In the homes of the dwellers at St. John Saturday night differs little from any other night. The head of the house is not concerned about the marketing or telephoning to the grocer; the maid is not particularly anxious to go "down town;" the family bath tub may be produced (and on Monday morning it will be used for the family washing), but the hot water will not be drawn from the tap. The family retire at an early hour, nor are their slumbers likely to be disturbed by either fire alarm or midnight train. And yet in the olden times the men, we doubt not, were wont to meet on Saturday nights at the little store at the Point to compare notes and to talk over the few topics of interest in their monotonous lives. We seem to see them even now--a little coterie--nearly all engaged in the company's employ, mill hands, fishermen, lime-burners, laborers, while in a corner James White pores over his ledger posting his accounts by the light of his candle and now and again mending his goose-quill pen. But even at the store the cheerful company soon disperses; the early-closing system evidently prevails, the men seek their several abodes and one by one the lights in the little windows vanish. There is only one thing to prevent the entire population from being in good time for church on Sunday morning, and that is there is not any church for them to attend. Then and now! We turn from our contemplation of Saturday night as we have imagined it in 1764 to look at a modern Saturday night in St. John. No greater contrast can well be imagined. Where once were dismal shades of woods and swamps, there is a moving gaily-chattering crowd that throngs the walks of Union, King and Charlotte streets. The feeble glimmer of the tallow candle in the windows of the few houses at Portland Point has given place to the blaze of hundreds of electric lights that shine far out to sea, twinkling like bright stars in the distance, and reflected from the heavens, serving to illuminate the country for miles around. Our little knot of villagers in the olden days used to gather in their one little store to discuss the day's doing; small was the company, and narrow their field of observation; and their feeble gossip is today replaced by the rapid click of the telegraph instruments, the rolling of the steam-driven printing press and the cry of the newsboy at every corner; the events of all the continents are proclaimed in our streets almost as soon as they occur. And yet from all the luxury and ease, as well as from the anxiety and cares of busy modern days, we like sometimes to escape and get a little nearer to the heart of nature and to adopt a life of rural simplicity not far removed from that which once prevailed at Portland Point, content with some little cottage, remote from the hurry and din of city life in which to spend the good old summer time." CHAPTER XVIII. ST. JOHN AND ITS BUSINESS ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY YEARS AGO.