"You're a high larned gentleman," said old Cato, (I think Cato was the name) "but nigger speaks the truth for all that. Mass Calwell not charge a four pence ha'-penny for eating and sleeping, but he charge

eight dollars a week for use of de water

."

Notwithstanding that I was upon the verge of permitting the organ of my destructiveness to preponderate over that of my benevolence, I could not forbear smiling at the old negro's logic. "Eight dollars a week for water!" exclaimed I—"A fellow might drink his pint a day of the very best London particular for one half of that sum—Well, sir, we will try this precious elixir to-morrow morning. In the meantime, thou worthy descendant of Ham, I shall be inexpressibly obliged to you if you will lead me down to the drawing room, in order that I may warm these wearied and rheumatic limbs before retiring to rest."

"Drawing room, sir," said old Cato, "I believe there is no such thing in the whole establishment. If folks want warming here they must go to mass Plumb's bar room, which is way down in the cellar."

"Bar room, sir!—Bar room!" I retorted, "can it be possible that men, rational men, can abandon the Spring—nature's own sweet medicinal compound, for those deleterious mixtures—those pernicious products of the corrupt art of distillation?" I forgot however that Cato had not entered into all the elaborate views and recondite reasonings of the Temperance Society—and I forthwith checked the rein of my imagination. I found that the best that I could do under all circumstances, was to betake myself to rest, and although I must confess that I had descended some few rounds on that golden ladder, which like Jacob's of old, I verily believed had led to the seventh heaven,—I consoled myself with the hope that to-morrow—delightful to-morrow—would spread a new and brighter coloring over my prospects. Cato being dismissed, I retired and slept soundly for the space of two hours at least; at the expiration of which time, I was suddenly startled by a noise immediately underneath me, which to my classical fancy seemed to resemble the shrieks of the ancient Bacchæ, the Priestesses of the Vine-loving God. Let that however pass! There was a mixture of music in it, or of something intended for music, which kept me in a tolerable humor and smoothed over those porcupine points which began to shoot forth at the unpleasant disturbance to my repose. The mystery was soon solved. Cato by direction of the Prime Minister, had placed me directly over the ball room—a most confounded location to be sure for a man fond of sleep—but still I thought that every one was bound to make some sacrifice in order to promote the enjoyments of others. "Tired nature's sweet restorer," lulled me once more into oblivion as soon as the clamor and screeching (for music it was not) had somewhat subsided. Again had the leaden God touched me with his wand, and again were my slumbers invaded by the arrival of my fellow lodger at midnight. I began to descend a few more rounds on my golden ladder. I thought of Sancho's exclamation, "Blessed is the man who first invented sleep!"—but what, thought I, is the invention worth if a man cannot use it even in this free country.

Morning at last dawned—but oh! what a morning? The rain fell in torrents—and the wind came whistling down the mountain hollows as if old Æolus had resolved that his voice should be distinctly heard and his strength clearly understood. What was I to do? To walk abroad was impossible—so I even resolved to lay quietly ensconced in my cot, hard as it was, until my fellow lodger, who was one of the Saturnine breed, should take his departure, and the merry bell should invite me to breakfast. My naturally sweet temper had become a little soured at my various discomforts—but my appetite was keen, and I thought with the immortal dramatist, that "when the veins are unfilled, we are neither apt to give nor forgive." When the hour arrived, I hastened with the aid of umbrella and cloak to the banquetting hall. The crowd had assembled in the long portico awaiting the signal of admission. A few only of the fairer part of creation were interspersed, and they—were any thing but fair. I presumed that the more delicate and fragile of the sex would not encounter "the peltings of the pitiless storm." The doors being opened, the multitude rushed in. What a resistless force thought I, is caused by the concurrent movement of 400 human appetites about to engage at the breakfast table. It was a new discovery in mechanical philosophy, and I felt confident that the momentum was at least equal to a hundred horse power. "Body of Bacchus!" as the Italians say, what a furious set-on there was! I sat at one end of the table in silent consternation! At length I ventured to ask one waiter for a hot cup of coffee—of another I civilly requested a chop—and a third I respectfully solicited to hand me a roll. I might as well have addressed my language to the door post. The menials rushed by me like a whirlwind. It seems, as I afterwards learned, that every mother's son of them had been bribed to wait on particular gentlemen; and if I had screamed at them loud enough to rupture a blood vessel, the knaves would have been as deaf as adders. At length I addressed myself to a juvenile looking man who was sitting not far to my right, and who though young in years was evidently a veteran in that sublime science called Number One; for I perceived that by a good understanding with the members of the Kitchen Cabinet and the black Alguazils of the breakfasting room, he had gathered around him as many tit-bits as would have feasted a London Alderman. "Pray sir," said I, "will you be so kind as to help me to one of those extra dishes in your vicinity!" The youngster looked at me with perfect amazement. I might as well have asked him for one of his wisdom teeth! By the by, I am not certain that he had cut either of them,—at all events I was confident of one thing, and that was, that the youth had never graduated in good manners. So I let him pass. But why relate my melancholy and fruitless efforts and my innumerable rebuffs at the table. There I had to sit a full three quarters of an hour at least, before my longing appetite was appeased. Regaled it was not,—unless a cold mutton chop which retained the flavor of the wool, and a cup of decoction compounded by the rule of three grains of coffee to a gallon of water—can be said to constitute the highest felicity of eating.

