WORDS FOR THE WISE. 

BY

T. S. ARTHUR. 

PHILADELPHIA:

1851. 

PREFACE. 

THE title of this book--"WORDS FOR THE WISE"--is too comprehensive toneed explanation. May the lessons it teaches be "sufficient" aswarnings, incentives and examples, to hundreds and thousands who readthem. 

CONTENTS. 

 THE POOR DEBTOR THE SUNDAY CHRISTIAN I KNEW HOW IT WOULD BE JACOB JONES; OR, THE MAN WHO COULDN'T GET ALONG IN THE WORLD STARTING A NEWSPAPER. AN EXPERIENCE OF MR. JONES THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS JUST GOING TO DO IT MAKING HASTE TO BE RICH LET HER POUT IT OUT A FINE, GENEROUS FELLOW TAKING IT FOR GRANTED LOVE AND LAW

WORDS FOR THE WISE. 

THE POOR DEBTOR. 

"THERE is one honest man in the world, I am happy to say, " remarked arich merchant, named Petron, to a friend who happened to call in uponhim. 

"Is there, indeed! I am glad to find you have made a discovery of thefact. Who is the individual entitled to the honourable distinction?"

"You know Moale, the tailor?"

"Yes. Poor fellow! he's been under the weather for a long time. "

"I know. But he's an honest man for all that. "

"I never doubted his being honest, Mr. Petron. "

"I have reason to know that he is. But I once thought differently. Whenhe was broken up in business some years ago, he owed me a little bill, which I tried to get out of him as hard as any one ever did try for hisown. But I dunned and dunned him until weary, and then, giving him upas a bad case, passed the trifle that he owed me to account of profitand loss. He has crossed my path a few times since; but, as I didn'tfeel toward him as I could wish to feel toward all men, I treated himwith marked coldness. I am sorry for having done so, for it now appearsthat I judged him too severely. This morning he called in of his ownfree will, and paid me down the old account. He didn't say any thingabout interest, nor did I, though I am entitled to, and ought to havereceived it. But, as long as he came forward of his own accord andsettled his bill, after I had given up all hope of ever receiving it, Ithought I might afford to be a little generous and not say any thingabout the interest; and so I gave him a receipt in full. Didn't I doright?"

"In what respect?" asked the friend. 

"In forgiving him the interest, which I might have claimed as well asnot, and which he would, no doubt, have paid down, or brought me atsome future time. "

"Oh, yes. You were right to forgive the interest, " returned the friend, but in a tone and with a manner that struck the merchant as rathersingular. "No man should ever take interest on money due from anunfortunate debtor. "

"Indeed! Why not?" Mr. Petron looked surprised. "Is not money alwaysworth its interest?"

"So it is said. But the poor debtor has no money upon which to make aninterest. He begins the world again with nothing but his ability towork; and, if saddled with an old debt--principal and interest--hiscase is hopeless. Suppose he owes ten thousand dollars, and, afterstruggling hard for three or four years, gets into a position that willenable him to pay off a thousand dollars a year. There is some chancefor him to get out of debt in ten years. But suppose interest has beenaccumulating at the rate of some six hundred dollars a year. His debt, instead of being ten thousand, will have increased to over twelvethousand dollars by the time he is in a condition to begin to pay offany thing; and then, instead of being able to reduce the amount athousand dollars a year, he will have to let six hundred go for theannual interest on the original debt. Four years would have to elapsebefore, under this system, he would get his debt down to where it waswhen he was broken up in business. Thus, at the end of eight years'hard struggling, he would not, really, have advanced a step out of hisdifficulties. A debt of ten thousand dollars would still be hangingover him. And if, persevering to the end, he should go on paying theinterest regularly and reducing the principal, some twenty-five yearsof his life would be spent in getting free from debt, when little overhalf that time would have been required, if his creditors had, actingfrom the commonest dictates of humanity, voluntarily released theinterest. "

"That is a new view of the case, I must confess--at least new to me, "said Mr. Petron. 

"It is the humane view of the case. But, looking to interest alone, itis the best view for every creditor to take. Many a man who, with alittle effort, might have cancelled, in time, the principal of a debtunfortunately standing against him, becomes disheartened at seeing itdaily growing larger through the accumulation of interest, and gives upin despair. The desire to be free from debt spurs many a man intoeffort. But make the difficulties in his way so large as to appearinsurmountable, and he will fold his hands in helpless inactivity. Thousands of dollars are lost every year in consequence of creditorsgrasping after too much, and breaking down the hope and energy of thedebtors. "

"Perhaps you are right, " said Mr. Petron;--"that view of the case neverpresented itself to my mind. I don't suppose, however, the interest onfifty dollars would have broken down Moale. "

"There is no telling. It is the last pound, you know, that breaks thecamel's back. Five years have passed since his day of misfortune. Fifteen dollars for interest are therefore due. I have my doubts if hecould have paid you sixty-five dollars now. Indeed, I am sure he couldnot. And the thought of that as a new debt, for which he had receivedno benefit whatever, would, it is more than probable, have produced adiscouraged state of mind, and made him resolve not to pay you anything at all. "

"But that wouldn't have been honest, " said the merchant. 

"Perhaps not, strictly speaking. To be dishonest is from a set purposeto defraud; to take from another what belongs to him; or to withholdfrom another, when ability exists to pay, what is justly his due. Youwould hardly have placed Moale in either of these positions, if, fromthe pressure of the circumstances surrounding him as a poor man and indebt, he had failed to be as active, industrious, and prudent as hewould otherwise have been. We are all apt to require too much of thepoor debtor, and to have too little sympathy with him. Let the hope ofimproving your own condition--which is the mainspring of all yourbusiness operations--be taken away, and instead, let there be only thedesire to pay off old debts through great labour and self-denial, thatmust continue for years, and imagine how differently you would thinkand feel from what you do now. Nay, more; let the debt be owed to thosewho are worth their thousands and tens of a thousands, and who are inthe enjoyment of every luxury and comfort they could desire, while yougo on paying them what you owe, by over-exertion and the denial toyourself and family of all those little luxuries and recreations whichboth so much need, and then say how deeply dyed would be thatdishonesty which would cause you, in a moment of darker and deeperdiscouragement than usual, to throw the crushing weight from yourshoulders, and resolve to bear it no longer? You must leave a man somehope in life if you would keep him active and industrious in hissphere. "

Mr. Petron said nothing in reply to this; but he looked sober. Hisfriend soon after left. 

The merchant, as the reader may infer from his own acknowledgment, wasone of those men whose tendency to regard only their own interests hasbecome so confirmed a habit, that they can see nothing beyond thenarrow circle of self. Upon debtors he had never looked with a particleof sympathy; and had, in all cases, exacted his own as rigidly as ifhis debtor had not been a creature of human wants and feelings. Whathad just been said, however, awakened a new thought in his mind; and, as he reflected upon the subject, he saw that there was some reason inwhat had been said, and felt half ashamed of his allusion to theinterest of the tailor's fifty-dollar debt. 

Not long after, a person came into his store, and from some causementioned the name of Moale. 

"He's an honest man--that I am ready to say of him, " remarked Mr. Petron. 

"Honest, but very poor, " was replied. 

"He's doing well now, I believe, " said the merchant. 

"He's managing to keep soul and body together, and hardly that. "

"He's paying off his old debts. "

"I know he is; but I blame him for injuring his health and wronging hisfamily, in order to pay a few hundred dollars to men a thousand timesbetter off in the world than he is. He brought me twenty dollars on anold debt yesterday, but I wouldn't touch it. His misfortunes had longago cancelled the obligation in my eyes. God forbid! that with enoughto spare, I should take the bread out of the mouths of a poor man'schildren. "

"Is he so very poor?" asked Mr. Petron, surprised and rebuked at whathe heard. 

"He has a family of six children to feed, clothe, and educate; and hehas it to do by his unassisted labour. Since he was broken up inbusiness some years ago, he has had great difficulties to contend with, and only by pinching himself and family, and depriving both of nearlyevery comfort, has he been able to reduce the old claims that have beenstanding against him. But he has shortened his own life ten yearsthereby, and has deprived his children of the benefits of education, except in an extremely limited degree--wrongs that are irreparable. Ihonour his stern integrity of character, but think that he has carriedhis ideas of honesty too far. God gave him these children, and theyhave claims upon him for earthly comforts and blessings to the extentof his ability to provide. His misfortunes he could not prevent, andthey were sent as much for the chastisement of those who lost by him asthey were for his own. If, subsequently, his greatest exertion was notsufficient to provide more than ordinary comforts for the family stilldependent upon him, his first duty was to see that they did not want. If he could not pay his old debts without injury to his health or wrongto his family, he was under no obligation to pay them; for it is clear, that no claims upon us are so imperative as to require us to wrongothers in order to satisfy them. "

Here was another new doctrine for the ears of the merchant--doctrinestrange, as well as new. He did not feel quite so comfortable as beforeabout the recovered debt of fifty dollars. The money still lay upon hisdesk. He had not yet entered it upon his cash-book, and he felt nowless inclined to do so than ever. The claims of humanity, in theabstract, pressed themselves upon him for consideration, and he sawthat they were not to be lightly thrust aside. 

In order to pay the fifty dollars, which had been long due to themerchant, Mr. Moale had, as alleged, denied himself and family at everypoint, and overworked himself to a degree seriously injurious to hishealth; but his heart felt lighter after the sense of obligation wasremoved. 

There was little at home, however, to make him feel cheerful. His wife, not feeling able to hire a domestic, was worn down with the care andlabour of her large family; the children were, as a necessaryconsequence, neglected both in minds and bodies. Alas! there was nosunshine in the poor man's dwelling. 

"Well, Alice, " said Mr. Moale, as his wife came and stood by the boardupon which he sat at work, holding her babe in her arms, "I have paidoff another debt, thank heaven?"

"Whose?"

"Petron's. He believed me a rogue and treated me as such. I hope hethinks differently now. "

"I wish all men were as honest in their intentions as you are. "

"So do I, Alice. The world would be a much better one than it is, I amthinking. "

"And yet, William, " said his wife, "I sometimes think we do wrong tosacrifice so much to get out of debt. Our children"--

"Alice, " spoke up the tailor, quickly, "I would almost sell my bodyinto slavery to get free from debt. When I think of what I still owe, Ifeel as if I would suffocate. "

"I know how badly you feel about it, William; but your heart is honest, and should not that reflection bear you up?"

"What is an honest heart without an honest hand, Alice?" replied thetailor, bending still to his work. 

