When the youth made the short remark which drew my attention to him, the little deformed gentleman turned round and took a long look at him.

Good for the Boston boy!—­he said.

I am not a Boston boy,—­said the youth, smiling,—­I am a Marylander.

I don’t care where you come from,—­we’ll make a Boston man of you,—­said the little gentleman.—­Pray, what part of Maryland did you come from, and how shall I call you?

The poor youth had to speak pretty loud, as he was at the right upper corner of the table, and Little Boston next the lower left-hand corner.  His face flushed a little, but he answered pleasantly,—­telling who he was, as if the little man’s infirmity gave him a right to ask any questions he wanted to.

Here is the place for you to sit,—­said the little gentleman, pointing to the vacant chair next his own, at the corner.

You’re go’n’ to have a young lady next you, if you wait till to-morrow,—­said the landlady to Little Boston.

He did not reply, but I had a fancy, that he changed color.  It can’t be that he has susceptibilities with reference to a contingent young lady!  It can’t be that he has had experiences which make him sensitive!  Nature could not be quite so cruel as to set a heart throbbing in that poor little cage of ribs!  There is no use in wasting notes of admiration.  I must ask the landlady about him.

These are some of the facts she furnished.—­Has not been long with her.  Brought a sight of furniture,—­couldn’t hardly get some of it up-stairs.  Hasn’t seemed particularly attentive to the ladies.  The Bombazine (whom she calls Cousin something or other) has tried to enter into conversation with him, but retired with the impression that he was indifferent to ladies’ society.  Paid his bill the other day without saying a word about it.  Paid it in gold,—­had a great heap of twenty-dollar pieces.  Hires her best room.  Thinks he is a very nice little man, but lives dreadful lonely up in his chamber.  Wants the care of some capable nuss.  Never pitied anybody more in her life,—­never see a more interestin’ person.

——­My intention was, when I began making these notes, to let them consist principally of conversations between myself and the other boarders.  So they will, very probably; but my curiosity is excited about this little boarder of ours, and my reader must not be disappointed, if I sometimes interrupt a discussion to give an account of whatever fact or traits I may discover about him.  It so happens that his room is next to mine, and I have the opportunity of observing many of his ways without any active movements of curiosity.  That his room contains heavy furniture, that he is a restless little body and is apt to be up late, that he talks to himself, and keeps mainly to himself, is nearly all I have found out.