fitful flash of a comfortable fire. On the ceiling appears a grotesque
shadow of good Mrs. Wakefield. The cap, the nose and chin and the
broad waist form an admirable caricature, which dances, moreover, with
the up-flickering and down-sinking blaze almost too merrily for the
shade of an elderly widow. At this instant a shower chances to fall,
and is driven by the unmannerly gust full into Wakefield's face and
bosom. He is quite penetrated with its autumnal chill. Shall he stand
wet and shivering here, when his own hearth has a good fire to warm
him and his own wife will run to fetch the gray coat and small-clothes
which doubtless she has kept carefully in the closet of their
bedchamber? No; Wakefield is no such fool. He ascends the
steps--heavily, for twenty years have stiffened his legs since he came
down, but he knows it not.--Stay, Wakefield! Would you go to the sole
home that is left you? Then step into your grave.--The door opens. As
he passes in we have a parting glimpse of his visage, and recognize
the crafty smile which was the precursor of the little joke that he
has ever since been playing off at his wife's expense. How
unmercifully has he quizzed the poor woman! Well, a good night's rest
to Wakefield!

This happy event--supposing it to be such--could only have occurred at
an unpremeditated moment. We will not follow our friend across the
threshold. He has left us much food for thought, a portion of which
shall lend its wisdom to a moral and be shaped into a figure. Amid the
seeming confusion of our mysterious world individuals are so nicely
adjusted to a system, and systems to one another and to a whole, that
by stepping aside for a moment a man exposes himself to a fearful risk
of losing his place for ever. Like Wakefield, he may become, as it
were, the outcast of the universe.