"The honest heart is the main thing, William; God looks at that. Manjudges only of the action, but God sees the heart and its purposes. "

"But what is the purpose without the act?"

"It is all that is required, where no ability to act is given. William, God does not demand of any one impossibilities. "

"Though man often does, " said the tailor, bitterly. 

There was a pause, broken, at length, by the wife, who said--"And haveyou really determined to put John and Henry out to trades? They are soyoung. "

"I know they are, Alice; too young to leave home. But"--

The tailor's voice became unsteady; he broke off in the middle of thesentence. 

"Necessity requires it to be done, " he said, recovering himself; "andit is of no avail to give way to unmanly weakness. But for this olddebt, we might have been comfortable enough, and able to keep ourchildren around us until they were of a more fitting age to go fromunder their parents' roof. Oh, what a curse is debt!"

"There is more yet to pay?"

"Yes, several hundreds of dollars; but if I fail as I have for a yearpast, I will break down before I get through. "

"Let us think of our family, William; they have the first claim uponus. Those to whom money is owed are better off than we are; they standin no need of it. "

"But is it not justly due, Alice?" inquired the tailor, in a rebukingvoice. 

"No more justly due than is food, and raiment, and a _home_ to ourchildren, " replied the tailor's wife, with more than her usual decisionof tone. "God has given us these children, and he will require anaccount of the souls committed to our charge. Is not a human soul ofmore importance than dollars? A few years, and it will be out of ourpower to do our children good; they will grow up, and bear for ever themarks of neglect and wrong. "

"Alice! Alice! for heaven's sake, do not talk in this way!" exclaimedthe tailor, much disturbed. 

"William, " said the wife, "I am a mother, and a mother's heart can feelright; nature tells me that it is wrong for us to thrust out ourchildren before they are old enough to go into the world. Let us keepthem home longer. "

"We cannot, and pay off this debt. "

"Then let the debt go unpaid for the present. Those to whom it is owedcan receive no harm from waiting; but our children will"--

Just then a man brought in a letter, and, handing it to the tailor, withdrew. On breaking the seal, Mr. Moale found that it contained fiftydollars, and read as follows:--

"SIR--Upon reflection, I feel that I ought not to receive from you themoney that was due to me when you became unfortunate some years ago. Iunderstand that you have a large family, that your health is not verygood, and that you are depriving the one of comforts, and injuring theother, in endeavouring to pay off your old debts. To cancel theseobligations would be all right--nay, your duty--if you could do sowithout neglecting higher and plainer duties. But you cannot do this, and I cannot receive the money you paid me this morning. Take it back, and let it be expended in making your family more comfortable. I haveenough, and more than enough for all my wants, and I will not depriveyou of a sum that must be important, while to me it is of littleconsequence either as gained or lost. 

EDWARD PETRON. "

The letter dropped from the tailor's hand; he was overcome withemotion. His wife, when she understood its purport, burst into tears. 

The merchant's sleep was sweeter that night than it had been for sometime, and so was the sleep of the poor debtor. 

The next day Mr. Moale called to see Mr. Petron, to whom, at theinstance of the latter, he gave a full detail of his actualcircumstances. The merchant was touched by his story, and prompted bytrue benevolence to aid him in his struggles. He saw most of thetailor's old creditors, and induced those who had not been paid in fullto voluntarily relinquish their claims, and some of those who hadreceived money since the poor man's misfortunes, to restore it asbelonging of right to his family. There was not one of these creditorswho did not feel happier by their act of generosity; and no one candoubt that both the tailor and his family were also happier. John andHenry were not compelled to leave their home until they were older andbetter prepared to endure the privations that usually attend the boy'sfirst entrance into the world; and help for the mother in her arduousduties could now be afforded. 

No one doubts that the creditor, whose money is not paid to him, hasrights. But too few think of the rights of the poor debtor, who sinksinto obscurity, and often privations, while his heart is oppressed witha sense of obligations utterly beyond his power to cancel. 

THE SUNDAY CHRISTIAN. 

TWO things are required to make a Christian--piety and charity. Thefirst has relation to worship, and in the last all social duties areinvolved. Of the great importance of charity in the Christiancharacter, some idea may be gained by the pointed question asked by anapostle--"If you love not your brother whom you have seen, how can youlove God whom you have not seen?" There is no mistaking the meaning ofthis. It says, in the plainest language--"Piety without charity isnothing;" and yet how many thousands and hundreds of thousands aroundus expect to get to heaven by Sunday religion alone! Through the weekthey reach out their hands for money on the right and on the left, soeager for its attainment, that little or no regard is paid to theinterests of others; and on Sunday, with a pious face, they attendchurch and enter into the most holy acts of worship, fondly imaginingthat they can be saved by mere acts of piety, while no regard for theirfellow-man is in their hearts. 

Such a man was Brian Rowley. His religion was of so pure a stamp thatit would not bear the world's rough contact, and, therefore, it wasnever brought into the world. He left the world to take care of itselfwhen the Sabbath morning broke; and when the Sabbath morning closed, hewent back into the world to look after his own interests. Every Sundayhe progressed a certain way towards heaven, and then stood still for aweek, in order that he might take proper care of the dollars and cents. 

Business men who had transactions with Mr. Rowley generally kept theireyes open. If they did not do it at the first operation, they rarelyomitted it afterwards, and for sufficient reason; he was sharp atmaking a bargain, and never felt satisfied unless he obtained someadvantage. Men engaged in mercantile pursuits were looked upon, as ageneral thing, as ungodly in their lives, and therefore, in a certainsense, "out-siders. " To make good bargains out of these was only tofight them with their own weapons; and he was certainly good at suchwork. In dealing with his brethren of the same faith he was rather moreguarded, and affected a contempt for carnal things that he did not feel. 

We said that the religion of Mr. Rowley did not go beyond the piousduties of the Sabbath. This must be amended. His piety flowed intocertain benevolent operations of the day; he contributed to the supportof Indian and Foreign Missions, and was one of the managers on a TractBoard. In the affairs of the Ceylonese and South-Sea Islanders he tooka warm interest, and could talk eloquently about the heathen. 

Not far from Mr. Brian Rowley's place of business was the store of aman named Lane, whose character had been cast originally in a differentmould. He was not a church-going man, because, as he said, he didn'twant to be "thought a hypocrite. " In this he displayed a weakness. Atone time he owned a pew in the same church to which Rowley wasattached, and attended church regularly, although he did not attachhimself to the church, nor receive its ordinances. His pew was nearthat of Mr. Rowley, and he had a good opportunity for observing thepeculiar manner in which the latter performed his devotions. Unfortunately for his good opinion of the pious Sunday worshipper, theywere brought into rather close contact during the week in matters ofbusiness, when Mr. Lane had opportunities of contrasting his piety andcharity. The want of agreement in these two pre-requisites of a genuineChristian disgusted Lane, and caused him so much annoyance on Sundaythat he finally determined to give up his pew and remain at home. Adisposition to carp at professors of religion was manifested from thistime; the whole were judged by Rowley as a sample. 

One dull day a man named Gregory, a sort of busybody in theneighbourhood, came into the store of Mr. Lane and said to him--"Whatdo you think of our friend Rowley? Is he a good Christian?"

"He's a pretty fair Sunday Christian, " replied Lane. 

"What is that?" asked the man. 

"A hypocrite, to use plain language. "

"That's pretty hard talk, " said Gregory. 

"Do you think so?"

"Yes. When you call a man a hypocrite, you make him out, in my opinion, about as bad as he can well be. "

"Call him a Sunday Christian, then. "

"A Sunday Christian?"

"Yes; that is, a man who puts his religion on every Sabbath, as he doeshis Sunday coat; and lays it away again carefully on Monday morning, sothat it will receive no injury in every-day contact with the world. "

"I believe with you that Rowley doesn't bring much of his religion intohis business. "

"No, nor as much common honesty as would save him from perdition. "

"He doesn't expect to be saved by keeping the moral law. "

"There'll be a poor chance for him, in my opinion, if he's judgedfinally by that code. "

"You don't seem to have a very high opinion of our friend Rowley?"

"I own that. I used to go to church; but his pious face was ever beforeme, and his psalm-singing ever in my ears. Was it possible to look athim and not think of his grasping, selfish, overreaching conduct in allhis business transactions through the week? No, it was not possible forme. And so, in disgust, I gave up my pew, and haven't been to churchsince. "

The next man whom Gregory met he made the repository of what Lane hadsaid about Rowley. This person happened to be a member of the church, and felt scandalized by the remarks. After a little reflection heconcluded to inform Mr. Rowley of the free manner in which Mr. Lane hadspoken of him. 

"Called me a hypocrite!" exclaimed the indignant Mr. Rowley, as soon ashe was advised of the free manner in which Mr. Lane had talked abouthim. 

"So I understand. Gregory was my informant. "

Mr. Gregory was called upon, and confirmed the statement. Rowley washighly indignant, and while the heat of his anger was upon him, calledat the store of Mr. Lane, in company with two members of his church, who were not at all familiar with his business character, and, therefore, held him in pretty high estimation as a man of piety andsincerity. 

The moment Mr. Lane saw these three men enter his place of business, hehad a suspicion of their errand. 

"Can I have some private conversation with you?" asked Mr. Rowley, witha countenance as solemn as the grave. 

"Certainly, " replied Mr. Lane, not the least discomposed. "Walk backinto my counting-room. We shall be entirely alone there. Do you wishyour friends present?"

"I do, " was gravely replied; "I brought them for that purpose. "

"Walk back, gentlemen, " said Lane, as he turned to lead the way. 

The four men retired to the little office of the merchant in the backpart of the store. After they were seated, Lane said:

"Well, Mr. Rowley, I am ready to hear what you have to say. "

Mr. Rowley cleared his throat two or three times, and then said, in avoice that indicated a good deal of inward disturbance:

"I understand that you have been making rather free use of my name oflate. "

"Indeed! in what way?" Lane was perfectly self-possessed. 

"I am told that you went so far as to call me a hypocrite. " The voiceof Rowley trembled. 

"I said you were a Sunday Christian, " replied Lane. 

"What do you mean by that?" was peremptorily demanded. 

"A man whose religion is a Sunday affair altogether. One who expects toget to heaven by pious observances and church-goings on the Sabbath, without being over-particular as to the morality of his conduct throughthe week. "

"Morality! do you pretend to say that I am an immoral man?" saidRowley, with much heat. 

