with halting steps i paced the streets, and passed the sign of "the crossed harpoons"—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. further on, from the bright red windows of the "sword-fish inn," there came such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me, when i struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most miserable plight. too expensive and jolly, again thought i, pausing one moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of the tinkling glasses within. but go on, ishmael, said i at last; don’t you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are stopping the way. so on i went. i now by instinct followed the streets that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not the cheeriest inns.