These men, however, happily for themselves, have long forgotten such thoughts.

Old country friends have died or emigrated; former correspondents have become lost, like themselves, in the crowd and turmoil of some busy city; and they have gradually settled down into mere passive creatures of habit and endurance.
We were seated in the enclosure of St.James's Park the other day, when our attention was attracted by a man whom we immediately put down in our own mind as one of this class.

He was a tall, thin, pale person, in a black coat, scanty gray trousers, little pinched-up gaiters, and brown beaver gloves.

He had an umbrella in his hand--not for use, for the day was fine--but, evidently, because he always carried one to the office in the morning.

He walked up and down before the little patch of grass on which the chairs are placed for hire, not as if he were doing it for pleasure or recreation, but as if it were a matter of compulsion, just as he would walk to the office every morning from the back settlements of Islington.