"Don't get into a passion!" returned Lane, coolly. "That will not helpus at all in this grave matter. "

Rowley quivered in every nerve; but the presence of his two brethrenadmonished him that a Christian temper was very necessary to bemaintained on the occasion. 

"Do you charge me with want of morality?" he said, with less visibleexcitement. 

"I do, --that is, according to my code of morality. "

"Upon what do you base your code?" asked one of the witnesses of thisrather strange interview. 

"On the Bible, " replied Lane. 

"Indeed!" was answered, with some surprise; "on what part of it?"

"On every part. But more particularly that passage in the New Testamentwhere the whole of the law and the prophets is condensed in a singlepassage, enjoining love to our neighbour as well as God. "

Rowley and his friends looked surprised at this remark. 

"Explain yourself, " said the former, with a knit brow. 

"That is easily done. The precept here given, and it comes from thehighest authority, expressly declares, as I understand it, religion toconsist in acting justly toward all men, as well as in pious actstowards God. If a man love not his brother whom he hath seen, how canhe love God whom he hath not seen?"

"Does our brother Rowley deny that?" asked the men present. 

"If a man's life is any index to his faith, I would say that he does, "replied Mr. Lane. 

A deep crimson overspread the face of Mr. Rowley. 

"I didn't expect insult when I came here, " said he in a trembling voice. 

"Nor have I offered any, " replied Mr. Lane. 

"You have thought proper to ask me a number of very pointed questions, and I have merely answered them according to my views of truth. "

"You make a very sweeping declaration, " said one of the friends ofRowley. "Suppose you give some proof of your assertion?"

"That I can readily do if it is desired. "

"I desire it, then, " said Rowley. 

"Do you remember the five bales of cotton you sold to Peterson?"inquired Mr. Lane. 

Rowley replied that he did, but evinced some uneasiness of manner atthe question. 

"They were damaged, " said Lane. 

"I sold them as I bought them, " returned Rowley. 

"Did you buy them as damaged?"

"No, I bought the cotton as a good article. "

"And sold it as good?"

Mr. Rowley seemed a little confused. 

"I sold the cotton at twelve cents a pound, " was the reply. "Nothingwas said about the quality. "

"Twelve cents is the price of a prime article. If you had been asked byPeterson if the cotton were in good condition, would you have answeredaffirmatively?"

"Do you think I would tell a lie?" asked Mr. Rowley, indignantly. 

"Our acts are the most perfect expressions of our intentions, " repliedMr. Lane. "You were deceived in your purchase of the cotton; thearticle proved so near valueless, as not to be really worth three centsa pound. You discovered this, as I have the best reasons for knowing, almost as soon as it came into your possession; and yet you offered itto Peterson, who, not suspecting for a moment that any thing was wrong, bought it at the regular market-rate as good. You saved yourself; butPeterson, though not a professor of religion, was too honest to put hisbad bargain off upon another. Now, if that act, on your part, wasloving your neighbour as yourself, I must own to a very pervertedunderstanding of the sacred precept. I, though no church member, wouldhave put my head into the fire rather than do such an act. "

Mr. Rowley, much confused by so direct a charge, attempted to explainthe matter away, alleging that he did not think that the article was sobadly damaged--that he sold as he bought--that it wasn't right that heshould bear all the loss, with much more to the same purpose; to all ofwhich Lane opposed but little. He had presented the case already strongenough for all to see how far it comported with Christian morality. Buthe had more to say:--

"Beyond this, which I bring forward as a specimen of the character ofyour dealings with your fellow-men, I could adduce almost innumerableexamples of your indirect and covert modes of obtaining the advantagein ordinary transactions. You may not be aware of the fact, Mr. Rowley, but your reputation among business men is that of a dealer so close toyour own side of the bargain as to trench upon the rights of others. You invariably keep the half cent in giving change, while you have beenrepeatedly known to refuse a ten cent piece and two cents for anelevenpence. In fact, you are known as a man who invariably seeks toget the best of every transaction. If this is Christian charity--ifthis is a just regard for the rights of your neighbours--if this is inagreement with the spirit of the Bible, then I have been labouringunder a mental delusion. Man of the world as I am--heathen as you haveseemed to regard me, I am proud to say that I govern my actions from ahigher principle. You now understand, gentlemen, " addressing thefriends of Rowley, "why I have called this man a Sunday Christian. Itis plain that he expects to get to heaven by a simple Sunday service ofhis Maker, while all the week he pursues gain so eagerly as to thrustother people aside, and even make his way, so to speak, over theirprostrate bodies. I have no more to say. "

Rowley was so much confounded by this unexpected charge, that he wassilent. His own conscience wrote an affirmation of the truth in hiscountenance. The men who had come with him arose, and, bowing with farmore respect than when they entered, withdrew, and Rowley went withthem. 

There was a change in the pious merchant after this. He conducted hisbusiness with less apparent eagerness to get the best of every bargainthan had been his custom in former times; but whether influenced bymore genuine Christian principles, or by an awakened love ofreputation, it is not for us to say. 

It is not by a man's religious profession that the world judges of hischaracter, but by the quality of his transactions in businessintercourse with his fellow-men. If he be truly religious, it will beseen here in the justice and judgment of all his business transactions. If a man be not faithful to his brother, he cannot be faithful toHeaven. 

I KNEW HOW IT WOULD BE. 

"HE'LL never succeed!" was the remark of Mr. Hueston, on referencebeing made to a young man named Eldridge, who had recently commencedbusiness. 

"Why not?" was asked. 

"He's begun wrong. "

"In what way?"

"His connection is bad. "

"With Dalton?"

"Yes. Dalton is either a knave or a fool. The former, I believe; but ineither case the result will be the same to his partner. Before twoyears, unless a miracle takes place, you will see Eldridge, at least, coming out at the little end of the horn. I could have told him this atfirst, but it was none of my business. I never meddle with things thatdon't concern me. "

"You know Dalton, then?"

"I think I do. "

"Has he been in business before?"

"Yes, half a dozen times; and somehow or other, he has always managedto get out of it, with cash in hand, long enough before it broke downto escape all odium and responsibility. "

"I'm sorry for Eldridge. He's a clever young man, and honest into thebargain. "

"Yes; and he has energy of character and some business talents. But heis too confiding. And here is just the weakness that will prove hisruin. He will put too much faith in his plausible associate. "

"Some one should warn him of his danger. Were I intimate enough toventure on the freedom, I would certainly do so. "

"I don't meddle myself with other people's affairs. One never gets anythanks for the trouble he takes on this score. At least, that is myexperience. And, moreover, it's about as much as I can do to take goodcare of my own concerns. This is every man's business. "

"I wish you had given the young man a word of caution before he wasinvolved with Dalton. "

"I did think of doing so; but then I reflected that it was hislook-out, and not mine. Each man has to cut his eye-teeth for himself, you know. "

"True; but when we see a stumbling-block in the way of a blind man, orone whose eyes are turned in another direction, we ought at least toutter a warning word. It seems to me that we owe that much good-will toour fellows. "

"Perhaps we do. And I don't know that it would have been any harm if Ihad done as you suggest. However, it is too late now. "

"I think not. A hint of the truth would put him on his guard. "

"I don't know. "

"Oh, yes, it would. "

"I am not certain. Dalton is a most plausible man; and I am pretty surethat, in the mind of a person like Eldridge, he can inspire the fullestconfidence. To suggest any thing wrong, now, would not put him on hisguard, and might lead the suggester into trouble. "

Much more was said on both sides, but no good result flowed from theconversation. Mr. Hueston did not hesitate to declare that he knew howit would all be in the end; but at the same time said that it was noneof his business, and that "every man must look out for himself. "

The character of Dalton was by no means harshly judged by Mr. Hueston. He was, at heart, a knave; yet a most cunning and specious one. Eldridge, on the contrary, was the very soul of integrity; and, beingthoroughly honest in all his intentions, it was hard for him to believethat any man who spoke fair to him, and professed to be governed byright principles, could be a scoundrel. With a few thousand dollars, his share of his father's estate, he had come to Boston for the purposeof commencing some kind of business. With creditable prudence, heentered the store of a merchant and remained there for a year, in orderto obtain a practical familiarity with trade. During this period hefell in with Dalton, who was in a small commission way that barelyyielded him enough to meet his expenses. Dalton was not long indiscovering that Eldridge had some cash, and that his ultimateintention was to engage in business for himself. From that time heevinced towards the young man a very friendly spirit, and soon found agood reason for changing his boarding-place, and making his home underthe same roof with Eldridge. To win upon the young man's confidence wasno hard matter. Before six months, Dalton was looked upon as agenerous-minded friend, who had his interest deeply at heart. All hisviews in regard to business were freely communicated; and he restedupon the suggestions of Dalton with the confidence of one who believedthat he had met a friend, not only fully competent to advise aright, but thoroughly unselfish in all his feelings. 

Dalton possessed a large amount of business information, and was, therefore, the very man for Eldridge; particularly as he wascommunicative. In conversation, the latter obtained a great deal ofinformation on subjects especially interesting to one who lookedforward to engaging in some branch of trade for himself. One eveningthe two men sat conversing about business, as usual, when Eldridge said:

"It is time I was making some move for myself; but, for my life, Ican't come to any decision as to what I shall do. "

"It is better for a young man, if he can do so, to connect himself withsome established house, " replied Dalton to this. "It takes time to makea new business, and not unfrequently a very long time. "

"I am aware of that; but I see no opportunity for an arrangement of thekind. "

"How much capital can you furnish?"

"Ten thousand dollars. "

"That's very good, and ought to enable you to make an arrangementsomewhere. I don't know but I might be willing to give you an interestin my business. This, however, would require some reflection. I amturning out a very handsome surplus every year, without at all crowdingsail. "

"A commission business?"

"Yes. I am agent for three or four manufactories, and effect somepretty large sales during the year. If I were able to make liberal cashadvances, I could more than quadruple my business. "

"And, of course, your profits also?"

"Yes, that follows as a natural result. "

"Would ten thousand dollars be at all adequate for such a purpose?"

"It would help very much. Ten thousand dollars in cash is, you know, abasis of credit to nearly four times that sum. "

"Yes, I am aware of that. "

"Is your capital readily available?" inquired Dalton. 

"Yes, since I have been in the city I have invested every thing ingovernment securities, as safe property, and readily convertible intocash. "

"Very judicious. "

Dalton mused for some time. 

