"I am referred to your Honor for further particulars," observed Mr.
TRACEY CLEWS, bowing again to Judge SWEENEY. "Not to wound our friend
further by discussion of the fair sex, may I ask if Bumsteadville
contains many objects of interest for a stranger, like myself?"

"One, at least, sir," answered the Judge. "I think I could show you a
tombstone which you would find very good reading. An epitaph upon my
late better-half. If you are a married man you can not help enjoying
it."

Mr. CLEWS regretted to inform his Honor, that he had never been a
married man, and, therefore, could not presume to fancy what the
literary enjoyment of a widower must be at such a treat.

"A journalist, I presume?" insinuated Judge SWEENEY, more and more
struck by the other's perfect pageant of incomprehensible hair and
beard.

"His Honor flatters me too much."

"Something in the lunatic line, then, perhaps?"

"I have told your Honor that I never was married."

Since last speaking, Mr. BUMSTEAD had been staring at the new boarder's
head and face, with a countenance expressive of mingled consternation
and wrath, and now made a startling rush at him from his chair and
fairly forced half a glass of lemon tea down his throat.