mufflers and overcoats, like a swarm of invisible needles, sharp and
stinging. It was rather late in the evening, and in such weather few
persons were tempted abroad. Those who had comfortable hearths
remained at home, and even the street beggars crept within their
alleys and cellars; many of them driven to seek shelter in their
rags, without hope of fire or food.

But there was one man in New York city, who could neither seek rest
nor shelter till a given time, however inclement the weather might
be. With a thick pilot cloth overcoat buttoned to the chin, and his
glittering police star catching the moonbeams as they fell upon his
breast, he strode to and fro on his beat, occasionally pausing, with
his eyes lifted towards the stars, to ponder over some thought in
his mind, but speedily urged to motion again by the sharp tingling
of his feet and hands.

A feeling and thoughtful man was this policeman; he possessed much
originality of mind, which had received no small share of cultivation.
He had been connected with a mercantile house till symptoms of a
pulmonary disease drove him from his desk; then, by the kind aid of
a politician, who had not entirely lost all human feelings in the
council chamber, he was enrolled in the city police. To a mind less
nobly constructed, this minor position might have been a cause of
depression and annoyance, but John Chester, though not yet thirty-two,
had learned to think for himself. He felt that no occupation could
degrade an honorable man, and that gentlemanly habits, integrity and
intelligence were certain to shine out with greater lustre when found
in the humbler spheres of life.

Chester possessed both education and refinement, but having no better