"Yes, " he at length said, as if he had been thinking seriously of theeffect of ten thousand dollars in his business. "The capital you havewould put a new face on every thing. That's certain. Suppose you thinkthe matter over, and I will do the same. "

"I will, certainly. And I may say now, that there will hardly be anyhinderance on my part to the arrangement, if you should see it to beadvantageous all around. "

Of course Mr. Dalton professed, after taking a decent time forpretended reflection, to see great advantage to all parties in abusiness connection, which in due time was formed. But few of those whoknew Eldridge were apprized of what he intended doing, and those whodid know, and were aware at the same time of Mr. Dalton's character, like Mr. Hueston, concluded to mind their own business. 

And so, unwarned of the risk he was encountering, an honest andconfiding young man was permitted to form a copartnership with avillain, who had already been the means of involving three or fourunsuspecting individuals in hopeless embarrassment. 

Confident that he had entered the road to fortune, Eldridge commencedhis new career. The capital he had supplied gave, as Dalton hadpredicted, new life to the business, for the offer of liberal cashadvances brought heavier consignments, and opened the way for moreextensive operations. The general management of affairs was left, according to previous understanding, in the hands of the seniorpartner, as most competent for that department; while Eldridge gave hismind to the practical details of the business, which, by the end of ayear, had grown far beyond his anticipations. 

Accepting large consignments of goods, upon which advances had to bemade, required the raising of a great deal of money; and this Daltonmanaged to accomplish without calling away the attention of his partnerfrom what he was engaged in doing. Thus matters went on for about threeyears, when Dalton began to complain of failing health, and to hintthat he would be compelled to retire from active business. Eldridgesaid that he must not think of this; but the senior partner did thinkof it very seriously. From that time his health appeared to breakrapidly; and in a few months he formally announced his intention towithdraw. Finding both remonstrance and persuasion of no avail, thebasis of a dissolution of the copartnership was agreed upon, in whichthe value of the business itself, that would now be entirely in thehands of Eldridge, was rated high as an offset to a pretty large sumwhich Dalton claimed as his share in the concern. Without duereflection, there being a balance of five thousand dollars to thecredit of the firm in bank, which, by the way, was provided for specialeffect at the time by the cunning senior, Eldridge consented that, forhis share of the business, Dalton should be permitted to take billsreceivable amounting to six thousand dollars; a check for two thousand, and his notes for ten thousand dollars besides, payable in three toeighteen months. After all this was settled, a dissolution of thecopartnership was publicly announced, and Eldridge, with somemisgivings at heart, undertook the entire management of the businesshimself. It was but a very little while before he found himselfembarrassed in making his payments. The withdrawal of two thousanddollars in cash, and six thousand in paper convertible into cash, created a serious disability. In fact, an earnest and thoroughinvestigation of the whole business showed it to be so crippled thatlittle less than a miracle would enable him to conduct it to a safeissue. Nevertheless, still unsuspicious to the real truth, he resolvedto struggle manfully for a triumph over the difficulties that laybefore him, and overcome them, if there was any virtue in energy andperseverance. 

The first point at which the business suffered was in the loss ofconsignments. Inability to make the required advances turned from thewarehouse of Eldridge large lots of goods almost weekly, the profits onthe sales of which would have been a handsome addition to his income. At the end of three months, the first note of a thousand dollars heldby Dalton fell due, and was paid. This was so much more taken from hiscapital. Another month brought a payment of a like amount, and at theend of six months a thousand dollars more were paid. Thus Dalton hadbeen able to get eleven thousand dollars out of the concern, althoughthree years before he was not really worth a dollar; and there werestill due him seven thousand dollars. 

By this time, the eyes of Eldridge were beginning to open to the truth. Suspicion being once finally awakened, he entered upon a carefulexamination of the business from the time of forming the copartnership. This occupied him for some weeks before he was able to bring out aclear and comprehensive exhibit of affairs. Then he saw that he hadbeen the victim of a specious and cunning scoundrel, and that, so farfrom being worth a dollar, he had obligations falling due for over tenthousand dollars more than he had the means to pay. 

A sad and disheartening result! And what added to the pain of Eldridgewas the fact, that he should have been so weak and short-sighted as topermit himself to be thus duped and cheated. 

"I knew how it would be, " said Mr. Hueston, coolly, when he was toldthat Eldridge was in difficulties. "Nothing else was to have beenexpected. "

"Why so?" inquired the person to whom the remark was made. 

"Everybody knows Dalton to be a sharper. Eldridge is not his firstvictim. "

"I did not know it. "

"I did, then, and prophesied just this result. "

"You?"

"Yes, certainly I did. I knew exactly how it must turn out. And here'sthe end, as I predicted. "

This was said with great self-complacency. 

Soon after the conversation, a young man, named Williams, who had onlya year before married the daughter of Mr. Hueston, came into his storewith a look of trouble on his countenance. His business was that of anexchange-broker, and in conducting it he was using the credit of hisfather-in-law quite liberally. 

"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Hueston, seeing, by the expression ofthe young man's face, that something was wrong. 

"Have you heard any thing about Eldridge?" inquired Williams, in ananxious voice. 

"Yes, I understand that he is about making a failure of it; and, if so, it will be a bad one. But what has that to do with your affairs?"

"If he fails, I am ruined, " replied the young man, becoming greatlyexcited. 

"You?" It was now Mr. Hueston's turn to exhibit a disturbed aspect. 

"I hold seven thousand dollars of his paper. "

"Seven thousand dollars!"

"Yes. "

"How in the name of wonder did it come into your possession?"

"I took it from Dalton at a tempting discount. "

"From Dalton! Then his name is on the paper?"

"No, I hold it without recourse. "

"What folly! How could you have done such a thing?"

"I believed Eldridge to be perfectly good. Dalton said that he was inthe way of making a fortune. "

"Why, then, was he anxious to part with his paper without recourse?"

"It was, he alleged, on account of ill-health. He wished to close upall his business and make an investment of what little he possessedprevious to going south, in the hope that a change of air would braceup his shattered constitution. "

"It was all a lie--the scoundrel! His health is as good as mine. Agreater villain than he is does not walk the earth. I wonder how youcould have been so duped. "

"How do you think Eldridge's affairs will turn out?" asked the youngman. 

"Worse than nothing, I suppose. I understand that he paid Dalton someeighteen thousand dollars for his half of the business. There was butten thousand dollars capital at first; and, from the way things wereconducted, instead of its increasing, it must have diminished yearly. "

Here was an entirely new aspect in the case. Mr. Hueston'sself-complacency was gone; he knew how it would be with Eldridge fromthe first, but he didn't know how it was going to be with himself. Hedidn't for a moment dream that when the fabric of the young man'sfortune came falling around him, that any thing belonging to him wouldbe buried under the ruins. 

"Too bad! too bad!" he ejaculated, as, under a sense of the utterdesperation of the case, he struck his hands together, and then threwthem above his head. But it did no good to fret and scold, and blamehis son-in-law; the error had been committed, and it was now too lateto retrace a step. Six or seven thousand dollars would inevitably belost; and, as Williams had no capital, originally, of his own, themoney would have to come out of his pocket. The ruin of which the youngman talked was more in his imagination than anywhere else, as Mr. Hueston was able enough to sustain him in his difficulty. 

In the winding up of the affairs of Eldridge, who stopped payment onthe day Williams announced to his father-in-law the fact that he heldhis notes, every thing turned out as badly as Mr. Hueston hadpredicted. The unhappy young man was almost beside himself withtrouble, mortification, and disappointment. Not only had he lost everything he possessed in the world; he was deeply involved in debtbesides, and his good name was gone. A marriage contract, into which hehad entered, was broken off in consequence; the father of the ladydemanding of him a release of the engagement in a way so insulting, that the young man flung insult back into his teeth, and never afterwent near his house. 

For months after the disastrous termination of his business, Eldridgelingered about the city in a miserable state of mind. Some friendsobtained for him a situation as clerk, but he did not keep the placevery long; it seemed almost impossible for him to fix his attentionupon any thing. This neglect of the interests of his employer was soapparent, that he was dismissed from his place at the end of a fewmonths. This increased the morbid despondency under which he waslabouring, and led to an almost total abandonment of himself. In lessthan a year, he was travelling swiftly along the road to utter ruin. 

One day, it was just twelve months from the time of Eldridge's failure, Mr. Hueston stood conversing with a gentleman, when the unhappy youngman went reeling by, so much intoxicated that he with difficulty kepthis feet. 

"Poor fellow!" said the gentleman, in a tone of pity. "He was badlydealt by. "

"There is no doubt of that, " returned Mr. Hueston. "Dalton managed hiscards with his usual skill. But I knew how it would be from the first. I knew that Dalton was a knave at heart, and would overreach him. "

"You did?" was rejoined, with a look and tone of surprise. 

"Oh, yes. I predicted, from the beginning, the very result that hascome out. "

"You warned the young man, of course?" inquired the gentleman. 

"No. "

"What! Saw him in the hands of a sharper, and gave him no warning?"

"I never meddle in other people's affairs. I find as much as I can doto take proper care of my own. "

"And yet, if common report is true, had you taken a little care of thisyoung man, you would have saved six or seven thousand dollars foryourself. "

"That's my look-out, " said Mr. Hueston. 

"You knew how it would be, " resumed the gentleman, in a severe, rebuking voice, "and yet kept silence, permitting an honest, confidingyoung man to fall into the clutches of a scoundrel. Mr. Hueston, society holds you responsible for the ruin of one of its members, equally responsible with the knave who was the agent of the ruin. Aword would have saved the young man; but, in your indifference anddisregard of others' good, you would not speak that word. When next yousee the miserable wreck of a human being that but just now wentstaggering past, remember the work of your own hands is before you. "

And saying this, the man turned abruptly away, leaving Mr. Hueston somuch astonished and bewildered by the unexpected charge, as scarcely tocomprehend where he was. Recovering himself in a moment or two, hewalked slowly along, his eyes upon the ground, with what feelings thereader may imagine. 

A few days afterwards, his son-in-law, at his instance, went in searchof Eldridge for the purpose of offering him assistance, and making aneffort to reclaim him. But, alas! he was too late; death had finishedthe work of ruin. 

JACOB JONES;

OR, THE MAN WHO COULDN'T GET ALONG IN THE WORLD. 

JACOB JONES was clerk in a commission store at a salary of five hundreddollars a year. He was just twenty-two, and had been receiving hissalary for two years. Jacob had no one to care for but himself; but, somehow or other, it happened that he did not lay up any money, but, instead, usually had from fifty to one hundred dollars standing againsthim on the books of his tailors. 

