"Good woman," said my friend, "where's Mose ?" "Here he is." A heap of rags beside her was uncovered, and there lay the sleeping face of an old negro, apparently of fifty.

In nearly every garret we entered practical amalgamation was in fashion.

The superintendent told me that the negroes were fifty per cent.

in advance of the Irish as to sobriety and decency.

Descending from the garret we entered a crowded cellar.