time generally until they were quite exhausted. I have a very vivid
picture in my memory of an organ-grinder who was at one time blown into
the end of our street, and actually blown through it in spite of several
ineffectual efforts to come to a stand before the different dwellings,
but who was finally whirled out of the other extremity, still playing
and vainly endeavoring to pursue his unhallowed calling. But these were
noteworthy exceptions to the calm and even tenor of our life.

There was contiguity but not much sociability in our neighborhood.
From my bedroom window I could plainly distinguish the peculiar kind of
victuals spread on my neighbor's dining-table; while, on the other hand,
he obtained an equally uninterrupted view of the mysteries of my toilet.
Still, that "low vice, curiosity," was regulated by certain laws, and
a kind of rude chivalry invested our observation. A pretty girl, whose
bedroom window was the cynosure of neighboring eyes, was once brought
under the focus of an opera-glass in the hands of one of our ingenuous
youth; but this act met such prompt and universal condemnation, as an
unmanly advantage, from the lips of married men and bachelors who didn't
own opera-glasses, that it was never repeated.

With this brief sketch I conclude my record of the neighborhoods I have
moved from. I have moved from many others since then, but they have
generally presented features not dissimilar to the three I have
endeavored to describe in these pages. I offer them as types containing
the salient peculiarities of all. Let no inconsiderate reader rashly
move on account of them. My experience has not been cheaply bought. From
the nettle Change I have tried to pluck the flower Security. Draymen
have grown rich at my expense. House-agents have known me and were glad,
and landlords have risen up to meet me from afar. The force of habit
impels me still to consult all the bills I see in the streets, nor can