The Press., 1894-08-23
MY NEIGHBOR.

W the door of the room occupied in - street; but, no matter for the name of the street, no one, I am confident, will visit London for the express purpose of satisfying himself that I am to be de- pended upon, and that there is house of so many stories in Lambert street. Here lived ill enjoyment of no end of fresh air, especially in winter, and a brilliant prospect up and down the street and over the roofs of the houses across the way.
 was studying painting at that time, learning to paint the landscapes and figure pieces which I produce with so much ease and dispose of with so much difficulty.
 At the head of the last flight of stairs in my lodging house was a narrow pas sage way, in which was obliged to stop and recover my breath after finish ing, much wearied, the 139 steps that led to my paradise, before I could get my key into its lock, and into this passage way opened two doors, one of which, of course, belonged to my room, and the other to some one else's. But who this some one else was I was un- able to find out. Was it man or wom- an? I was persuaded it must be a wom- an, and as woman I always used to think of her and speak of her to myself, and I thought and spoke of her often enough.
 Of course I could have settled the question at once by knocking at her door and asking for match or by inquir ing of my landlord, who occasionally honored me with friendly call, but l scorned resorting to such methods.
 Every time I heard the door shut l resolved she should not go out again without my seeing her, and nearly fell into the street as frantically attempt ed to reach far enough out of my win dow to see her as she came out at the street door.
 Was she young and pretty and good? What did she do, and what was her name? My thoughts were perpetually running up those six flights and stop ping baff1ed at her close shut door,
 drew ideal portraits of her in my idle moments, introduced them into all my pictures and would often finish out an accidental face ill study of rocks, much to my instructors surprise and my fellow students amusement.
 The only communication I ever had with people in the house was an occa- sional conversation with the dust color ed old woman who cleaned the windows and swept the halls.
 A day came for cleaning my windows xry1,n give the old woman clear stage by go- ing out for couple of hours, but told her to clean away and be as lively as she could, while sat there and painted.
 Lodgers, she told mo as she polished up the panes, came and went so fast that she forgot one when another came and never knew any of their names.
 She had an eye for character, though, and told me the peculiarit1es of some of them in quaint way, mailing her sen- tences now and then with odd, hard words, independently of the general text.
 "Gentleman who's under you keeps 'imself quite to 'imself," she said "Plants out queer sasses in boxes all the time an some of lem on the balcony it. self. P'r'aps makes kinder tea of lem, or root drink. Decoctifies.
 "And who is ill the room below that?" inquired, more to make her talk than to satisfy any curiosity I had on the subject.
 Empty now. Two dark little gentle men 'ad it for a fortnight-Jews,I I fan cy-an as like one another as two spots O dirt on this 'ere pane O glass. Spoke a hard billed kind O tongue an was fur riners, most likely Polyanders '
 l might have asked her about my next door neighbor, but refrained for fear my pretty romance would be de- stroyed by a description of middle aged spinster who wore glasses and wrought green roses ill crewel work.
 When she had finished the windows and gathered up her brushes and pails, she paused an instant to give a back ward glance at her completed task. The sun had broken through the clouds and rested tenderly on the stopping figure of