Turn the horse a little this way. Now look up the street. Do you see that pile of bricks and mortar and those heavy stones lying near? That _debris_ is all that is left of a house where in my youth, I spent many happy hours. I must take you into my confidence and tell you that the owner of that house is to-day a poor man. The day before the fire he was comparatively comfortable, rich I should call it, but the way wealth is computed now-a-days, I will content myself with saying that he was comfortably off. He had his carriage and horses--such splendid drivers, and how well he kept them--he had a library, and such books, and he knew what was in them too. History, belles-lettres, biography, science, all departments were here. You could read if you chose on an idle afternoon, in that alcove off the library, over there, a few feet from those bricks, anything your fancy dictated. I used to love to sit there and pull down his books--not to read them always, but merely to skim the cream off a dozen or so of them of an afternoon. He had some charming old books which he always kept in the extreme corner of his case. I remember with what awe I used to approach this section, and take down from the shelf his luxuriant copy of Milton, printed early in the eighteenth century, and illustrated with a grand old portrait of the blind bard. I read Pope's Homer here for the first time, and actually waded through the Chesterfield Letters. I used to sit over towards the left of where we are now, just close to that old stove-pipe which you can just see peeping through the bricks. I may live many years, or I may pass away to-night, but I shall never forget that dear old house, and the many happy, happy hours I spent there. Come away. Something seems to choke me, and one wants all his strength these days. Continue along in this direction. We shall see all that is left of many beautiful houses from here. There's the Wiggins' Orphan Asylum. The tower and the walls are there. What exquisite ruins they are. Let us look at them awhile. One can almost fancy he has seen somewhere a picture of the remains of an edifice that looked like this. I can almost hear the guide tapping his cane on the walls, and telling me to note how excellently preserved the building is, and how admirably the builders put it up. See how solid and strong it is, and hardly a discoloration marks its handsome front. That dingy and dismal-looking old wooden building near at hand is the Marine Hospital--that was saved all right.