a good fellow, and have served me faithfully; when I come back, I will
bring you something handsome,--a backey-box or--who knows?--a beautiful
silver watch. Meanwhile, I think--let me see--yes, I can give you this
elegant pair of small-clothes. Put out my best,--the black ones. And
now, Beck, I'll not keep you any longer."

The poor sweep, with many pulls at his forelock, acknowledged the
munificent donation; and having finished all his preparations, hastened
first to his room, to examine at leisure, and with great admiration, the
drab small-clothes. "Room," indeed, we can scarcely style the wretched
enclosure which Beck called his own. It was at the top of the house,
under the roof, and hot--oh, so hot--in the summer! It had one small
begrimed window, through which the light of heaven never came, for the
parapet, beneath which ran the choked gutter, prevented that; but the
rain and the wind came in. So sometimes, through four glassless frames,
came a fugitive tom-cat. As for the rats, they held the place as their
own. Accustomed to Beck, they cared nothing for him.

They were the Mayors of that Palace; he only le roi faineant. They ran
over his bed at night; he often felt them on his face, and was convinced
they would have eaten him, if there had been anything worth eating upon
his bones; still, perhaps out of precaution rather than charity, he
generally left them a potato or two, or a crust of bread, to take off the
edge of their appetites. But Beck was far better off than most who
occupied the various settlements in that Alsatia,--he had his room to
himself. That was necessary to his sole luxury,--the inspection of his
treasury, the safety of his mattress; for it he paid, without grumbling,
what he thought was a very high rent. To this hole in the roof there was
no lock,--for a very good reason, there was no door to it. You went up a
ladder, as you would go into a loft. Now, it had often been matter of