Yet , as I glanced at the stately staircase down which the procession of the old governors had descended , and as I emerged through the venerable portal whence their figures had preceded me , it gladdened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe . Then , diving through the narrow archway , a few strides transported me into the densest throng of Washington street . II . EDWARD RANDOLPH 'S PORTRAIT . The old legendary guest of the Province House abode in my remembrance from midsummer till January . One idle evening last winter , confident that he would be found in the snuggest corner of the bar-room , I resolved to pay him another visit , hoping to deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion some else unheard-of fact of history . The night was chill and raw , and rendered boisterous by almost a gale of wind which whistled along Washington street , causing the gaslights to flare and flicker within the lamps . As I hurried onward my fancy was busy with a comparison between the present aspect of the street and that which it probably wore when the British governors inhabited the mansion whither I was now going . Brick edifices in those times were few till a succession of destructive fires had swept , and swept again , the wooden dwellings and warehouses from the most populous quarters of the town . The buildings stood insulated and independent , not , as now , merging their separate existences into connected ranges with a front of tiresome identity , but each possessing features of its own , as if the owner 's individual taste had shaped it , and the whole presenting a picturesque irregularity the absence of which is hardly compensated by any beauties of our modern architecture . Such a scene , dimly vanishing from the eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle glimmering through the small panes of scattered windows , would form a sombre contrast to the street as I beheld it with the gaslights blazing from corner to corner , flaming within the shops and throwing a noonday brightness through the huge plates of glass . But the black , lowering sky , as I turned my eyes upward , wore , doubtless , the same visage as when it frowned upon the ante-Revolutionary New Englanders . The wintry blast had the same shriek that was familiar to their ears . The Old South Church , too , still pointed its antique spire into the darkness and was lost between earth and heaven , and , as I passed , its clock , which had warned so many generations how transitory was their lifetime , spoke heavily and slow the same unregarded moral to myself . `` Only seven o'clock ! '' thought I. `` My old friend 's legends will scarcely kill the hours ` twixt this and bedtime . '' Passing through the narrow arch , I crossed the courtyard , the confined precincts of which were made visible by a lantern over the portal of the Province House . On entering the bar-room , I found , as I expected , the old tradition-monger seated by a special good fire of anthracite , compelling clouds of smoke from a corpulent cigar . He recognized me with evident pleasure , for my rare properties as a patient listener invariably make me a favorite with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative propensites . Drawing a chair to the fire , I desired mine host to favor us with a glass apiece of whiskey-punch , which was speedily prepared , steaming hot , with a slice of lemon at the bottom , a dark-red stratum of port wine upon the surface and a sprinkling of nutmeg strewn over all .
XXXXX we touched our glasses together , my legendary friend made himself known to me as Mr. Bela Tiffany , and I rejoiced at the oddity of the name , because it gave his image and character a sort of individuality in my conception .
As at between for in of over till upon within