Monday, the second day of November 1846, dawned cold and cloudy in Boston and the cheerless sky was leaden throughout the day. Darkness was upon the town before half after five and the cold wind began to blow from the bay, with the evening flow of the tide. Few people walked about the quiet streets, and the clatter of an occasional carriage seemed to intensify the unpleasantness of the weather by raising dismal echoes ordinarily muffled in the bustle of the busy thoroughfares.
In Summer Street, the cheery glow of parlor lights meant that most of the good dwellers in that fine neighborhood were staying indoors for the evening, but at no. 27, Dr. Henry Jacob Bigelow bundled into his great coat and ventured forth to make a call. He walked up to Washington Street, where a north turn and a few more steps brought him to Bromfield Street, turned