CHAPTER II.




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,