I had already instructed the baggage-agent on the Pennsylvania Central train to send my trunk to my residence, and I was just stepping forth from the depot, at Thirty-first and Market streets, with the view of walking home through the jovial snow-storm, when a familiar voice accosted me with:
“Hallo, Smith! Where have you been this long time? Where are you going?”
I recognized a young friend named Feeny, who was standing near a sleigh, to which two handsome and spirited horses were attached. In the sleigh sat another friend named Aaron, who also said:
“Why, Smith! How do you do? Glad to see you. Where have you been?”
“In the West,” I replied.
“Going home?”
“Yes.”
“Not going to walk?”
“Yes.”
“O, don’t do that! Get into the sleigh with Feeny and me, and ride.”