When these two gentlemen had parted, and the Reverend OCTAVIUS SIMPSON
had been escorted to the ferry, as promised, by MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON,
the latter, after a long, insane walk about the city, with the
thermometer at 98 degrees, returned to his attic in time to surprise a
stranger climbing in through one of the back windows.

"Who are you?" exclaimed the Southern youth, much struck by the funereal
aspect, sexton-like dress, and inordinately long countenance of the
pallid, light-haired intruder.

"Pardon! pardon!" answered he at the window, with much solemnity. "I am
a proprietor of the Comic Paper down below, and am eluding the man who
comes every day to tell me how such a paper _should_ be conducted. He is
now talking to the young man writing the mail-wrappers, who, being of
iron constitution and unmarried, can bear more than I. There was just
time for me to glide out of the window at sound of that fearful voice,
and I climbed the iron shutter and found myself at your casement.--Hark!
Do you hear the buzz down there? He's now telling the young man writing
the mail-wrappers what kind of Cartoons should be got-up for _this_
country.--Hark, again! and the young man writing the mail-wrappers have
clinched and are rolling about the floor.--Hark, once more! The young
man writing the mail-wrappers has put him out."

"Won't you come in?" asked MONTGOMERY, sincerely sorry for the agitated
being.

"Alas, no!" responded the fugitive, in the tone of a cathedral bell.

"I must go back to my lower deep once more. My name is JEREMY BENTHAM; I
am very unhappy in my mind; and, with your permission, will often escape