a narrow crimpy collar, and tails
long enough and sharp enough for a clipper-ship's run. The periods when
he provided himself with new suits are so far apart that they formed
special episodes in his history; nevertheless there is always an air of
neatness about him, and he will spend much time arranging a dingy
ruffled shirt, a pair of gray trowsers, a black velvet waistcoat, cut in
the Elizabethan style, and a high, square shirt collar, into which his
head has the appearance of being jammed. This collar he ties with a
much-valued red and yellow Spittlefields, the ends of which flow over
his ruffle. Although the old man would not bring much at the
man-shambles, we set a great deal of store by him, and would not
exchange him for anything in the world but a regiment or two of heroic
secessionists. Indeed we are fully aware that nothing like him exists
beyond the highly perfumed atmosphere of our State. And to many other
curious accomplishments the old man adds that of telling fortunes. The
negroes seriously believe he has a private arrangement with the devil,
of whom he gets his wisdom, and the secret of propitiating the gods.

Two days have passed since the _emeute_ at the house of the old hostess.
McArthur has promised the young missionary a place for Tom Swiggs, when
he gets out of prison (but no one but his mother seems to have a right
to let him out), and the tall figure of Mister Snivel is seen entering
the little curiosity shop. "I say!--my old hero, has she been here yet?"
inquires Mr. Snivel, the accommodation man. "Nay, good friend," returns
the old man, rising from his sofa, and returning the salutation, "she
has not yet darkened the door." The old man draws the steel-bowed
spectacles from his face, and watches with a patriarchal air any change
that comes over the accommodation man's countenance. "Now, good friend,
if I did but know the plot," pursues the old man.

"The plot you are not to know! I gave you her history yesterday--that
is, as far as I know it. You must make up the rest. You know how to tell
fortunes, old boy. I need not instruct you. Mind you flatter her beauty,
though--extend on the kindness of the Judge, and be sure you get it in
that it was me who betrayed her at the St. Cecelia. All right old boy,
eh?" and shaking McArthur by the hand warmly, he takes his departure,
bowing himself into the street. The old man says he will be all ready
when she comes.

Scarcely has the accommodation man pas