished the clerks.

      The Mayor looked after him with a bland smile, but when the worthy official was out of sight, the smile glided into a contemptuous sneer, and he muttered to himself—"The pompous blockhead, he is so easily cajoled that one scarcely feels a pleasure in using him."

      With these characteristic words the noble-hearted magistrate betook himself to the manuscript again, certain that the wire he had pulled, would never cease to vibrate till poor Chester was ruined.

CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

      THE DRAM SHOP PLOT

      The stars hang burning in the skies,

       The earth gives back their diamond light,

       Where like a radiant bride it lies

       Reposing in that glorious night.

      Again the night was intensely cold. There had been a storm of sleet and rain during two whole days, and now came on a keen frost, sheeting the pavements, the trees and the housetops with ice.

      Chester was pacing his rounds, as on the first night when we presented him to the reader. Sometimes he paused to remark the delicate tracery of ice that hung in fretted masses over the gutters, or was frozen in waves along the curb-stones, or looked upwards to the tall trees that seemed absolutely dripping with light, as the moonbeams streamed over them, while the gas from the street lanterns sent up golden gleams through the lower branches and along the glittering trunks.

      Intensely cold as the night was, Chester could not resist that exquisite sense of the beautiful, which objects so novel and picturesque were sure to excite in his imaginative mind. There was something so purely ideal in those massive branches, stripped of leaves and laden down with crystalline spray, while the wind swayed them heavily about, and the moonlight flooded them through and through, that even a duller man than Chester must have paused to admire.

      Through the glittering arcade—for along the rich man's district the trees grew thick and high—Chester could see the bright winter stars shining, and the deep blue Heavens slumbering afar off, while with folded arms and eyes uplifted he paced along the street, forgetful, for the time, that the night was so cold, or that his own frame was yet too feeble for unnecessary exposure.

      In going to the poor man's district, Chester was obliged to pass one of those majestic old elms which our forefathers planted, still to be found here and there scattered over the great city. This elm stood on a corner, and beneath its great pendent branches a small dram-shop desecrated the soil which gave nourishment to the brave old forest tree. This was the squalid object that fell upon Chester's gaze as he glanced reluctantly from those long pendent branches, flashing and shivering as it were with a fruitage of diamonds, to the dull and dirty windows.

      The dram-shop seemed to be full, for he could see the shadows of several men passing to and fro behind the murky windows, and when the door opened to let out a woman, who passed him with a small pitcher in her hand, he saw that many others were left within the building. There was something startling in the contrast between the sublime beauty of the sky and the vice hovel underneath, and Chester stopped to gaze on it, pondering in his thoughts how it was that men, upright and honorable in other things, should ever become so lost to all sense of humanity, as to legalize the vicious traffic which this old elm, rising so nobly and so free against the sky, was obliged to shelter.

      As these thoughts occupied his mind, two men came out of the store, arm in arm, and passed the place where he was standing. One of the men looked keenly at him as he went by, but Chester scarcely observed him, and remained as before, with his mind wholly engrossed.

      "It is he!" said one of the men to his companion, "and looking toward the corner, as if it would not be a hard job to get him in."

      "Hush! he will hear you," replied the other. "Let us walk round the block and go in from the other street; he will not know us again!"

      "If