ks, Jeremy Diddlers, and, best of all, the Funny Fellow.
I will take board in some rural, as well as accessible place; the
mosquitoes and ague of Flushing shall refresh my frame; the cottages of
Astoria, with their pleasant view of the Penitentiary, shall revive my
wounded spirit; I will exile myself from my native land to the shores of
Jersey; I will sit beneath the shadow of the Quarantine on Staten
Island. No--I won't--I will go to Yonkers--Yonkers that looks as though
it had been built on a gentle slope, and then had suffered a violent
attack of earthquake; daily boats shall convey me from my ledger to my
bed and board, at convenient hours, so that while I post books in New
York by day, I may revel in breezes, moonbeams, sweet milk, and gentle
influences, by night. There, said I, in a burst of excusable enthusiasm,
I will recline beneath wide-spreading beeches, and pipe upon an oaten
reed. There will I listen to the soft bleating of lambs, and scent the
fresh breath of cows; Nature shall touch and thrill me with her gentle
hand; I will see the dear flowers turn their faces up to receive the
kiss of the rising sun, or the benediction of the summer shower. There,
too, I will meet the members of the mystic P.B., so that I shall talk of
books other than day-books and blotters: we will discourse reverently of
authors and their creations. I will not meet the Funny Fellow, for such
a wretch can be produced only in the corrupt social hot-bed of Gotham.

"So to Yonkers I went. I chose a room looking out upon the Hudson and
the noble Palisades. I took with me a flute, a copy of the Bucolics of
Virgil, and numerous linen garments. A great calm came over me. I was no
longer haunted, goaded, oppressed. With peace nestling in my bosom, I
went down to my first supper in the new boarding-house. A goodly meal
smoked on the table, and the savor of baked shad, sweetest of smells,
went up. While I sat choking myself with the bones of this delicious
fish, I heard a voice on the opposite side of the table that sent the
blood to my heart. If I had been feminine, there would have been a
scene.

"He was there: his eyes gloated over the board, a malicious quirk sat
astride his fat lips. The Funny Fellow spoke to Miss Grasscloth:

"'Why are the fishermen who catch these shad like wigmakers?'

"'I don't know,'

"'Because they make their living from bare poles.'

"I ate no more supper. A nausea supervened. I left the table, rushed
into th