"How much money have you laid by, Jacob?" said, one day, the merchantwho employed him. This question came upon Jacob rather suddenly; andcoming from the source that it did was not an agreeable one--for themerchant was a very careful and economical man. 

"I haven't laid by any thing yet, " replied Jacob, with a slight air ofembarrassment. 

"You haven't!" said the merchant, in surprise. "Why, what have you donewith your money?"

"I've spent it, somehow or other. "

"It must have been somehow or other. I should think, or somehow else, "returned the employer, half seriously, and half playfully. "But really, Jacob, you are a very thoughtless young man to waste your money. "

"I don't think I _waste_ my money, " said Jacob. 

"What, then, have you done with it?" asked the merchant. 

"It costs me the whole amount of my salary to live. "

The merchant shook his head. 

"Then you live extravagantly for a young man of your age and condition. How much do you pay for boarding?"

"Four dollars a week. "

"Too much by from fifty cents to a dollar. But even paying that sum, four more dollars per week ought to meet fully all your other expenses, and leave you what would amount to nearly one hundred dollars per annumto lay by. I saved nearly two hundred dollars a year on a salary nolarger than you receive. "

"I should like very much to know how you did it. I can't save a cent;in fact, I hardly ever have ten dollars in my pocket. "

"Where does your money go, Jacob? In what way do you spend a hundreddollars a year more than is necessary?"

"It is spent, I know; and that is pretty much all I can tell about it, "replied Jacob. 

"You can certainly tell by your private account-book. "

"I don't keep any private account, sir. "

"You don't?" in surprise. 

"No, sir. What's the use? My salary is five hundred dollars a year, andwouldn't be any more nor less if I kept an account of every half centof it. "

"Humph!"

The merchant said no more. His mind was made up about his clerk. Thefact that he spent five hundred dollars a year, and kept no privateaccount, was enough for him. 

"He'll never be any good to himself nor anybody else. Spend his wholesalary--humph! Keep no private account--humph!"

This was the opinion held of Jacob Jones by his employer from that day. The reason why he had inquired as to how much money he had saved wasthis. He had a nephew, a poor young man, who, like Jacob, was a clerk, and showed a good deal of ability for business. His salary was rathermore than what Jacob received, and, like Jacob, he spent it all; butnot on himself. He supported, mainly, his mother and a younger brotherand sister. A good chance for a small, but safe beginning, was seen bythe uncle, which would require only about a thousand dollars as aninvestment. In his opinion it would be just the thing for Jacob and thenephew. Supposing that Jacob had four or five hundred dollars laid by, it was his intention, if he approved of the thing, to furnish hisnephew with a like sum, in order to join him and to enter intobusiness. But the acknowledgment of Jacob that he had not saved adollar, and that he kept no private account, settled the matter in themerchant's mind, as far as he was concerned. 

About a month afterward, Jacob met his employer's nephew, who said, "I am going into business. "

"You are?"

"Yes. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Open a commission store. "

"Ah! Can you get any good consignments?"

"I am to have the agency for a new mill, which has just commencedoperations, besides consignments of goods from several small concernsat the East. "

"You will have to make advances. "

"To no great extent. My uncle has secured the agency of the new millhere without any advance being required, and eight hundred or athousand dollars will be as much as I shall need to secure as manygoods as I can sell from the other establishments of which I speak. "

"But where will the eight hundred or a thousand dollars come from?"

"My uncle has placed a thousand dollars at my disposal. Indeed, thewhole thing is the result of his recommendation. "

"Your uncle! You are a lucky dog. I wish I had a rich uncle. But thereis no such good fortune for me. "

This was the conclusion of Jacob Jones, who made himself quite unhappyfor some weeks, brooding over the matter. He never once dreamed of thereal cause of his not having had an equal share in his young friend'sgood fortune. He had not the most distant idea that his employer feltnearly as much regard for him as for his nephew, and would havepromoted his interests as quickly, if he had felt justified in doing so. 

"It's my luck, I suppose, " was the final conclusion of his mind; "andit's no use to cry about it. Anyhow, it isn't every man with a richuncle, and a thousand dollars advanced, who succeeds in business, norevery man who starts without capital that is unsuccessful. I understandas much about business as the old man's nephew, any day; and can getconsignments as well as he can. "

Three or four months after this, Jacob notified the merchant that hewas going to start for himself, and asked his interest as far as hecould give it, without interfering with his own business. His employerdid not speak very encouragingly about the matter, which offended Jacob. 

"He's afraid I'll injure his nephew, " said he to himself. "But heneedn't be uneasy--the world is wide enough for us all, the old hunks!"

Jacob borrowed a couple of hundred dollars, took a store at fivehundred dollars a year rent, and employed a clerk and porter. He thensent his circulars to a number of manufactories at the East, announcingthe fact of his having opened a new commission house, and solicitingconsignments. His next move was, to leave his boarding-house, where hehad been paying four dollars a week, and take lodgings at a hotel atseven dollars a week. 

Notwithstanding Jacob went regularly to the post-office twice everyday, few letters came to hand, and but few of them contained bills oflading and invoices. The result of the first year's business was anincome from commission on sales of seven hundred dollars. Against thiswere the items of one thousand dollars for personal expenses, fivehundred dollars for store-rent, seven hundred dollars for clerk andporter, and for petty and contingent expenses two hundred dollars;leaving the uncomfortable deficit of seventeen hundred dollars, whichstood against him in the form of bills payable for sales effected, andsmall notes of accommodation borrowed from his friends. 

The result of the first year's business of his old employer's nephewwas very different. The gross profits were three thousand dollars, andthe expenses as follows: personal expense, seven hundred dollars--justwhat the young man's salary had previously been, and out of which hesupported his mother and her family--store rent, three hundred dollars;porter, two hundred and fifty; petty expenses, one hundred dollars--inall thirteen hundred and fifty dollars, leaving a net profit of sixteenhundred and fifty dollars. It will be seen that he did not go to theexpense of a clerk during the first year. He preferred working a littleharder, and keeping his own books, by which an important saving waseffected. 

At the end of the second year, notwithstanding Jacob Jones's businessmore than doubled itself, he was compelled to wind up, and foundhimself twenty-five hundred dollars worse than nothing. Several of hisunpaid bills to eastern houses were placed in suit, and as he lived ina state where imprisonment for debt still existed, he was compelled togo through the forms required by the insolvent laws, to keep clear ofdurance vile. 

At the very period when he was driven under by adverse gales, his youngfriend, who had gone into business about the same time, found himselfunder the necessity of employing a clerk. He offered Jones a salary offour hundred dollars, the most he believed himself yet justified inpaying. This was accepted, and Jacob found himself once more standingupon _terra firma_, although the portion upon which his feet rested wasvery small; still it was _terra firma_--and that was something. 

The real causes of his ill success never for a moment occurred to themind of Jacob. He considered himself an "unlucky dog. "

"Every thing that some people touch turns into money, " he wouldsometimes say. "But I was not born under a lucky star. "

Instead of rigidly bringing down his expenses, as he ought to havedone, to four hundred dollars, if he had to live in a garret and cookhis own food, Jacob went back to his old boarding-house, and paid fourdollars a week. All his other expenses required at least eight dollarsmore to meet them. He was perfectly aware that he was living beyond hisincome--the exact excess he did not stop to ascertain--but he expectedan increase of salary before long, as a matter of course, either in hispresent situation or in a new one. But no increase took place for twoyears, and then he was between three and four hundred dollars in debtto tailors, boot-makers, his landlady, and to sundry friends, to whomhe applied for small sums of money in cases of emergency. 

One day, about this time, two men were conversing together quiteearnestly, as they walked leisurely along one of the principal streetsof the city where Jacob resided. One was past the prime of life, andthe other about twenty-two. They were father and son, and the subjectof conversation related to the wish of the latter to enter intobusiness. The father did not think the young man was possessed ofsufficient knowledge of business or experience, and was, therefore, desirous of associating some one with him who could make up thesedeficiencies. If he could find just the person that pleased him, he wasready to advance capital and credit to an amount somewhere within theneighbourhood of twenty thousand dollars. For some months he had beenthinking of Jacob, who was a first-rate salesman, had a good address, and was believed by him to possess business habits eminently conduciveto success. The fact that he had once failed was something of adrawback in his mind, but he had asked Jacob the reason of hisill-success, which was so plausibly explained, that he considered theyoung man as simply unfortunate in not having capital, and nothing else. 

"I think Mr. Jones just the right man for you, " said the father, asthey walked along. 

"I don't know of any one with whom I had rather form a businessconnection. He is a man of good address, business habits, and, as faras I know, good principles. "

"Suppose you mention the subject to him this afternoon. "

This was agreed to. The two men then entered the shop of a fashionabletailor, for the purpose of ordering some clothes. While there, a manhaving the appearance of a collector came in, and drew the tailoraside. The conversation was brief but earnest, and concluded by thetailor's saying, so loud that he could be heard by all who werestanding near, "It's no use to waste your time with him any longer. Just hand over theaccount to Simpson, and let him take care of it. "

The collector turned away, and the tailor came back to his customers. 

"It is too bad, " said he, "the way some of these young fellows do serveus. I have now several thousand dollars on my books against clerks whoreceive salaries large enough to support them handsomely, and I can'tcollect a dollar of it. There is Jacob Jones, whose account I have justordered to be placed in the hands of a lawyer, he owes me nearly twohundred dollars, and I can't get a cent out of him. I call him littlebetter than a scamp. "

The father and son exchanged glances of significance, but said nothing. The fate of Jacob Jones was sealed. 

"If that is the case, " said the father, as they stepped into thestreet, "the less we have to do with him the better. "

To this the son assented. Another more prudent young man was selected, whose fortune was made. 

When Jacob received Lawyer Simpson's note, threatening a suit if thetailor's bill was not paid, he was greatly disturbed. 

"Am I not the most unfortunate man in the world?" said he to himself, by way of consolation. "After having paid him so much money, to beserved like this. It is too bad. But this is the way of the world. Leta poor devil once get a little under the weather, every one must have akick at him. "

In this dilemma poor Jacob had to call upon the tailor, and beg him forfurther time. This was humiliating, especially as the tailor wasconsiderably out of humour, and disposed to be hard with him. A threatto apply for the benefit of the insolvent law again, if a suit waspressed to an issue, finally induced the tailor to waive legalproceedings for the present, and Jacob had the immediate terrors of thelaw taken from before his eyes. 

