e once more in the open night that they gave up all notion of a bed,
and walked the streets of Boston till the morning.

No one seemed much cast down by these stories, but all inquired after
the address of a respectable hotel; and I, for my part, put myself under
the conduct of Mr. Jones. Before noon of the second Sunday we sighted
the low shores outside of New York harbour; the steerage passengers must
remain on board to pass through Castle Garden on the following morning;
but we of the second cabin made our escape along with the lords of the
saloon; and by six o'clock Jones and I issued into West Street, sitting
on some straw in the bottom of an open baggage-waggon. It rained
miraculously; and from that moment till on the following night I left
New York, there was scarcely a lull, and no cessation of the downpour.
The roadways were flooded; a loud strident noise of falling water filled
the air; the restaurants smelt heavily of wet people and wet clothing.

It took us but a few minutes, though it cost us a good deal of money, to
be rattled along West Street to our destination: "Reunion House, No. 10,
West Street, one minute's walk from Castle Garden; convenient to Castle
Garden, the Steamboat Landings, California Steamers and Liverpool Ships;
Board and Lodging per day 1 dollar, single meals 25 cents, lodging per
night 25 cents; private rooms for families; no charge for storage or
baggage; satisfaction guaranteed to all persons; Michael Mitchell,
proprietor." Reunion House was, I may go the length of saying, a humble
hostelry. You entered through a long bar-room, thence passed into a
little dining-room, and thence into a still smaller kitchen. The
furniture was of the plainest; but the bar was hung in the American
taste, with encouraging and hospitable mottoes.

Jones was well known; we were received warmly; and two minutes
afterwards I had refused a drink from the proprietor, and was going on,
in my plain European fashion, to refuse a cigar, when Mr. Mitchell
sternly interposed, and explained the situation. He was offering to
treat me, it appeared; whenever an American bar-keeper proposes
anything, it must be borne in mind that he is offering to treat; and if
I did not want a drink, I must at least take the cigar. I took it
bashfully, feeling I had begun my American career on the wrong foot. I
did not enjoy that cigar; but this may have been from a variety of
reasons, even the best cigar often failing to please if you