and began gambling, or pretending to gamble; it looked as if they were
trying to pluck a young countryman; but appearances are deceptive, and no
deeper stake than "drinks for the crowd" seemed at last to be involved.
But remembering that murder has tried of late years to establish itself
as an institution in the cars, I was less tolerant of the doings of these
"sportsmen" who tried to turn our public conveyance into a travelling
Frascati. They acted as if they were used to it, and nobody seemed to
pay much attention to their manoeuvres.

We arrived at Harrisburg in the course of the evening, and attempted to
find our way to the Jones House, to which we had been commended. By some
mistake, intentional on the part of somebody, as it may have been, or
purely accidental, we went to the Herr House instead. I entered my name
in the book, with that of my companion. A plain, middle-aged man stepped
up, read it to himself in low tones, and coupled to it a literary title
by which I have been sometimes known. He proved to be a graduate of Brown
University, and had heard a certain Phi Beta Kappa poem delivered there a
good many years ago. I remembered it, too; Professor Goddard, whose
sudden and singular death left such lasting regret, was the Orator. I
recollect that while I was speaking a drum went by the church, and how I
was disgusted to see all the heads near the windows thrust out of them,
as if the building were on fire. Cedat armis toga. The clerk in the
office, a mild, pensive, unassuming young man, was very polite in his
manners, and did all he could to make us comfortable. He was of a
literary turn, and knew one of his guests in his character of author. At
tea, a mild old gentleman, with white hair and beard, sat next us. He,
too, had come hunting after his son, a lieutenant in a Pennsylvania
regiment. Of these, father and son, more presently.

After tea we went to look up Dr. Wilson, chief medical officer of the