"I am afraid, my good friend," observed the Intelligencer, "that
your chance of getting a service is but poor. Nowadays, men act the
evil spirit for themselves and their neighbors, and play the part
more effectually than ninety-nine out of a hundred of your
fraternity."

But, just as the poor fiend was assuming a vaporous consistency,
being about to vanish through the floor in sad disappointment and
chagrin, the editor of a political newspaper chanced to enter the
office in quest of a scribbler of party paragraphs. The former
servant of Dr. Faustus, with some misgivings as to his sufficiency
of venom, was allowed to try his hand in this capacity. Next
appeared, likewise seeking a service, the mysterious man in Red, who
had aided Bonaparte in his ascent to imperial power. He was
examined as to his qualifications by an aspiring politician, but
finally rejected, as lacking familiarity with the cunning tactics of
the present day.

People continued to succeed each other with as much briskness as if
everybody turned aside, out of the roar and tumult of the city, to
record here some want, or superfluity, or desire. Some had goods or
possessions, of which they wished to negotiate the sale. A China
merchant had lost his health by a long residence in that wasting
climate. He very liberally offered his disease, and his wealth
along with it, to any physician who would rid him of both together.
A soldier offered his wreath of laurels for as good a leg as that
which it had cost him on the battle-field. One poor weary wretch
desired nothing but to be accommodated with any creditable method of
laying down his life; for misfortune and pecuniary troubles had so