This event set Jacob to thinking and calculating, which he had neverbefore deemed necessary in his private affairs. The result did not makehim feel any happier. To his astonishment, he ascertained that he owedmore than the whole of his next year's salary would pay, while that wasnot in itself sufficient to meet his current expenses. 

For some weeks after this discovery of the real state of his affairs, Jacob was very unhappy. He applied for an increase of salary, andobtained one hundred dollars per annum. This was something, which wasabout all that could be said. If he could live on four hundred dollarsa year, which he had never yet been able to do, the addition to hissalary would not pay his tailor's bill within two years; and what washe to do with boot-maker, landlady, and others?

It happened about this time that a clerk in the bank where his oldemployer was director died. His salary was one thousand dollars. Forthe vacant place Jacob made immediate application, and was so fortunateas to secure it. 

Under other circumstances, Jacob would have refused a salary of fifteenhundred dollars in a bank against five hundred in a counting-room, andfor the reason that a bank-clerk has little or no hope beyond hissalary all his life, while a counting-house clerk, if he have anyaptness for trade, stands a fair chance of getting into business sooneror later, and making his fortune as a merchant. But a debt of fourhundred dollars hanging over his head was an argument in favour of aclerkship in the bank, at a salary of a thousand dollars a year, not tobe resisted. 

"I'll keep it until I get even with the world again, " he consoledhimself by saying, "and then I'll go back into a counting-room. I've anambition above being a bank-clerk all my life. "

Painful experience had made Jacob a little wiser. 

For the first time in his life he commenced keeping an account of hispersonal expenses. This acted as a salutary check upon his bad habit ofspending money for every little thing that happened to strike hisfancy, and enabled him to clear off his whole debt within the firstyear. Unwisely, however, he had, during this time, promised to pay someold debts, from which the law had released him. The persons holdingthese claims, finding him in the receipt of a higher salary, made anappeal to his honour, which, like an honest but imprudent man, heresponded to by a promise of payment as soon as it was in his power. But little time elapsed after these promises were made before he foundhimself in the hands of constables and magistrates, and was only savedfrom imprisonment by getting friends to go his bail for six and ninemonths. In order to secure them, he had to give an order in advance forhis salary. To get these burdens off his shoulders, it took twelvemonths longer, and then he was nearly thirty years of age. 

"Thirty years old!" said he to himself on his thirtieth birth-day. "Canit be possible? Long before this I ought to have been doing aflourishing business, and here I am, nothing but a bank-clerk, with theprospect of never rising a step higher as long as I live. I don't knowhow it is that some people get along so well in the world. I'm sure Iam as industrious, and can do business as well as any man; but here Iam still at the point from which I started twenty years ago. I can'tunderstand it. I'm afraid there's more in luck than I'm willing tobelieve. "

From this time Jacob set himself to work to obtain a situation in somestore or counting-room, and finally, after looking about for nearly ayear, was fortunate enough to obtain a good place, as bookkeeper andsalesman, with a wholesale grocer and commission merchant. Sevenhundred dollars was to be his salary. His friends called him a fool forgiving up an easy place at one thousand dollars a year, for a hard oneat seven hundred. But the act was a much wiser one than many others ofhis life. 

Instead of saving money during the third year of his receipt of onethousand dollars, he spent the whole of his salary, without paying offa single old debt. His private account-keeping had continued through ayear and a half. After that it was abandoned. Had it been continued, itmight have saved him three or four hundred dollars, which were now allgone, and nothing to show for them. Poor Jacob! Experience did not makehim much wiser. 

Two years passed, and at least half a dozen young men, here and therearound our friend Jacob, went into business, either as partners in someold houses or under the auspices of relatives or interested friends. But there appeared no opening for him. 

He did not know, that, many times during that period, he had been thesubject of conversation between parties, one or both of which werelooking out for a man, of thorough business qualifications, againstwhich capital would be placed; nor the fact, that either his firstfailure, his improvidence, or something else personal to himself, hadcaused him to be set aside for some other one not near so capable. 

He was lamenting his ill-luck one day, when a young man with whom hewas very well acquainted, and who was clerk in a neighbouring store, called in and said he wanted to have some talk with him about a matterof interest to both. 

"First of all, Mr. Jones, " said the young man, after they were alone, "how much capital could you raise by a strong effort?"

"I am sure I don't know, " replied Jacob, not in a very cheerful tone. "I never was lucky in having friends ready to assist me. "

"Well! perhaps there will be no need of that. You have had a goodsalary for four or five years; how much have you saved? Enough, probably, to answer every purpose--that is, if you are willing to joinme in taking advantage of one of the best openings for business thathas offered for a long time. I have a thousand dollars in the SavingsBank. You have as much, or more, I presume?"

"I am sorry to say I have not, " was poor Jacob's reply, in a despondingvoice. "I was unfortunate in business some years ago, and my old debtshave drained away from me every dollar I could earn. "

"Indeed! that is unfortunate. I was in hopes you could furnish athousand dollars. "

"I might borrow it, perhaps, if the chance is a very good one. "

"Well, if you could do that, it would be as well, I suppose, " returnedthe young man. "But you must see about it immediately. If you cannotjoin me at once, I must find one who will, for the chance is too goodto be lost. "

Jacob got a full statement of the business proposed, its nature andprospects, and then laid the matter before the three merchants withwhom he had at different times lived in the capacity of clerk, andbegged them to advance him the required capital. The subject was takenup by them and seriously considered. They all liked Jacob, and feltwilling to promote his interests, but had little or no confidence inhis ultimate success, on account of his want of economy in personalmatters. It was very justly remarked by one of them, that this want ofeconomy, and judicious use of money in personal matters, would go withhim in business, and mar all his prospects. Still, as they had greatconfidence in the other man, they agreed to advance, jointly, the sumneeded. 

In the mean time, the young man who had made the proposition to Jacob, when he learned that he had once failed in business, was still in debt, and liable to have claims pushed against him, (this he inferred fromJacob's having stretched the truth, by saying that his old debtsdrained away from him every dollar, when the fact was he was freed fromthem by the provisions of the insolvent law of the State, ) came to theconclusion that a business connection with him was a thing to beavoided rather than sought after. He accordingly turned his thoughts inanother quarter, and when Jones called to inform him that he had raisedthe capital needed, he was coolly told that it was too late, he havingan hour before closed a partnership arrangement with another person, under the belief that Jones could not advance the money required. 

This was a bitter disappointment, and soured the mind of Jacob againsthis fellow man, and against the fates also, which he alleged were allcombined against him. His own share in the matter was a thing undreamedof. He believed himself far better qualified for business than the onewho had been preferred before him, and he had the thousand dollars toadvance. It must be his luck that was against him, nothing else; hecould come to no other conclusion. Other people could get along in theworld, but he couldn't. That was the great mystery of his life. 

For two years Jacob had been waiting to get married. He had not wishedto take this step before entering into business, and having a fairprospect before him. But years were creeping on him apace, and the fairobject of his affections seemed weary of delay. 

"It's no use to wait any longer, " said he, after this dashing of hiscup to the earth. "Luck is against me. I shall never be any thing but apoor devil of a clerk. If Clara is willing to share my humble lot, wemight as well be married first as last. "

Clara was not unwilling, and Jacob Jones entered into the estateconnubial, and took upon him the cares of a family, with a salary ofseven hundred dollars a year, to sustain the new order of things. Instead of taking cheap boarding, or renting a couple of rooms, andcommencing housekeeping in a small way, Jacob saw but one course beforehim, and that was to rent a genteel house, go in debt for genteelfurniture, and keep two servants. Two years were the longest that hecould bear up under this state of things, when he was sold out by thesheriff, and forced "to go through the mill again, " as taking thebenefit of the insolvent law was facetiously called in the State wherehe resided. 

"Poor fellow! he has a hard time of it. I wonder why it is that he getsalong so badly. He is an industrious man and regular in his habits. Itis strange. But some men seem born to ill-luck. "

So said some of his pitying friends. Others understood the matterbetter. 

Ten years have passed, and Jacob is still a clerk, but not in a store. Hopeless of getting into business, he applied for a vacancy thatoccurred in an insurance company, and received the appointment, whichhe still holds at a salary of twelve hundred dollars a year. Afterbeing sold out three times by the sheriff, and having the deepmortification of seeing her husband brought down to the humiliatingnecessity of applying as often for the benefit of the insolvent law, Mrs. Jones took affairs, by consent of her husband, into her own hands, and managed them with such prudence and economy, that, notwithstandingthey have five children, the expenses, all told, are not over eighthundred dollars a year, and half of the surplus, four hundred dollars, is appropriated to the liquidation of debts contracted since theirmarriage, and the other half deposited in the Savings Bank, as a fundfor the education of their children in the higher branches, when theyreach a more advanced age. 

To this day it is a matter of wonder to Jacob Jones why he could neverget along in the world like some people; and he has come to the settledconviction that it is his "luck. "

STARTING A NEWSPAPER. 

AN EXPERIENCE OF MR. JOHN JONES. 

IT happened sometime within the last ten or fifteen years, that, in myway through this troublesome world, I became captivated with the ideaof starting a newspaper. That I had some talent for scribbling, I wasvain enough to believe, and my estimate of the ability I possessed wassufficiently high to induce me to think that I could give a peculiarinterest to the columns of a weekly paper, were such a publicationentirely under my control. 

I talked about the matter to a number of my literary and other friends, who, much to my satisfaction, saw all in a favourable light, andpromised, if I would go on in the proposed enterprise, to use all theirinterest in my favour. 

"I, " said one, "will guaranty you fifty subscribers among my own circleof acquaintances. "

"And I, " said another, "am good for double that number. "

"Put me down for a hundred more, " said a third, and so the promises ofsupport came like music to my willing ear. 

One or two old veterans of the "press gang, " to whom I spoke of mydesign, shrugged their shoulders, and said I had better try my hand atalmost any thing else. But I was sanguine that I could succeed, thoughhundreds had failed before me. I felt that I possessed a peculiarfitness for the work, and could give a peculiar charm to a newspaperthat would at once take it to the hearts and homes of the people. 

A printer was called upon for an estimate, based upon a circulation ofthree thousand copies, which was set down as a very moderateexpectation. He gave the whole cost of paper, composition, (typesetting, ) and press-work, at $4000. 

