nclusions from what had occurred.

"Thus it is," said Tom, "that a Commander in the field is obliged to be
an obedient in the Ball Room, he is however a very poor creature at the
best of times, and depends more upon the abilities of others than his
own for the appearance he makes in the world, and is rather to be looked
at than admired and esteemed. Here," continued he, "I shall have an
opportunity of introducing you to a character of another kind, here is
my friend Dick Distich, a logger of Rhyme, a poet and a contemplative
philosopher, he is recently married, but appears to be without his rib."

"My dear friend Dashall," exclaimed a tall thin man advancing and
catching him by the hand, "I am glad to see you, for I am bewildered and
lost."

"Good," replied Tom, "then I am very glad to have found you, what is
the Reward--are you advertised--are your manuscripts stolen, or is your
Library on Fire? Has the good woman brought forth twins or disappointed
your hopes?"

"Walk this way," replied the other, "you are a happy fellow, always
gamesome and gay, but I know you have a fellow feeling for all mankind,
and will pour the balm of pity into a wounded heart."

"Zounds," said Tom, "you attack a body with a mouthful of pity, and a
heart full of wounds at a strange time, for the introduction of such
subjects. What can you mean, probably you appear here as the knight of
'the woeful countenance, with a determination to support the character
to the end of the chapter. Why you look as melancholy as a mute, and one
would almost fancy you were making a funeral visit, instead of attending
a Mask'd

"I have enough to make me so," was the reply, "I shall be brief in my
narrative, in order that I may not interfere with your enjoyments, and
you know that mine are of another kind. I am routed from home."--

"How do you mean?"

"Thus it is then, you know I am a plain man, a quiet man, a civil and
humble man. I hate Balls and Routs, but my wife and I differ in taste.
She has determined ~153~~ on having a Rout at home, and it proves no
misnomer with me, for Heaven knows they rout me from Study to Drawing
Room, from Drawing Room to Chamber, and all because truly my little
woman must have her party."

"And why not?" enquired Tom.

"Why man for this reason, you must know I had myself the sweetest
little sanctuary in the world. I had gothicised my Study, its walls
were painted in imitation of oak, my books were arranged with the
most