reat reader, and so I am, but only of those features--my
real library is that picture.'

'But how did you obtain it?' said I.

'Some years ago a travelling painter came into this neighbourhood, and my
jolly host, at the request of his wife, consented to sit for his
portrait; she highly admired the picture, but she soon died, and then my
fat friend, who is of an affectionate disposition, said he could not bear
the sight of it, as it put him in mind of his poor wife. I purchased it
of him for five pounds--I would not take five thousand for it; when you
called that picture a daub, you did not see all the poetry of it.'

We sat down to breakfast; my entertainer appeared to be in much better
spirits than on the preceding day; I did not observe him touch once; ere
breakfast was over a servant entered--'The Reverend Mr. Platitude, sir,'
said he.

A shade of dissatisfaction came over the countenance of my host. 'What
does the silly pestilent fellow mean by coming here?' said he, half to
himself; 'let him come in,' said he to the servant.

The servant went out, and in a moment reappeared, introducing the
Reverend Mr. Platitude. The Reverend Mr. Platitude, having what is
vulgarly called a game leg, came shambling into the room; he was about
thirty years of age, and about five feet three inches high; his face was
of the colour of pepper, and nearly as rugged as a nutmeg-grater; his
hair was black; with his eyes he squinted, and grinned with his lips,
which were very much apart, disclosing two very irregular rows of teeth;
he was dressed in the true Levitical fashion, in a suit of spotless
black, and a neckerchief of spotless white.

The Reverend Mr. Platitude advanced winking and grinning to my
entertainer, who received him politely but with evident coldness; nothing
daunted, however, the Reverend Mr. Platitude took a seat by the table,
and, being asked to take a cup of coffee, winked, grinned, and consented.

In company I am occasionally subject to fits of what is generally called
absence; my mind takes flight and returns to former scenes, or presses
forward into the future. One of these fits of absence came over me at
this time--I looked at the Reverend Mr. Platitude for a moment, heard a
word or two that proceeded from his mouth, and saying to myself, 'You are
no man for me,' fell into a fit of musing--into the same train of thought
as in the morning, no very pleasant one--I was thinking of the future.

I continued