This fell a little below my own roughly-made estimate, and settled mydeterminations. Two thousand copies, at two dollars a copy, which wasto be the subscription price, would pay all the expenses, and if thenumber of subscribers rose to three thousand, of which there was notthe shadow of a doubt in my mind, I would have a clear profit of $2000the first year. And should it go to four thousand, as was mostprobable, my net income would be about $3400, for all increase wouldsimply be chargeable with cost of paper and press-work--or about sixtycents on a subscriber. After the first year, of course there would be asteady increase in the number of subscribers, which, if at the rate ofonly a thousand a year, would give me in five years the handsome annualincome of $9000. I was rich in prospective! Nothing could now hold meback. I ordered the printer to get ready his cases, and the paper-makerto provide, by a certain time, the paper. 

As the terms were to be in advance, or rather the whole year payable atthe expiration of the first quarter, I promised to begin paying cashfor all contracts at the end of the first quarter. Up to this period ofmy life, I had gone on the strict principle of owing no man any thing, and I was known in the community where I lived to be a strictly honestand honourable man. Never having strained my credit, it was tight andstrong, and I had but to ask the three months' favour to get it withouta sign of reluctance. 

Next I issued my prospectus for the "Literary Gazette and Weekly Reflexof Art, Literature, and Science, a Newspaper devoted to, &c. &c. , " andscattered copies among my friends, expecting each to do his duty for melike a man. They were also posted in every book-store, hotel, andpublic place in the city. Said city, be it known, rejoiced in apopulation of a hundred thousand souls, of which number I saw no reasonfor doubting my ability to reach, with my interesting paper, at leastthree or four thousand, in the end. That was felt to be a very moderatecalculation indeed. Then, when I turned my eyes over our vast country, with its millions and millions of intelligent, enlightened, reading andprosperous people, I felt that even to admit a doubt of success was aweakness for which I ought to be ashamed. And I wondered why, with sucha harvest to reap, twenty such enterprises to one were not started. 

While in this sanguine state, an individual who had been for thirtyyears a publisher and editor, prompted, as he said, by a sincereinterest in my welfare, called to see me in order to give me thebenefit of his experience. He asked me to state my views of theenterprise upon which I was about entering, which I did in glowingterms. 

"Very well, Mr. Jones, " said he, after I was done, "you base yourcalculations on three thousand subscribers?"

"I do, " was my answer. 

"From which number you expect to receive six thousand dollars. "

"Certainly; the price of the paper is to be two dollars. "

"I doubt, my young friend, very much, whether you will receive fourthousand dollars from three thousand subscribers, if you should havethat number. Nay, if you get three thousand during the year, you may bevery thankful. "

"Preposterous!" said I. 

"No; not by any means. I have been over this ground before you, andknow pretty much what kind of harvest it yields. "

"But, " said I, "it is not my intention to throw the paper into everyman's house, whether he wants it or not. I will only take goodsubscribers. "

"You would call Mr. B----, over the way, a good subscriber, I presume?"

"Oh yes!" I replied, "I would very much like to have a few thousandlike him. "

"And Mr. Y----, his next-door neighbour?"

"Yes--he is good, of course. "

"That is, able to pay. "

"And willing. "

"I happen to know, my young friend, that neither of those men will paya subscription to any thing if they can help it. "

"Not to a work to which they have regularly subscribed?"

"No. "

"That is as much as to say that they are dishonest men. "

"You can say that or any thing else you please; I only give you theinformation for your own government. You will find a good many likethem. Somehow or other, people seem to have a great aversion to payingnewspaper bills. I don't know how it is, but such is the fact. And ifyou will take the advice of one who knows a good deal more about thebusiness than you do, you will go to wood-sawing in preference tostarting a newspaper. You _may_ succeed, but in ten chances, there arenine on the side of failure. "

I shrugged my shoulders and looked incredulous. 

"Oh, very well!" said he, "go on and try for yourself. Bought wit isthe best, if you don't pay too dear for it. You are young yet, and alittle experience of this kind may do you no harm in the long run. "

"I'm willing to take the risk, for I think I have counted the costpretty accurately. As for a failure, I don't mean to know the word. There is a wide field of enterprise before me, and I intend to occupyit fully. "

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders in return, but volunteered nomore of his good advice. 

A week before the first number of the "Gazette and Reflex" was ready, Icalled in my prospectuses, in order to have the thousand or fifteenhundred names they contained regularly entered in thesubscription-books with which I had provided myself. I had rented anoffice and employed a clerk. These were two items of expense that hadnot occurred to me when making my first calculation. It was rather adamper on the ardency of my hopes, to find, that instead of the largenumber of subscribers I had fondly expected to receive, the aggregatefrom all quarters was but two hundred!

One very active friend, who had guarantied me fifty himself, had butthree names to his list; and another, who said I might set him down fora hundred, had not been able to do any thing, and, moreover, declinedtaking the paper himself, on the plea that he already took moremagazines and newspapers than he could read or afford to pay for. Others gave as a reason for the little they had done, the want of aspecimen number, and encouraged me with the assurance, that as soon asthe paper appeared, there would be a perfect rush of subscribers. 

In due time, the first number appeared, and a very attractive sheet itwas--in my eyes. I took the first copy that came from the press, and, sitting down in my office, looked it over with a feeling of paternalpride, never before or since experienced. A more beautiful object, orrather one that it gave me more delight to view, had never beenpresented to my vision. If doubt had come in to disturb me, it allvanished now. To see the "Gazette and Reflex" would be enough. The twohundred "good names" on my list were felt to be ample for a start. Eachcopy circulated among those would bring from one to a dozen newsubscribers. I regretted exceedingly that the type of the first form ofthe paper had been distributed. Had this not been the case, I wouldhave ordered an additional thousand to be added to the three thousandwith which I commenced my enterprise. 

Saturday was the regular publication day of the paper, but I issued iton the preceding Wednesday. That is, served it to my two hundredsubscribers and had it distributed to the daily press. With whateagerness did I look over the papers on Thursday morning, to see theglowing notices of my beautiful "Gazette and Reflex. " I opened thefirst one that came to hand, glanced down column after column, but nota word about me or mine was there! A keener sense of disappointment Ihave never experienced. I took up another, and the first words that metmy eyes were:

"We have received the first number of a new weekly paper started inthis city, entitled the 'Literary Gazette and Weekly Reflex. ' It isneat, and appears to be conducted with ability. It will, no doubt, receive a good share of patronage. "

I threw aside the paper with an angry exclamation, and forthwith setthe editor down as a jealous churl. In one or two other newspapers Ifound more extended and better notices; but they all fell so far shortof the real merits of my bantling, that I was sadly vexed anddisheartened. To have my advent announced so coldly and ungraciously, hurt me exceedingly. Still, I expected the mere announcement to bring acrowd of subscribers to my office; but, alas! only three presentedthemselves during the day. Generously enough, they paid down for thepaper in advance, thus giving me six dollars, the first income from mynew enterprise and the earnest of thousands that were soon to beginpouring in like a never-failing stream. 

My friends called one after another, to congratulate me on thebeautiful appearance of my paper, and to predict, for my encouragement, its widely extended popularity. I believed all they said, and more. Butfor all this, by the time the second number made its appearance, mylist had only increased one hundred. Still, on reflection, thisappeared very good, for at the rate of a hundred a week, I would havefive thousand in a year. 

"Why don't you employ canvassers?" inquired one. "There are hundreds inthe city who will take the paper if it is only presented to them. "

Acting on this hint, I advertised for men to solicit subscribers. Fiveof those who applied were chosen and distributed through five differentsections of the city. I agreed to pay fifty cents for every goodsubscriber obtained. This was, of course, a pretty heavy drawback uponmy expected income, but then it was admitted on all hands that asubscriber was worth fifty cents, as after he was once obtained hewould doubtless remain a subscriber for years. 

At the close of the first day my men brought in an average of tensubscribers each. The agreement was, that I was to pay them twenty-fivecents on the name of a new subscriber being handed in, and theremaining twenty-five cents when the subscription due at the expirationof the first three months was collected. So I had twelve dollars and ahalf cash, to pay down. But then my list was increased to the extent offifty names. The average of new subscribers from my agents continuedfor a couple of weeks, and then fell off sensibly. By the end of twomonths, my canvassers left the field, some of them sick of thebusiness, and others tempted by more promising inducements. 

Many of the country papers noticed my "Gazette and Reflex" in the mostflattering manner, and not a few of them copied my prospectus. This hadthe effect to bring me in a few hundred subscribers by mail, with thecash, in a large number of cases in advance. About one-third, however, promised to remit early. 

At the end of three months, according to promise, I was to pay myprinter and paper maker. Up to that time my cash receipts had beenthree hundred dollars, but every cent was gone. My clerk had to be paidseven dollars a week regularly, and a mail and errand boy, threedollars. Advertising had cost me twenty-five dollars; account andsubscription books as much more; and I had paid over fifty dollars tomy agents for getting subscribers. Besides, there had been a dozenlittle et ceteras of expense, not before taken into calculation. Moreover, out of this three hundred dollars of income I had my ownpersonal expenses to pay. 

In the thirteenth number of my paper, I gave notice that the threemonths having expired, all subscriptions were due for the yearaccording to the terms, and called upon subscribers "to step to thecaptain's office and settle. " There were of unpaid subscribers now uponmy books the number of five hundred and forty, and my debt to printerand paper maker was exactly nine hundred and eighty dollars, I havingkept on printing three thousand copies, under the belief that the listmust go up to that. 

Day after day went by after this notice appeared, yet not a single mananswered to the invitation. I began to feel serious. Subscriberscontinued to come in, though slowly, and people all spoke highly of thepaper and said it must succeed. But its success, so far, was not overflattering. Finding that people would not take the plain hint I hadgiven, I went over the books and made out all the bills. One thousandand eighty dollars was the aggregate amount due. These bills, exceptthose for the country, I placed in the hands of a collector, and toldhim to get me in the money as quickly as possible. Those for thecountry, about one hundred in number, I enclosed in the paper. On thefaith of this proceeding, I promised the paper maker and printer eachtwo hundred dollars in a couple of weeks. 

Four days elapsed without my collector making his appearance, greatlyto my surprise. On the fifth day I met him in the street. 

"Well, how are you coming on?" said I. 

"Oh, slowly, " he replied. 

"I expected to see you a day or two ago. "

"I had nothing of consequence to return. But I will be in on Saturday. "

I felt a kind of choking in my throat as I turned away. On Saturday thecollector called--he opened his memorandum-book, and I my cash-book, preparatory to making entries of money returned. 

"Mr. A----, " said the collector, "says he never pays in advance for anything. "

"But the terms of the paper are in advance after the first threemonths. "

"I know. "

"Did you call his attention to this?"

