n bed, and did not see the people
in the street; but he heard the shuffling and the slouching, the dragging
step and the bright, quick footfall. There were gay bonnets and black
hats already stirring--early worshippers at the mass at St. Peter's or
St. Patrick's--but the great population of the city was at home.

Except, among the rest, a young man who comes hastily out of Thiel's,
over Stewart's--a young man of flowing black hair and fiery black eyes,
which look restlessly and furtively up and down Broadway, which seems to
the young man odiously and unnaturally bright. He gains the street with a
bound. He hurries along, restless, disordered, excited--the black eyes
glancing anxiously about, as if he were jealous of any that should see
his yesterday was not over, and that somehow his wild, headlong night had
been swept into the serene, open bay of morning. He hurries up the
street; tossing many thoughts together--calculating his losses, for the
black-haired young man has lost heavily at Thiel's faro-table--wondering
about payments--remembering that it is Sunday morning, and that he is to
attend a young lady from the South to church--a young lady whose father
has millions, if universal understanding be at all correct--thinking of
revenge at the table, of certain books full of figures in a certain
counting-room, and the story they tell--story known to not half a dozen
people in the world; the black-eyed youth, in evening dress, alert,
graceful, but now meandering and gliding swiftly like a snake, darts up
Broadway, and does not seem to hear the bells, whose first stroke
startled him as he sat at play, and which are now ringing strange changes
in the peaceful air: Come, Newt! Come, Newt! Abel Newt! Come, Newt! It is
I, Everardus, Dominie Bogardus--come, come, come! and be d----d, ding,
dong, bell, amen-n-n-n!

Later in the morning the bells rang again. The house doors opened, and
the sidewalk swarmed with well-dressed people. Boniface Newt and his wife
sedately proceeded to church--not a new bonnet escaping Mrs. Nancy, while
May walked tranquilly behind--like an angel going home, as Gabriel Bennet
said in his heart when he passed her with his sister Ellen leaning on his
arm. The Van Boozenberg carriage rolled along the street, conveying Mr.
and Mrs. Jacob to meditate upon heavenly things. Mrs. Dagon and Mrs. Orry
passed, and bowed sweetly, on their way to learn how to love their
neighbors as themselves. And among the rest