ed with the digestion of a boa-constrictor, I should
seriously consider the propriety of vanishing into the Nirvana."

I often wondered what could be the secret of Storm's liking for me;
for that he liked me, in his own lugubrious fashion, there could be no
doubt. As for myself, I never could determine how far I reciprocated
his feeling. I should hardly say that I loved him, but his talk
fascinated me, and it always irritated me to hear any one speak ill of
him. He was the very opposite of what the world calls "a good fellow;"
he did not slap you on the shoulder and salute you with a "Hallo, old
boy!" and I am inclined to think that he would have promptly resented
any undue familiarity. He was a man of the most exact habits,
painfully conscientious in all his dealings, and absolutely devoid of
vices, unless, indeed, his extravagance in the purchase of old
furniture might be classed under that head. To people of slipshod
habits, his painstaking exactness was of course highly exasperating,
and I often myself felt that he was in need of a redeeming vice. If I
could have induced him to smoke, take snuff, or indulge in a little
innocent gambling, I believe it would have given me a good deal of
satisfaction. Once, I remember, I exerted myself to the utmost to
beguile him into taking a humorous view of a mendacious tramp, who,
after having treated us to a highly pathetic autobiography, importuned
us for a quarter. But no, Storm could see nothing but the moral
hideousness of the man, lectured him severely, and would have sent
him away unrewarded, if I had not temporarily suspended my principles.

During our continued intercourse, I naturally learned a good deal
about my friend's previous life and occupation. He was of very good
family, had enjoyed an excellent university education, and had the
finest prospects of a prosperous career at home, when, as far as I
could ascertain, he took a sudden freak to emigrate. He had inherited
a modest fortune, and now maintained himself as cashier in a large tea
importing house in the city. He read the newspapers diligently,
apparently with a view to convincing himself of the universal
wretchedness of mankind in general and the American people in
particular, had a profound contempt for ambition of every sort,
believed nothing that life could offer worthy of an effort,
except--old furniture.

In the autumn of 187- he was taken violently ill with inflammation of
the lungs, and I naturally de