It was a late hour in the evening that the coach entered the
metropolis. Railroads were not then in vogue, and large
baggage-waggons, lumbering teams and clumsy coaches, were drawn by
two or more horses, over deep-rutted roads, and almost endless
turnpikes.
The bells had-rang their nine o'clock peal; most of the stores were
closed; the busy trader and industrious mechanic had gone to their
respective homes, and left their property to faithful watchers,
whose muffled forms moved slowly through the streets of the great
city.
Not all had left their work; for, by the green and crimson light
that streamed from his window, and served to partially dissipate the
darkness, it was seen that he of pestle and mortar labored on, or,
wearied with his labor, had fallen asleep, but to be awakened by the
call of some customer, requesting an antidote for one of the many
"ills which flesh is heir to."
Other open places there were, whose appearance indicated that they
were bar-rooms, for at their windows stood decanters filled with
various-colored liquids. Near each of these stood a wine-glass in an
inverted position, with a lemon upon it; yet, were not any of these
unmistakable signs to be seen, you would know the character of the
place by a rumseller's reeling sign, that made its exit, and,
passing a few steps, fell into the gutter.
In addition to these other signs, were seen scattered about the
windows of these places, in characters so large that he who ran
might read, "Bar-room," "Egg-pop," "N. E. Rum," etc.
Those were the days of bar-room simplicities. "Saloons" were not
then known. The refined names which men of the present day have
attached to rum, gin and brandy, were not then in use. There were no
"Wormwood-floaters" to embitter man's life, and Jewett had not had
his "fancy."
The coach rolled on, and in a short time Edward was safely ensconced
in a neatly-furnished room in a hotel known as "The Bull's Horn." It
was indeed a great disadvantage to him that he came to a city in
which he was a total stranger. He had no acquaintance to greet him
with a friendly welcome; and the next day, as he was jostled by the
crowd, and pushed aside by the hurried pedestrian, he realized what
it was to be a stranger in a strange land, and an indescribable
sensation came upon him, known only to those who have been placed in
similar circumstances.
He looked around,--strange forms met his view. No one greeted him, no
hand of friendship was held forth to welcome him. All the world
seemed rushing on for something, he knew not what; and, disheartened
at the apparent selfishness that pervaded society, he returned to
his room, and wished for the quietness of his own sweet village, the
companionship of his own dear Emi'.
The landlord of the tavern at which our hero had housed himself was
a stout, burly man, and quite communicative. From him Edward learned
much of importance. Mr. Blinge was his name. He was an inveterate
smoker, and his pet was a little black pipe, dingy and old, and by
not a few deemed a nuisance to "The Bull's Horn." This he held
between his teeth, and, seating himself behind his bar, puffed away
on the high-pressure principle.
Edward had not been many minutes in his room before Mr. Blinge
entered with his pet in his mouth, hoped he did n't intrude,
apologized, and wished him to walk below, saying that by so doing he
might become acquainted with some "rare souls."
By "below" was meant a large, square room, on the ground floor, of
dimensions ample enough to hold a caucus in. By some it was called a
"bar-room," by others the "sitting-room," and others the
"gentlemen's parlor."
Entering, Edward encountered the gaze of about twenty individuals.
Old gentlemen with specs looked beneath them, and young gentlemen
with papers looked above them. A young man in white jacket and green
apron was endeavoring to satisfy the craving appetites of two
teamsters, who were loudly praising the landlord's brandy, and
cursing the bad state of the roads in a manner worthy of "our army
in Flanders."
One young man, in particular, attracted the attention of our hero.
He was genteelly dressed, and possessed an air of dignity and
self-command, that would obtain for him at once the good will of
any. Edward was half inclined to believe his circumstances to be
somewhat similar to his own. He was reading an evening paper, but,
on seeing our hero enter, and judging from his manner that he was a
stranger, laid it aside, and, politely addressing himself to him,
inquired after his health.
The introduction over, they engaged in conversation. The young man
seemed pleased in making his acquaintance, and expressed a hope that
a friendship so suddenly formed might prove lasting and beneficial
to each.
"I also am from the country," said he, after Edward had informed him
of his history, "and, like you, am in search of employment. Looking
over the evening paper, I noticed an advertisement of a concern for
sale, which I thought, as I read, would be a capital chance to make
a fortune, if I could find some one to invest in it with me. I will
read it to you.
For SALE.-The stock and stand of a Confectioner, with a good
business, well established. One or two young men will find this a
rare opportunity to invest their money advantageously. For other
particulars inquire at No. 7 Cresto-st.
"Now, I tell you what," said the young man, before Edward had an
opportunity to utter a word, "it is a fine chance. Why, Lagrange
makes enough on his wines and fancy cordials to clothe and feed a
regiment. Just pass there, some evening, and you will see a perfect
rush. Soda-water, ice creams, and French wines, are all the rage,
and Lagrange is the only man in this city that can suit the bon
ton!"
"You half induce me to go there," said Edward. "How far is it from
this place?"
"Not far, but it is too late; to-morrow morning we will go there.
Here, take my card-Othro Treves is my name; you must have known my
father; a member of Congress for ten years, when he died;--rather
abused his health-attended parties at the capital-drank wine to
excess,--took a severe cold-fell ill one day, worse the next, sick
the next, and died soon after. Wine is bad when excessively indulged
in; so is every good thing."
Edward smiled at this running account of his new-formed
acquaintance, and, bidding him "good-night," betook himself to his
chamber, intending to accompany Othro to the confectioner's in the
morning.