It rained miraculously; and from
that moment till on the following night I left New York, there was
scarce a lull, and no cessation of the downpour. The roadways were
flooded; a loud strident noise of falling water filled the air; the
restaurants smelt heavily of wet people and wet clothing.
It took us but a few minutes, though it cost us a good deal of
money, to be rattled along West Street to our destination:
'Reunion House, No. 10 West Street, one minutes walk from Castle
Garden; convenient to Castle Garden, the Steamboat Landings,
California Steamers and Liverpool Ships; Board and Lodging per day
1 dollar, single meals 25 cents, lodging per night 25 cents;
private rooms for families; no charge for storage or baggage;
satisfaction guaranteed to all persons; Michael Mitchell,
Proprietor.' Reunion House was, I may go the length of saying, a
humble hostelry. You entered through a long bar-room, thence
passed into a little dining-room, and thence into a still smaller
kitchen. The furniture was of the plainest; but the bar was hung
in the American taste, with encouraging and hospitable mottoes.
Jones was well known; we were received warmly; and two minutes
afterwards I had refused a drink from the proprietor, and was going
on, in my plain European fashion, to refuse a cigar, when Mr.
Mitchell sternly interposed, and explained the situation.
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