inage are
all on confidential terms with Mathew Mizzle; and--have you not noted
the fact?--when you would have secret discourse with a friend, Mizzle
comes upon you, as the birds of prey scent a battle-field. All secrets
appear to hold a species of telegraphic communication with our friend
Mathew Mizzle, as to the fact at least, that there is a secret in
existence, as well as a regard to its local habitation.

Ubiquitous Mathew Mizzle, yet invariably out of place. Open the door
suddenly, and Mathew Mizzle is almost knocked down. Throw out a bucket
of water at night, and Mathew Mizzle is there to receive its contents.
Pass a stick through the key-hole, and it's Mizzle's eye that suffers
the detriment. You stumble over him in dark entries--you find him
lying perdu in the closet. Go where you will, there is Mizzle, if it
be in the wrong place for Mizzle's presence.

Behold him prowling round the scenes to investigate the mysteries of a
theatrical performance. There he is, just where he was told not to be,
and William Tell was not in fault that his arrow has stricken Mathew
Mizzle breathless. What business had Mizzle there in Switzerland,
lurking near the walls of Altorf?

Mizzle's last catastrophe, like the last catastrophe of many other
distinguished citizens, was effected by means of a ladder, which he
had ascended cautiously by night, after the painters had left their
work, to see what was going on in the chamber of a second story.
Suddenly, there was a dog at the bottom of the aforesaid ladder, and a
cudgel at the top, presenting the alternatives of a dilemma. Switches
above and bark below, what could the unfortunate Mathew Mizzle do but
surrender himself a prisoner of war? Poor Mizzle! They put him under
the pump, and made him acquainted with the nature of ducks.

Is it not a pity that the system of "espionage" does not obtain in
America, that Mathew Mizzle might have a field for the exercise of the
qualities which are so remarkably developed in his constitution? It
would be a perfect union of duty and of pleasure, if he could be
employed to find out every thing that goes on in town and about, and
it is a great pity that means could not be devised to save so fine a
young man from the waste of his genius.

"People are so fussy about their secrets," says he, "as if there were
any use of having secrets, if it were not for the fun of finding them
out and talking about them. It's mean and selfish to abridge
intellige