Well, my friends, here you see (said the melancholy gentleman), without giving any one the smallest offence, and desiring nothing so much as peace and the good will of my neighbours--here was I, I say, become obnoxious to heaven knows how many people; for my reputation naturally extended from the committees to the other members of the congregation, and from them again to their friends and acquaintances; so that I had, in the end, a pretty formidable array of enemies. The consequence of this affair was, that I soon found myself compelled, from the petty persecutions and annoyances of all sorts, to which I was subsequently exposed, to leave the congregation altogether. However, to compensate for all these troubles and vexations, I had the good fortune, about this time, to become acquainted with a very amiable young lady, as peaceably inclined and as great a lover of quiet as myself. This lady I married, having previously secured a house in one of the quietest and most retired places in the town, so as to be out of the way of all noise and din. Immediately beneath this house, however, there was an empty unlet shop, which I could not help regarding with a suspicious eye, from an apprehension that it might be taken by a person of some noisy calling or other; and so much at last did this fear alarm me, that I determined on taking the shop into my own hands, and running myself the risk of its letting--thus securing the choice of a tenant. Having come to this resolution, then, I called upon the landlord and inquired the rent. "O sir," said he, "the shop is let." "Let, sir!" replied I; "I saw a ticket on it yesterday." "That might well be, sir, for it was only let this morning." "And to whom, sir, is it let, may I ask? I mean, sir, what is his business?" "A tinsmith, sir," said the landlord, coolly. "A tinsmith!" replied I, turning pale. "Then my worse fears are realized!" The landlord looked surprised, and inquired what I meant. I told him, and had a laugh from him for my pains.