THE DECAYED OLD GENTLEMAN, A SKETCH.

There is something very touching about this character—something in his mild tone of speech, in his polite and gentle demeanour, that at once engages our sympathies. We have the poor old gentleman distinctly before our mind’s eye at this moment. Let us endeavour to sketch him.

He is of middle height, well proportioned, and of rather slender make. His clothes, though a good deal the worse for wear, are carefully brushed, and put on with scrupulous neatness. His linens are clean and bright, and his neck-cloth, equally faultless, is adjusted with nice precision; for, old as he is, he has not lost, nor ever will lose, that sense of propriety which dictates a decent attention to external appearance.

Some sixty and odd summers have passed over the head of him who is the subject of our sketch, and they have left their usual traces behind. His hair is thin and scanty, and of the silvery hue of eild. His countenance is expressive at once of a gentle and benevolent nature, of a cultivated mind and refined taste. He has seen much, read much, and thought more. A certain air of mild, subdued dignity—for the old man, poor though he be, never for a moment forgets that he is a gentleman—adds a grace to all he says and does. When in society, or when accosted by a friend, a pleasant smile, speaking a sincere affability, plays on his cheerful countenance. But when alone, when there is no one present to demand the exercise of his politeness, the expression of that countenance subsides into a gentle melancholy. His look is then grave and thoughtful; somewhat sad, but not morose. There has been disappointment in his life, high hopes laid low, and noble aspirations foiled in their aim.

Delightful it is to see the old gentleman enter a room in which some friends are assembled—his bow is so graceful—his smile so cheerful—his words of greeting so pleasant to the ear. All rise, smiling, to receive him—all hail his presence, with a quiet but heartfelt joy. Welcome, thrice welcome is he to all. His gentle manners, his exhaustless store of anecdote, all so well selected, all so neatly told. His intelligence and extensive information render him one of the most delightful of companions. A welcome visitor is he at all times—a welcome addition to the family circle into which it is his delight to drop, just in time to share in the sober, social cup of tea, his favourite beverage.

The old gentleman is unmarried—he is a bachelor. There is some vague unconnected story of an early attachment and of disappointed love, but nobody knows any of the particulars—no one knows who the lady was, nor what were the circumstances of the case; and our old friend never alludes to them in the most distant manner. The history of this passage in his life is a secret pent up within his own breast; one that will go with him to the grave, and with him be buried within its silent precincts. But it is one over which he often broods in the solitude of his solitary chamber, and during those sleepless nights, and they are many, when reminiscences of the past forbid the approach of forgetfulness.

Being a bachelor, and his circumstances narrow—a small annuity being now his only dependence—our old friend has no house of his own. He lives in hired lodgings—humble, but cleanly, comfortable and respectable. His landlady is a “decent widow,” and he has been her lodger for fifteen years. Little as he has, he has always paid her punctually, and to the last farthing; and much does she esteem and respect her kind and gentlemanly inmate. Regular and temperate in all his habits, and moderate in his desires, he gives her little trouble, and even that little he is at all times anxious to abridge. His cup of tea or coffee morning and evening is nearly all in the way of cookery that he requires at her hands. Quietly he comes in and quietly he goes out, and he never does either without saying something kind or civil as he passes. In all things easily pleased, he expresses thanks for every little attention shown him, and never raises his voice in anger, never even in querulousness or impatience. To every one around him, without distinction of rank or worldly circumstances, he is all politeness, all gentleness, and all kindness.

Who can but love and respect the decayed old gentleman!

C.