these light and laughing little figures. On perceiving me, they rose up,
tittering among themselves. It seemed that, there was a sort of playful
malice in those who first saw me; for they allowed the other to keep on
paddling, without warning her of my approach. I passed along, and heard
them come chattering behind.


June 22d.--I rode to Boston in the afternoon with Mr. Proctor. It was a
coolish day, with clouds and intermitting sunshine, and a pretty fresh
breeze. We stopped about an hour at the Maverick House, in the sprouting
branch of the city, at East Boston,--a stylish house, with doors painted
in imitation of oak; a large bar; bells ringing; the bar-keeper calls
out, when a bell rings, "Number--"; then a waiter replies, "Number--
answered"; and scampers up stairs. A ticket is given by the hostler, on
taking the horse and chaise, which is returned to the bar-keeper when the
chaise is wanted. The landlord was fashionably dressed, with the whitest
of linen, neatly plaited, and as courteous as a Lord Chamberlain.
Visitors from Boston thronging the house,--some, standing at the bar,
watching the process of preparing tumblers of punch,--others sitting at
the windows of different parlors,--some with faces flushed, puffing
cigars. The bill of fare for the day was stuck up beside the bar.
Opposite this principal hotel there was another, called "The Mechanics,"
which seemed to be equally thronged. I suspect that the company were
about on a par in each; for at the Maverick House, though well dressed,
they seemed to be merely Sunday gentlemen,--mostly young fellows,--clerks
in dry-goods stores being the aristocracy of them. One, very fashionable
in appearance, with a handsome cane, happened to stop by me and lift up
his foot, and I noticed that the sole of his boot (which was exquisitely
polished) was all worn out. I apprehend that some such minor
deficiencies might have been detected in the general showiness of most of