covered with them. They appear in nearly every
window, and the walls of the halls of the buildings, and even the steps
themselves are covered with them. Every device of the sign maker has
been exhausted here, and they tell their stories with more or less
emphasis, according to the ingenuity exercised upon them. They tell you
of "Counsellors at Law," Publishers, Artists, Dealers in Foreign and
American Engravings, Jewellers, Engravers on Wood and Steel, Printers,
Stock Brokers, Gold Beaters, Restaurant Keepers, Dealers in Cheap
Watches, Agents of Literary Bureaux, Translators of Foreign Languages,
Fruit Sellers, Boarding House Brokers, Matrimonial Agents, Book Sellers,
Dealers in Indecent Publications, and a host of others too numerous to
mention.

Go into one of the numerous buildings, and a surprise awaits you. You
might spend half a day in exploring it. It rivals the Tower of Babel in
height, and is alive with little closets called "offices." How people
doing business here are ever found by those having dealings with them is
a mystery. Many, indeed, come here to avoid being found, for Nassau
street is the headquarters of those who carry on their business by
circulars, and under assumed names. It is a good hiding place, and one
in which a culprit might safely defy the far-reaching arm of Justice.

Along the street, and mostly in the cellars, cluster the "Old Book
Stores" of New York, of which I shall have more to say hereafter, and
they add not a little to the singular character of the street. The
proprietors are generally men who have been here for years, and who know
the locality well. Many curious tales could they tell of their cramped
and dingy thoroughfare, tales that in vivid interest and dramatic force
would set up half a dozen novelists.

The Post-office draws all sorts of people into the street, and it is
interesting to watch them as they come and go. But, as has been said, no
one stays here long; no one thinks of lounging in Nassau street. Every
one goes at the top of his speed, and bumps and thumps are given and
taken with a coolness and patience known only to the New Yorker. You may
even knock a man off his legs, and send him rolling into the gutter, and
he will smile, pick himself up again, and think no more of the matter.
On Broadway the same man would not fail to resent such an assault as an
intentional insult. Every one here is full of unrest; every one seems
pre-occupied with his own af