of the people ; and what was strange was, that they neither talked about scandal, religion , or politics. Sometimes they spoke of other countries so familiarly, that the question, " Have you ever been there ?" was naturally asked ; and the answer was generally, " Yes." Avoiding, however, any communion other than what was inevitable, with those who were decidedly gross and vulgar in intellect and feeling, and forming no intimacies in the small social circle into which they were thrown, the barrier was never passed by their acquaintances, which precluded familiarity. The amusements of Mr. Tompkins, other than those I have stated -to wit, walking and reading the newspapers-were extremely limited in kind or degree, so far as they were observed. Books of his own he had none. The widow's collection was small : but he availed himself of it occasionally, when smoking, or when the weather was bad. As it was more than a quarter of a century since any of the volumes had been purchased, and they were mostly odd ones, his studies could neither have been profound nor extensive. He also very frequently played backgammon with an old Danish gentleman, Mr. Hons Felburgh, who had brought his wife from the West Indies , to reside in this village for the benefit of her health, and had buried her there. It had been a subject of much dispute why he remained ; whether from regard to her memory, want of funds, or because he was afraid or too lazy to go back. My readers, I trust, are troubled with no such impertinent curiosity. No human being can long move and live in the same society, without contracting a preference for somebody or other ; but the intercourse between these two gentlemen arose very naturally, as they were near neighbours and both strangers, and as the Dane was without kith or kin in the country. Thus, as I have said, six months passed away, and the mystery which enshrouded Mr. Tompkins yet hung about him “ as 19 a garment." Curiosity, " like the self-burning tree of Africa,' vital the
but ardour own in its itself consumed almost had fire yet growed under the embers. The people had worn threadbare all the arguments on the question who Mr. Tompkins was, and why he did not publish to them his autobiography. The all-absorbing topic of conversation now was, " How did he live ? what were his resources ?" He ran in debt to no one, borrowed from no one, and kept no account in either of the four city banks ; he paid his board regularly, as was regularly ascertained from the widow, who became indignant, however, at the frequent recurrence of the question. E
JAN. 1839.