I escape! purse uninjured, only bananared. I reach Winter street, where I must turn my back on the Common pleasures of Boston life--but yet, one glance at that seductive window of the corner store, which, indeed, is nearly all window. Flowers are there, of course,--flowers from January to January; any poor devil can have a temporary conservatory at that window, 'all for nothing;' I ought to pay a yearly tax for the pleasure I steal in that way. The woman who carries my portmonnaie, only permits me to open it for the 'necessaries' of life: the luxuries of hot-house grapes and flowers ever wear for me that fatal label: 'Touch not, taste not.' Bread and cologne are, of course, the first necessities of life; in rolls and religion I am a Parkerite; in cologne, I swear by 'Mrs. Taylor'! Beacon street, I beg that you won't faint at this horrible disclosure! Who _is_ 'Mrs. Taylor'? and echo answers, 'We haven't the faintest odor of an idea!' None know her but to praise, wherever she may be. With Sancho Panza we say, 'Blessings on the man who invented Mrs. Taylor at seventy-five cents _per_--the hock bottle. I catch a glimpse of her long neck, stretching up among the roses and Geraniums: my cologne nature can't resist that sight! I obey the syren's call, though it will leave me a beggar, but with Mrs. T. in my chaste-embrace. 'The man I work for' treats me, for some reason, with 'distinguished consideration.' Though I may sometimes be a little after the required hour, it's all right; and though he's a Yankee, no questions are asked! I still have a precious quarter remaining--not of a dollar, but of time. I have in my purse one postage stamp; but that will warrant a visit to Loring's! One must have books as well as bread and cologne. O LORING! what an institution art thou! Name dear to all classes, from Madame ----, who steps from her carriage, to the pretty shop-girl, who always wants Mrs. Southworth's last--and worst--novel. Who, indeed, 'so poor' as not 'to do _him_ reverence,' and find two cents _per_ day, when for that sublimely small sum one can get a companion for any and every mood, 'Grave to gay, from lively to severe?' But will 'LORING'S' be open at this early dawn? 'Open,' indeed! one does not catch _him_ napping; yes, open and so inviting! A literary public garden so fresh and clean, as 'Just washed in a shower.' In the rear, behind the desk, one is always sure of finding at least _two roses_, and _on_ the desk a vase of flowers is certainly to be seen--the offering of some one of the hundreds of admirers who go to Loring's, nominally for some entertaining book--and they always find one!