ved in a house which was much frequented by journeymen printers.
From them he had heard that hands were wanted at West's, No. 85 Chatham street, and he recommended his new acquaintance to make immediate application at that office.
Accustomed to country hours, and eager to seize the chance, Horace was in Chatham street and on the steps of the designated house by half-past 5 on Monday morning. West's printing office was in the second story, the ground floor being occupied by Mc-Elrath and Bangs as a bookstore.
They were publishers, and West was their printer.
Neither store nor office was yet opened, and Horace sat down on the steps to wait.
Had Thomas McElrath, Esquire, happened to pass on an early walk to the Battery that morning, and seen our hero sitting on those steps, with his red bundle on his knees, his pale face supported on his hands, his attitude expressive of dejection and anxiety, his attire extremely unornamental, it would not have occurred to Thomas Mc-Elrath, Es