ntainted by the world; and
among them traditions were handed down pure and unadulterated by the
speculations of the learned, or the discoveries of antiquarians.

NEMO.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

* * * * *

SIGHMON DUMPS.

Anthony Dumps, the father of my hero (the subject matter of a story
being always called the hero, however little heroic he may personally
have been) married Dora Coffin on St. Swithin's day in the first year
of the last reign.

Anthony was then comfortably off, but through a combination of adverse
circumstances he went rapidly down in the world, became a bankrupt, and
being obliged to vacate his residence in St. Paul's Churchyard, he
removed to No. 3, Burying Ground Buildings, Paddington Road, where Mrs.
Dumps was delivered of a son.

The depressed pair agreed to christen their babe Simon, but the
name was registered in the parish book with the first syllable spelt
"S--I--G--H;"--whether the trembling hand of the afflicted parent
orthographically erred, or whether a bungling clerk caused the error
I know not; but certain it is that the infant Dumps was registered
SIGHMON.

Sighmon sighed away his infancy like other babes and sucklings, and when
he grew to be a hobedy-hoy, there was a seriousness in his visage, and
a much-ado-about-nothing-ness in his eye, which were proclaimed by good
natured people to be indications of deep thought and profundity; while
others less "flattering sweet," declared they indicated naught but want
of comprehension, and the dulness of stupidity.

As he grew older he grew graver, sad was his look, sombre the tone of
his voice, and half an hour's conversation with him was a very serious
affair indeed.

Burying Ground Buildings, Paddington Road, was the scene of his infant
sports. Since his failure, his father had earned his _lively_hood,
by letting himself out as a mute, or mourner, to a furnisher of
funerals.

"_Mute_" and "_voluntary woe_" were his stock in trade.

Often did Mrs. Dumps ink the seams of his small-clothes, and darken his
elbows with a blacking brush, ere he sallied forth to follow borrowed
plumes; and when he returned from his public performance (_oft
rehearsed_) Master Sighmon did innocently crumple his crapes, and
sport with his weepers.

His melancholy outgoings at length were rewarded by some pecuniary
incomings. The demise of others secured a living for him, and