I arose from the table and descended a few more rounds on my gilded ladder of hope. What was I to do? The rain continued to fall in such torrents that Neptune himself could not have surpassed them, had he held his throne in the clouds. Cato had informed me the over night that there was no drawing room—and I was cold—my limbs were shivering. I resolved to visit the subterranean regions of the bar room and post office. There, to my unutterable grief, I found groups of individuals gathered together in such motley disorder, and withal forming so complete a blockade to every avenue approaching the fire—that I stood like a statue of despair. A cluster on my right were discoursing in grandiloquent style on the recent discoveries in the moon—another on my left were discussing the attempted assassination of the King of the French—a third were denouncing the whole army of abolitionists and lamenting that Tappan and Thompson did not find it convenient to visit the White Sulphur Springs—a fourth were denouncing the vengeance of Judge Lynch against the Chevaliers D'Industrie—anglicè black legs,—a fifth were pouring a volley of exterminating epithets upon the head of Amos Kendall and the Little Magician; and a sixth, did not even spare his majesty King Calwell himself and his minister of the home department, for putting them in Fly Row to be devoured by those cantackerous1 vermin, the fleas. I forgot that there was a seventh circle standing near Mr. Plumb's cabinet—who were very intently engaged at the early hour of ten—not in discussing domestic or foreign politics—lunar discoveries or abolition—but with all the ardor which distinguished the disputants on those several topics, were trying experiments upon a quart glass of genuine ice-crowned mint julep; and judging from the rapid fall of the fluid in the vessel which contained it, I thought that their experiments were likely to prove very successful. Unhappy me, that I was unable to participate in any of these conversational or bibaceous enjoyments! "I will not despair," thought I to myself, as between the hours of eleven and twelve the elements had ceased their strife, and a few spots of azure were already visible in the clouded vault. Presently the monarch of day himself peeped out from behind the black curtain which had hidden his shining countenance. I looked out and saw multitudes hastening to the Spring. This, said I, is the grand climacteric of my happiness!—now will I revel in the joys of that ambrosial fount which will console me for the sorrows of disappointment. The statue of the Nymph Hygeia2 which surmounted the dome of the Spring house, looked more white and beautiful, as refreshed by the morning's shower bath she reflected the beams of her venerable grandsire.3 Down I went to the Spring—and whilst the throng which preceded me were eagerly quaffing the delicious beverage, I had leisure to survey their countenances and to gather materials for reflection. It was evident that upon the pallid cheeks of some, wasting consumption had fixed her fatal seal. Others bore the jaundiced and cadaverous marks of obstructed bile. A few were the hobbling victims of hereditary or acquired gout, and were either suffering for the sour grapes which their fathers devoured, or paying the penalties of their own luxurious indulgence. By far the greater portion however had the ruddy complexions and smiling countenances of health. "Wonderful elixir!" said I to myself—"incomparable panacea! which not only cures all diseases, but is even beneficial to health itself." I hastened to dip my glass in the flowing nectar, and realize my fond anticipations. Alas! alas! the saying of the wise man of Greece rushed upon my memory—"Desire nothing too much!" My dream of bliss was suddenly dispelled! Instead of nectar, I smelt and tasted a mixture of brimstone and eggs in a state of putrescency! What an extinguisher to my air-built hopes and delusive fancies! And is it for this, I exclaimed within myself, that hundreds and thousands toil up craggy precipices and swelter under August suns? Is it worth eight dollars per week to partake of this "villainous compound?" Must we sacrifice home and comfort, and real enjoyment, in order to sacrifice also to this heathen block4 which sits upon the top of the dome? Reason, prudence and common sense forbid it! I left the Spring with a degree of disappointment bordering upon despair! In the fulness of time the dinner bell tolled. It was indeed the knell of sorrow rather than the merry peal which invites to innocent enjoyment. Shall I describe that dinner?—no, not for a thousand dinners, "with all their appliances and means to boot;"

"I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Whom you all know are honorable men."

Neither will I describe what occurred "about the sixth hour when men sit down to that nourishment they call supper." I went to my apartment, all desolate and fireless as it was, to prepare for the Ball.