Lehigh University
The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 021 [12-08-1850]

              Barnums� we return, and more fumigation &c at Canal.  Talk,  his
stories presenting fine raw material for an novel a la Lever.  General
Twigg�s in Florida, with his style of converse hit off.  Addressing his
troop. �You Gaw-damned chicken-stealing sons of bitches!� now which Gaw-
damned one of you has been to my hen-coop and stole a turkey?� Anon,
being at some review, parade or the like. �Gaw damn my military eyes!�
I�ll be gaw damned if the soldier�s don�t know a gaw damned more about it 
than their officers.�           Bed at 12, Barth returning with Waud, to share 
his for the night.
  9.  Monday.  Office all day.  Run over to the Era Office. Waud came
down in the afternoon.  Whiskey &c at Sherwoods with the boys, and Macnamera:
then another call at Era Office, then to Canal.    Waud goes asleep on Charley�s
bed; and Mapother coming, induces me to go out to the scene of this afternoons
fire at Broad Street.    Quiet walk down through the chill refreshing wintry
night, several engines passing us, in returning. Arrived, we find the lower
wall of the story alone standing, masses of smoke, another and intermittent ever
changing fire gleams inside from the burning cotton bales, two heavy streams of
Croton water pouring in.  A reeking damp, smoky, lurid mist, wet, pools,
mud, hose pipes every where; firemen �hu-hu�ing and singing a monstrous hymn
like chant; or now and then a company returning with their machine.
Walked to Jersey Ferry with Mapother, and there left him on the old Aresseth
then along the North River back to Canal, taking a peep at the moon and
broad river from the end of one off the piers by the way.  Clear cold moon,
very low and near the horizon and drifting clouds scudding athwart the sky.
Thoughts of little Jersey; of anticipations and expectations on my arrival
in this city, when America was fairy-land and terra-incognito to me.
Of home, of genial Christmas; of how dull and melancholic I seem
to grow day by day; � of how thin my face, and how weary my heart.               
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