his atmospheric character
has the effect of making the dining-rooms of all boarding-houses
seem very much alike; and the accident of a hair-cloth sofa, cold,
shiny, slippery, prickly,--or a veneered sideboard, with a scale off
here and there, and a knob or two missing,--or a portrait, with one
hand half under its coat, the other resting on a pious-looking book,
--these accidents, and such as these, make no great difference.

The landlady soon presented herself, and I followed her into the
parlor, which was a decent apartment, with a smart centre-table, on
which lay an accordion, a recent number of the "Pactolian," a
gilt-edged, illustrated book or two, and a copy of the works of that
distinguished native author, to whom I feel very spiteful, on
account of his having, some years ago, attacked _a near friend of
mine_, and whom, on Christian principles, I do not mention,--though
I have noticed, that, where there is an accordion on the table, his
books are apt to be lying near it.

The landlady was a "wilted," (not exactly withered,) sad-eyed woman,
of the thin-blooded sort, but firm-fibred, and sharpened and made
shrewd by her calling, so that the look with which she ran me over,
in the light of a possible boarder, was so searching, that I was
half put down by it. I informed her of my errand, which was to make
some inquiries concerning two former boarders of hers, in whom a
portion of the public had expressed some interest, and of whom I
should be glad to know certain personal details,--as to their habits,
appearance, and so on. Any information she might furnish would be
looked upon in the light of a literary contribution to the pages of
the "Oceanic Miscellany," and be compensated with the well-known
liberality of the publishers of that spirited, enterprising, and
very popular periodical.

Up to this point, the landlady's countenance had kept that worried,
watchful look, which poor women, who have to fight the world
single-handed, sooner or later grow into. But now her features
relaxed a little. The blow which had crushed her life had shattered
her smile, and, as the web of shivered expression shot off its rays
across her features, I fancied that Grief had written her face all
over with 'Ws', to mark her as one of his forlorn flock of Widows.

The report here given is partly from the conversation held with the
landlady at that time, and partly from written notes which she
furnished me; for, finding that she was to be