vilify it to some ardent native. His point of attack would be, that it
furnished dangerous opportunities for crime, as illustrated in the case he
had recently been discussing. He looked around for some one to accost, and
felt aggrieved at finding no available victim. Finally, in great depth of
spirits, and anxious for a temporary shelter from the all-penetrating
moisture, he wandered into a saloon of inviting appearance, and sought the
national consolation,--Oysters.

While he was accumulating his appetite, a stranger entered the same stall,
and dropped, with a smile and a nod, upon the opposite seat. "I wouldn't
intrude, Sir," he said, "but every other place is filled. It's wonderful
how Boston gives itself up to oysters on Saturday nights,--all other sorts
of rational enjoyment being legally prohibited."

Lorrimer welcomed the stranger, and, delighted at the opportunity of a bit
of discussion, and still cherishing the malignant desire to injure
somebody's feelings in the matter of the Common, opened a conversation by
asking if Boston were really much given to bivalvular excesses.

The stranger, who was a strongly built and rough-visaged man, with nothing
specially attractive about him, except a humorous and fascinating
eye-twinkle, straightened himself, and delivered a short oration.

"Bless me, Sir!" said he, "are you a foreigner? Why, oysters are the
universal bond of brotherhood, not only in Boston, but throughout this
land. They harmonize with our sharp, wide-awake spirit. They are an element
in our politics. Our statesmen, legislators, and high-placed men,
generally, are weaned on them. Why, dear me! oysters are a fundamental idea
in our social system. The best society circles around 'fried' and 'stewed.'
Our 'festive scenes,' you know, depend on them in no small degree for their