Chapter 32: sober by law.
No bar, no drain-shop, no saloon defiles St. Johnsbury
; nor is there, I am told, a single gaming-hell or house of ill-repute.
So far as meets the eye this boast is true.
Once, in my walks, I fancy there may be an opening in the armour of these Good Templars.
Turning from the foreign street, where Jacques
is somewhat careless of his fence, and Pat
is tolerant of the cess-pool at his door, I read a notice calling on the passer-by to enter “ the sporting and smoking bazaar.”
Here, surely, there must lurk some spice of dissipation.
Passing down the steps into this “sporting and smoking bazaar,” I see a large vault, running below Avenue House, and conjure up visions of Gothe's wine cellar in Leipzig
, the Heiliger Geist
in Mainz, and our own supper-rooms in Covent Garden
; but on dropping down the steps of this “smoking and sporting bazaar,” I find