om the middle of a home-lot belonging to the
hotel; but this evening the crowning glory of an ovation was given me by
the great publisher, who, unseen, and with the most delicate attention,
startled me into a wild enthusiasm of gratitude.

By guns on the water, by guns on shore, and by enchanting strains of
music, my appearance in society has been heralded. Now the cap-sheaf has
been placed on all these honors by a compliment of fire combined with
the most exhilarating music. On Saturday nights, every hotel along the
beach is crowded from ground-floor to gable, and gay as a spring
morning. Then the husbands and brothers and beaux come down from New
York, till all the trains run over with masculine humanity. When the
cars come in, it really is a sight to behold. Out from a long train of
cars rushes a swarm of men, with here and there a feminine sprinkling,
carrying carpet-bags, satchels, umbrellas, and little baskets of fruit.
Then they cluster in a thick, black cloud around the depot, like bees
swarming from their hives. The streets all around are choked up with
carriages, hacks, omnibuses, wagons, and all sorts of wheeled things, in
which drivers sit, on the sharp watch, and ladies and girls wait for
their men folks to get in and be drove away. I beg pardon--driven away.

On Saturday night, every female seems to own a mate of some kind, and be
on the watch for him. Then the engines give a snarl, and carriages make
a grand start and go off in a line, stringing down Ocean Avenue a mile
or so, and leaving clouds of dust rolling along the beach, each driver
going it as if he were crazy to leave all the other fellows behind.

Well, this fills the whole Branch with delightful confusion. The ladies
put on their most scrumptious dresses, and the masculines blaze in red
and blue and green neckties that almost set you on fire.

Everybody dances on Saturday night. Streams of music pour upon you in
cataracts if you walk up the beach after dark. All the doors and windows
are open, and you feel dizzy with the idea that all creation has got
into one grand whirl. This is Saturday night at Long Branch, as a
general thing; but the particular Saturday night after we came from the
camp-meeting, was the beatinest thing of all. Early in the evening the
people seemed to flock in crowds to this hotel. They came afoot; they
came in carriages; they came by the omnibuses, load after load. Cousin
E. E. was astonished, and couldn't understand it