The uniform row of houses on the other side of a dead waste of snow, to
which the attention of the three friends was ardently directed,
promised, at first sight, a poor return of instruction and
entertainment. The rear view presented one dull stretch of bricks
irregularly set even in those houses which displayed imposing fronts of
brown stone. The blinds were of a faded green color, and broken. The
stoops, the doors opening on them, and the steps leading down to the
dirty, sodden snow, had a generic look of cheapness and frailty.
"Whatever the censorious critic might say of the front, he could not
charge the rear with false pretences; for there was apparent, all over
it, an utter indifference to the opinions of mankind. Perhaps because
the owners of the houses did not expect mankind to study their property
from that point of view.

"Say!" was Mr. Fayette Overtop's first remark, after a moment's
observation; "do not those rustic fences on the roofs remind you of the
sweet, fresh country in summer time?" Mr. Overtop alluded to the
barriers which are erected to keep people from getting into each other's
houses, and which are scaled not without difficulty even by cats.

Neither of his friends answering this remark except by a quiet,
incredulous smile, Overtop continued, a little pettishly:

"And you really mean to tell me that that pastoral object, happily
introduced on the roofs of houses, does not recall the green fields,
daisies, babbling brooks, and cloudless skies of early boyhood? Humbug!"
The speaker flattened his nose still more against the glass by way
of emphasis.

"You look for beauties among the chimney pots, while I search for them