and matter-of-fact the young
gentleman's manner was after his reappearance. He was more candid than
ever, to be sure; having inadvertently thrust his white kids into an
open drawer of Havana sugar, under the impression, probably, that being
what they call "a sweet fellow," his route might possibly lie in that
direction.

Another inconvenience resulting from the chimney is, the bewilderment of
a guest in gaining his chamber, many strange doors lying between him and
it. To direct him by finger-posts would look rather queer; and just as
queer in him to be knocking at every door on his route, like London's
city guest, the king, at Temple-Bar.

Now, of all these things and many, many more, my family continually
complained. At last my wife came out with her sweeping proposition--in
toto to abolish the chimney.

"What!" said I, "abolish the chimney? To take out the backbone of
anything, wife, is a hazardous affair. Spines out of backs, and chimneys
out of houses, are not to be taken like frosted lead pipes from the
ground. Besides," added I, "the chimney is the one grand permanence of
this abode. If undisturbed by innovators, then in future ages, when
all the house shall have crumbled from it, this chimney will still
survive--a Bunker Hill monument. No, no, wife, I can't abolish my
backbone."

So said I then. But who is sure of himself, especially an old man,
with both wife and daughters ever at his elbow and ear? In time, I was
persuaded to think a little better of it; in short, to take the matter
into preliminary consideration. At length it came to pass that a
master-mason--a rough sort of architect--one Mr. Scribe, was summoned
to a conference. I formally introduced him to my chimney. A previous
introduction from my wife had introduced him to myself. He had been not
a little employed by that lady, in preparing plans and estimates for
some of her extensive operations in drainage. Having, with much ado,
exhorted from my spouse the promise that she would leave us to an
unmolested survey, I began by leading Mr. Scribe down to the root of the
matter, in the cellar. Lamp in hand, I descended; for though up-stairs
it was noon, below it was night.

We seemed in the pyramids; and I, with one hand holding my lamp over
head, and with the other pointing out, in the obscurity, the hoar mass
of the chimney, seemed some Arab guide, showing the cobwebbed mausoleum
of the great god Apis.

"This is a most remarkable structure, sir,"