“Yon brought the comparison upon yourself, Mr. Schenck.  Good day.”

Thus speaking, the Reverend OCTAVIUS Simpson hurried nervously from the Boreal temple; not fairly satisfied that he had escaped a Policy until he found himself safely emerged on Broadway and turning a corner toward Nassau Street.  Beaching the latter bye-way, after a brief interval of sharp walking, he entered a building nearly opposite that in which was the office of Mr. Dibble; and, having ascended numerous flights of twilight stairs to the lofty floor immediately over the saddened rooms occupied by a great American Comic Paper, came into a spidery garret where lurked Montgomery pendragon,

“Hard at it?” he asked, approaching a ricketty table at which sat the persecuted Southerner, reading a volume of HOYLE’S Games.

“My only friend!” ejaculated the lonely reader, hurriedly covering the book with an arm.  “I am, as you see, studying law here, all alone with these silent friends.”

He waved his thin hand toward a rude shelf on which were several well-worn City Directories of remote dates, volumes of Patent Office Reports for the years ’57 and ’59, a copy of Mr. GREELEY’S Essays on Political Economy, an edition of the Corporation Manual, the Coast Survey for 1850, and other inflaming statistical works, which had been sent to him in his exile by thoughtful friends who had no place to keep them.

“Cheer up, brother!” exhorted the good Gospeler, “I’ll send you some nice theological volumes to add to your library, which will then be complete.  Be not despondent.  All will come right yet.”

“I reckon it will, in time,” returned the youth, moodily.  “I suppose you know that my sister is determined to come here and stay with me?”

“Yes, Montgomery, I have heard of her noble resolution.  May her conversation prove sustaining to you.”

“There will be enough of it, I reckon, to sustain half a dozen people,” was the despondent answer.  “This is a gloomy place for her, Mr. Simpson, situated, as it is, immediately over the offices of a Comic Paper.”

“And do you think she would care for cheerful accessories while you are in sorrow?” asked the Gospeler, reproachfully.

“But it is so mournful—­that floor below,” persisted the brother, doubtfully.  “If there were only something the least bit more lively down there—­say an Undertaker’s.”

“A Sister’s Love can lessen the most crushing gloom, Montgomery.”

A silent pressure of the hand rewarded this encouraging reminder of sanguine friendship; and, after the depressed law-student had promised the Reverend OCTAVIUS to walk with him as far as the ferry in a few moments, the said Reverend departed for a hasty call upon the old lawyer across the street.

Benignant Mr. Dibble sat near a front window of his office, and received the visitor with legal serenity.