wandered through its network of streets--lost ourselves in its crowds
of people--looked up at its tall rows of houses, its grand public
buildings, churches, and squares. Also, perhaps, we have peeped into its
miserable little back alleys, where dirty children play in gutters all
day and half the night--even young boys go about picking pockets, with
nobody to tell them it is wrong except the policeman, and he simply
takes them off to prison. And all this wretchedness is close behind the
grandeur--like the two sides of the leaf of a book.

An awful sight is a large city, seen any how from any where. But,
suppose you were to see it from the upper air, where, with your eyes
and ears open, you could take in everything at once? What would it look
like? How would you feel about it? I hardly know myself. Do you?

Prince Dolor had need to be a king--that is, a boy with a kingly
nature--to be able to stand such a sight without being utterly overcome.
But he was very much bewildered--as bewildered as a blind person who is
suddenly made to see.

He gazed down on the city below him, and then put his hand over his
eyes.

"I can't bear to look at it, it is so beautiful--so dreadful. And I
don't understand it--not one bit. There is nobody to tell me about it. I
wish I had somebody to speak to."

"Do you? Then pray speak to me. I was always considered good at
conversation."

The voice that squeaked out this reply was an excellent imitation of the