76 WINTER SKETCHES. 



imagining t'hat they were enjoying themselves, 

 I struck out upon Jerome Avenue, which 

 appeared to be leading in the right direction ; 

 but I soon found that I was heading for 

 Woodlawn, the city of the dead, for a sarcastic 

 milkman informed me that I was going all 

 right if I wanted to be buried, but that if I 

 wanted to live a little while longer, and to get 

 to Irvington before night, it would be better to 

 strike across the country and find Broadway. 



I don't think any cockney has an idea of the 

 crooked lanes that have been laid out, Ijke the 

 streets of Boston by cows, within a few miles 

 of New York. I would sooner take my chance 

 of getting anywhere on a Western prairie than 

 of finding my way out of town above Harlem 

 without assistance. However, Fanny and I, 

 by a combination of instinct, moderate intel- 

 ligence, and persistent inquiry, at last came in 

 sight of the North River, and headed up 

 stream. It was Broadway, as it is called until 

 it reaches Albany — not the Broadway of salted 

 railroad tracks and dirty slush, bordered by 

 shops and hotels ; but a Broadway now of 

 clean white snow, in summer of macadamized 

 road, shaded by oaks, elms, firs, and pines. 

 Now, the bare limbs of the great trees form a 



