The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834 — John Shaqi
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 3, November, 1834
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
interrogatories to me, relative to the distance to the city, and
similar grave matters.
It was dark when we arrived. I had ordered the coachman to set me down
at Brown's--but I was informed that there was not a vacant room in the
house, and also that every other hotel in the city was full. This
overflow of company as I afterwards ascertained was caused by the
assemblage at Washington of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Convention,
adding some hundreds to the ordinary visiters of the period. To add to
the discomfort of wanting lodgings, it was raining with great violence,
and I dreaded a drive through the interminable streets of the federal
metropolis. Our lady companion had observed that she was to be dropped
at the residence of some relative, and moreover stated that it was a
boarding house. But she avoided proposing that we should quarter with
her; and not until I had seen her safely within the house, and was
returning to the stage, did she mention our plight to her relative. The
latter was immediately urgent that we should remain at her house,
declaring that she had several unoccupied rooms, which were entirely at
our disposal.
This new position of affairs was highly gratifying, and we anticipated
all the comforts of a good supper, and comfortable lodgings, with a
satisfaction which can best be conceived by those to whom those
commodities have, at times, been wanting. My wife was safely seated in
the well warmed dining room, the baggage deposited in the hall,--and I
took the opportunity afforded by a delay in the appearance of supper,
to step across the street, and inform the gentlemen with whom I was
engaged, of my arrival, which was a day or two later than they had
anticipated. On my return to the boarding house, to my utter
astonishment, I saw my wife standing at the street door, in her bonnet
and cloak, while my trunks were piled upon the steps.
Hey dey, said I, what does all this mean--why are you not warming
yourself at the fire, instead of standing here muffled up, as if your
journey was now to commence instead of being ended?
We cannot remain, said she, in a tone of chagrin.
Cannot! What is the reason? Are the people mad here, as well as on the
road?
It would seem so. I had scarcely been five minutes in the house, when
the landlady, who was at first so eager that we should lodge with her,
changed her mind, and informed me that she could not accommodate us.
But she will not turn us out supperless, I hope, such a night as this?
I am not so certain of that. She appears to be infected with the same
disease under which all our travelling companions have labored. People
seem actually to avoid us as though we carried the plague about in our
garments. She bowed me out of the dining room with as little ceremony
as she would have shewn to a mendicant.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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