During our promenade, two fire-engines passed us, attended by the usual retinue of shouting children; this is about the sixth fire since yesterday evening. They are so frequent here, that the cry "Fire, fire!" seems to excite neither alarm nor curiosity, and except the above-mentioned pains-taking juveniles, none of the inhabitants seem in the least disturbed by it.[10] We prosecuted our walk down to the Battery, but just as we reached it we had to return, as 'twas tea-time. I was sorry: the whole scene was most lovely. The moon shone full upon the trees and intersecting walks of the promenade, and threw a bright belt of silver along the water's edge. The fresh night wind came over the broad estuary, rippling it, and stirring the boughs with its delicious breath. A building, which was once a fort from whence the Americans fired upon our ships, is now turned into a sort of _café_, and was brilliantly lighted with coloured lamps, shining among the trees, and reflected in the water. The whole effect was pretty, and very Parisian. We came home, and had tea, after which Mr. ---- came in. He told us, that we must not walk alone at night, for that we might get spoken to; and that a friend of his, seeing us go out without a man, had followed us the whole way, in order to see that nothing happened to us: this was very civil. Played and sang, and strove to make that stupid lad sing, but he was shy, and would not open his mouth even the accustomed hair's-breadth. At about eleven he went away; and we came to bed at twelve. _Monday, 10th._