Claudius stood staring at the little caravan, halted at the corner of the most aristocratic street in New York, and his attention was gradually roused to comprehend what he saw.

He reflected that next to being bound on the back of a wild horse, like Mazeppa, the most horrible fate conceivable must be that of this dirty baby, put to bed in perpetuity on the back of a crazy grind-organ.

He smiled at the idea, and the woman held out a battered tin dish with one hand, while the other in its revolution ground out the final palpitating squeaks of "_Ah, che la morte ognora_." Claudius put his hand into his pocket and gave the poor creature a coin.
"You are encouraging a public nuisance," said a thin gentlemanly voice at his elbow.

Claudius looked down and saw Mr.Barker.
"Yes," said the Doctor, "I remember a remark you once made to me about the deserving poor in New York--it was the day before yesterday, I think.

You said they went to the West." "Talking of the West, I suppose you will be going there yourself one of these days to take a look at our 'park'-- eh ?" "No, I am going East." "To Boston, I suppose ?" inquired the inquisitive Barker.