The love-lorn Matthew had departed, no doubt unable to bear the sight of that staircase whose boards no longer resounded with the slip-slap of the slippers of that hypocritical beauty, “his Mary.” With him, the romance of the landing-place, and the squad, had evaporated; and I had no sympathies, no pursuits, in common with the remaining “boys”--my newly-acquired post, too, nearly occupied the whole of my time, while my desire of study increased with the acquisition of books, in which all my pocket-money was expended. One day, my good friend, Mr. Wallis, entered the office, followed by a short, sharp-visaged man, with a sallow complexion; he was dressed in a shabby frock, buttoned up to the throat--a rusty black silk neckerchief supplying the place of shirt and collar. He stood just within the threshold of the door, holding his napless hat in his hand. “Well, Wally, my buck,” cried my master, extending his hand. Mr. Wallis advanced close to his elbow, and spoke in a whisper; but I observed, by the direction of his eyes, that the subject of his communication was the stranger. “Ha!” said Mr. Timmis, “it's all very well, Walley--but I hate all forriners;--why don't he go back to Frogland, and not come here, palming himself upon us. It's no go--not a scuddick. They're all a parcel o' humbugs--and no mistake!” As he uttered this gracious opinion sufficiently loud to strike upon the tympanum of the poor fellow at the door, I could perceive his dark eyes glisten, and the blood tinge his woe-begone cheeks; his lips trembled with emotion: there was an evident struggle between offended gentility, and urgent necessity. Pride, however, gained the mastery; and advancing the right foot, he raised his hat, and with peculiar grace bowing to the two friends--“Pardon, Monsieur Vallis,” said he, in tremulous accents, “I am 'de trop;' permit, me to visdraw”--and instantly left the office. Mr. Timmis, startled by his sudden exit, looked at Mr. Wallis for an explanation. “By ___!” exclaimed Mr. Wallis seriously--“you've hurt that poor fellow's feelings. I would sooner have given a guinea than he should have heard you. Dubois is a gentleman; and altho' he's completely 'stumped,' and has'nt a place to put his head in, he's tenacious of that respect which is due to every man, whether he happens to be at a premium, or a discount.” “Go it!” cried Mr. Timmis, colouring deeply at this merited reproof--“If this ain't a reg'lar sermon! I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, d___ me; I'm a reg'lar John Bull, and he should know better than to be popped at my bluntness. D___ me, I wouldn't hurt a worm--you know I wouldn't, Wallis.”