Beadle's Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 31 — page 1: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

== Tino a > \ OPYRIGHTED Complete One Number. The New York 'Sharp;’ THE FLASH OF LIGHTNING. BY ALBERT W, AIKEN, AUTHOR OF ‘‘ THE SPOTTER DETECTIVE,” ‘‘ OVER- LAND KIT,” ETC, CHAPTER I. THE DARK ANGEL. On the night of September 20th, 1852, a vio- lent storm —— over the great city of New York. It was the beginning of the “line gale” —that storm so terrible in its nature, so de- structive to human life along our northern rock- bound cost. The rain poured in torrents upon the ever- dirty streets of the great metropolis; the thun- der rolled in heavy peals along the heavens, and the lightning flashed its vivid fires over the roof- _ and in the almost deserted streets. he lights flashing from the windows upon the gloom of the night—for it was scarcely nine, es f AAT IN Iavea, BY Beadle f¢& Adams, Publishers, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. ‘eat city do not retire e storm that raged so and the denizens of the early—seemed to mock terribly without. Regardless of the storm, come with us, dear reader. We will take our way—not to Fifth avenue, the abode of gilded luxury and oft of festering crime—but to Forsyth street, the home of the sons of toil, the honest middle classes, the pillars and bulwarks of our Repub- lic. We stop before a building six stories in hight; the lights are flashing from every win- dow; all give signs of occupation and of life. This building is a tenement-house, each floor of which is occupied by two or more families —sometimes the occupants, whose families are small, will turn an honest penny by sub-letting a room, We will leave the storm and gloom and en- ter the house. Ascending the stairs, we will enter the first door we come to on the landing. We find a small kitchen, illy furnished. AI- | though winter is fast approaching, there is no stove in the open fire-place: nothing but a small round furnace of burning charcoal, fit only for preparing food. Another glance around the room, and that / BEADLE & ADAMS. Price, Ten Cents. lance tells we are in the abode of death—of death surounded by misery. Upon a torn and squalid bed lies the lifeless form of a woman—not old, but young, al- though the sunken cheeks, the pallid face, and the wide-open, straining, staring eyes give her a look of age far beyond her years. By the side of the dead woman nestles a babe scarcely a year old, The child sleeps sound] by the side of its dead mother; not old enough to comprehend its loss, The little room has one other oeccupant—a boy some twelve years of age; although his features—like his parent’s now lying lifeless upon the floor—being pinched by want, make him seem much older. The story of this little family, whose mother has been stricken down by the bolt of the Dark Angel, is but the oft- told tale, A village mechanic, with his wife and boy, forsakes his happy country home, and enters the whirl and bustle of the great metropolis. Years pass on; the simple countryman, unused to the snares of the world, falls an easy Eos to the wiles that beset him on every side. He becomes a drunkard, neglects his work; step by step he goes down the ladder of degrada- iI AN Ny \y i\" > a5 “if ~ 3, = rz AD < WS WHT | YY) i} AY WY) = VW, | { et *s | itt a 6)(6)(0)