ons of
a very worthy clergyman, having been attracted to his meetin' by
witnessing a marriage ceremony in which he called a man and a woman a
"gentleman" and a "lady,"--a stroke of gentility which quite overcame
her. She even took a part in what she called a Sabbath school, though it
was held on Sunday, and by no means on Saturday, as the name she intended
to utter implied. All this, which was very sincere, as I believe, on her
part, and attended with a great improvement in her character, ended in
her bringing home a young man, with straight, sandy hair, brushed so as
to stand up steeply above his forehead, wearing a pair of green
spectacles, and dressed in black broadcloth. His personal aspect, and a
certain solemnity of countenance, led me to think he must be a clergyman;
and as Master Benjamin Franklin blurted out before several of us
boarders, one day, that "Sis had got a beau," I was pleased at the
prospect of her becoming a minister's wife. On inquiry, however, I found
that the somewhat solemn look which I had noticed was indeed a
professional one, but not clerical. He was a young undertaker, who had
just succeeded to a thriving business. Things, I believe, are going on
well at this time of writing, and I am glad for the landlady's daughter
and her mother. Sextons and undertakers are the cheerfullest people in
the world at home, as comedians and circus-clowns are the most melancholy
in their domestic circle.

As our old boarding-house is still in existence, I do not feel at liberty
to give too minute a statement of the present condition of each and all
of its inmates. I am happy to say, however, that they are all alive and
well, up to this time. That amiable old gentleman who sat opposite to me
is growing older, as old men will, but still smiles benignantly on all
the boarders, and has come to be a kind of father to all of them,--so
that on his birthday there is always something like a family festival.
The Poor Relation, even, has warmed into a filial feeling towards him,
and on his last birthday made him a beautiful present, namely, a very
handsomely bound copy of Blair's celebrated poem, "The Grave."

The young man John is still, as he says, "in fustrate fettle." I saw him
spar, not long since, at a private exhibition, and do himself great
credit in a set-to with Henry Finnegass, Esq., a professional gentleman
of celebrity. I am pleased to say that he has been promoted to an upper
clerkship, and, in