"Oh, yes! but he said he didn't care for your terms. He'd been swindledonce or twice by paying in advance, but never intended to give anybodythe opportunity to do the same thing again. "

Mr. A---- was a man whom I had known for years. I cannot tell how hurtand indignant I was at such language. He took my paper, knowing theterms upon which it was published, and when I sent my bill, refused tocomply with the terms, and insulted me into the bargain. I turned tohis name on the subscription-book, and striking it off, said--

"He can't have the paper. "

"Credit Mr. B---- with six months and discontinue, " said the collector, as he passed to the next name on his list. Mr. B---- was a man whom Iknew very well by reputation. I had looked upon him as one of my bestsubscribers. He was a merchant in easy circumstances. 

"Why does he wish it stopped?" I asked. 

"He says he merely took the paper by way of encouraging the enterprise, and never supposed he would be called upon to pay for it. He told Mr. J----, who asked him to subscribe, that he had more papers now than hewanted, and Mr. J---- said, No matter. He would have it sent to him byway of adding another respectable name to the list. "

"Very well, " said I, as I entered the name of Mr. B---- in thecash-book, "pass on. "

This went fairly ahead of any thing I had ever dreamed of. I was toomuch surprised even to make a remark on the subject. 

"Mr. C---- was as mad as a March hare when I presented his bill. "

"Indeed! Why?"

"He paid your agent when he subscribed!"

"Did you see his receipt?"

"Yes. The agent took a hat and paid him the difference. "

"The scoundrel! And charged me a quarter in addition, for returning thesubscriber!"

"These canvassers are a slippery set. "

"That's swindling!"

"The fellow won't quarrel with you about the terms, seeing that heenjoys the hat. "

"Too bad! Too bad! Well, go on. "

"Mr. D---- paid two dollars, but wants you to stop at the end of theyear. He merely took a copy at the start by way of encouraging theenterprise. Thinks highly of the paper, but can't afford to take itlonger than a year. "

"Very well. "

"Mr. E---- has paid. "

"Well?"

"Mr. F---- says he never subscribed, and does not want it. He says, ifyou will send to his house, you can get all the numbers. He told thecarrier not to leave it from the first. "

"I paid an agent for his name. "

"He says he told the agent that he didn't want the paper. That he tookmore now than he could read. "

"Swindled again!"

"Mr. G---- says he never saw the paper in his life. "

"It's sent regularly. "

"Some mistake in the carrier. Mr. H---- paid, and wishes the paperdiscontinued. "

"Very well. "

"Mr. I---- says he can't afford to take it. His name was put downwithout his consent. "

I had received this name through one of my kind friends. 

"Mr. J---- paid a dollar, and wants it stopped. "

"Well?"

"Mr. K---- paid; also, Mr. L---- and Mr. M----. "

"Well?"

"Mr. N---- says the paper is not left for him; but for a young man whohas gone West. Thinks you had better stop it. "

I erased the name. 

Mr. O---- paid the agent. "

"He never returned the money. "

Mr. P---- and Mr. Q----, ditto. "

"Never saw a copper of their money. Paid a quarter apiece, cash, foreach of these subscribers. "

"Mr. R---- says the paper is not worth reading. That he wouldn't pay ashilling a year for it. I advise you to stop it. He never pays for anything if he can help it. Mr. S---- paid. Mr. T---- paid up to thisdate, and wishes it stopped. Never ordered it. Mr. U---- paid. I calledupon a great many more, but they put me off with one excuse or other. Inever had a much worse lot of bills. "

A basin of cold water on a sentimental serenader could not haveproduced a greater revulsion of feeling than did this unlooked-forreturn of my collector. Nineteen dollars and fifty cents, instead ofabout two hundred dollars, were all he had been able to gather up;there was no promise of success in the future on any different scale. Ireceived the money, less ten per cent. For collecting, and was leftalone to my own reflections. Not of the most pleasant kind, the readermay well imagine. For an hour I brooded over the strangely embarrassingposition in which I found myself, and then, after thinking until myhead was hot and my feet and hands cold, I determined to reduce, immediately, the edition of my paper from three thousand to onethousand, and thus save an item of thirty dollars a week in paper andpress-work. To send off my clerk, also, to whom I was paying sevendollars weekly, and with the aid of a boy, attend to the office, and dothe writing and mailing myself. I then went over the subscription-book, and counted up the names. The number was just seven hundred and twenty. I had but a little while before replied to a question on the subject, that I had about twelve hundred on my list. And I did vaguely imaginethat I had that number. I knew better now. 

To describe minutely the trials, sufferings, and disappointments of thewhole year, would take too much time and space. The subsequent returnsof my collector were about on a par with the first. Finding itimpossible to pay the printer and paper maker, as promised, out of theadvance subscriptions falling due at the end of three months, Iborrowed from some of my friends about four hundred dollars, and paidit over, stating, when I did so, that I must have a new contract, basedupon a six months' credit. 

I found no great difficulty in obtaining this from the paper maker, towhom I spoke in confident terms of my certain ultimate success. Theprinter required half cash, which I agreed to pay. 

This arrangement I fondly hoped would give me time to make mycollections, and, besides paying off the debt already accumulated, enable me to acquire a surplus to meet the notes given, from time totime, for paper and printing. 

At the end of a year, my list, through various exertions andsacrifices, had arisen to twelve hundred. On this I had collected eighthundred dollars, and I calculated that there were about sixteen hundreddollars due me, which, I thought, if all collected in, would aboutsquare me up with the world. This I thought. But, when I came to goover my bill-book and ledger, I found, to my utter dismay, that I owedthree thousand five hundred dollars! This must be a mistake, I said, and went over my books again. The result was as at first. I owed themoney, and no mistake. But how it was, I could not for some timecomprehend. But a series of memorandums from my cash-book, and anexamination of printers' and paper makers' bills, at length made allclear. I had used, on my own personal account, four hundred dollarsduring the year. Office rent was two hundred and fifty. My carriers hadcost over a hundred dollars. My boy one hundred and fifty, and ninetyhad been paid to the clerk during the first three months. Sundry littleitems of expense during the year made an aggregate of over a hundred. Paper and printing for the first three months had been nearly athousand dollars, and for the last three quarters about twenty-twohundred dollars. 

To go on with this odds against me, I had sense enough to see wasperfect folly. But, how could I stop? I was not worth a dollar in theworld; and the thought of wronging those who had trusted me in fullreliance upon my integrity, produced a feeling of suffocation. Besides, I had worked for a year as few men work. From sunrise until twelve, one, and two o'clock, I was engaged in the business or editorial dutiesappertaining to my enterprise, and to abandon all after such a strugglewas disheartening. 

After much deliberation, I concluded that the best thing I could do wasto sell out my list of subscribers to another and more successfulestablishment in the city, and, for this purpose, waited upon thepublisher. He heard me, and after I had finished, asked my terms. Itold him fifteen hundred dollars for the list. He smiled, and said hewouldn't give me five hundred for the whole concern, debts and all. Igot up, put on my hat, and left him with indignant silence. 

To go on was the worst horn for me to grasp in the dilemma in which Ifound myself. To stop, would be to do so with some three or fourhundred persons paid in advance, for portions of a year. I was dunned, daily, by my printer, for money, and in order to meet the notes whichhad already fallen due, I had been compelled to borrow temporarily frommy friends. Unable to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion, indespair, I summoned creditors and friends around me, and laid beforethem a full statement of my condition. There were some long faces atthat meeting; but no one felt as I did. I shall never forget thesuffering and mortification of that day, were I to live a thousandyears. 

The unanimous determination of the meeting was that I must stop, collect in the money due, and divide it pro rata among my creditors. Idid so; announcing, at the same time, the heavy embarrassment underwhich I had been brought, and earnestly soliciting those who owed thepaper, to settle their accounts immediately. To the few who had paidthe fraction of a year in advance, I stated how much I had lost, andappealed to their magnanimity for a remission of the obligation Iremained under to furnish the paper for the time yet due to them. Itwas but the matter of a few cents, or a dollar at most to them, I said, but it was hundreds of dollars to me. 

Well, and what was the sequel to all this? Why, to sum up what remainsto be told, in a few words; only two hundred dollars out of the sixteenhundred were collected, and from those who had paid small trifles inadvance, I received dozens of letters, couched in the most offensiveterms. Some charged me with being a swindler, and said, if I didn'timmediately send the money overpaid, or some other paper in the placeof mine, they would publish me to the world. Others said they would bein the city at a certain time and require me to refund; while many, residing on the spot, took out their money's worth, by telling me to myface what they thought of my conduct. One man issued a warrant againstme for thirty-five cents, the sum overpaid by him. 

So much for my experience in starting a newspaper. A year and a halfbefore, I had a clerkship which brought me in seven hundred dollars ayear; was easy in mind, respected by all my friends, looked upon as anhonest man by every one who knew me, and out of debt. I started anewspaper in a moment of blind infatuation, and now I owed above threethousand dollars, my good name was gone, and I was dispirited, out ofemployment, afraid to walk the street lest I should encounter some oneI owed, and as wretched as a man could well be. I soon after left thecity, and sought employment hundreds of miles away. So much for myexperience in starting a newspaper. 

THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS. 

"Do not go out to-night, Amanda. The pavements are damp, and the air isloaded with vapour. "

"Indeed, ma, I must go. "

"Amanda, there is no necessity for your attending this party; and veryurgent reasons why you should stay at home. Your cough is stilltroublesome, and a little exposure might give it permanency. You knowthat from your father you inherit a predisposition to disease of thelungs. "

"You only say that to alarm me. "

"Not so, my child; I know your constitution, and know how fatally theexposure of a night like this may affect you. "

"But I'll wrap up warmly, and put on my India rubbers. "

"A necessary precaution, if you will go out, Amanda. But I wish I couldpersuade you to be guided by me. You know that the Bible says, the wayof transgressors is hard. "

"I don't know how you will apply that to me, ma. I am transgressing nolaw of divine appointment. "

"Be not sure of that, Amanda. "

"I do not understand you, ma. "

"I will try and make my meaning clear. In our creation, as organizedbeings, we were so constituted as to bear a certain relation to everything around us, and our bodily health was made dependent upon thisrelation. Here then, we have a law of health, which may be called adivine law--for there is nothing good that does not flow from theDivine Creator. If we violate this law, we become transgressors, andshall certainly prove the way we have chosen, in so doing, to be a hardone. "

"Oh, is that all?" said the daughter, looking up with a smile, andbreathing more freely. "I'll risk the consequences of breaking the lawyou have announced. "

"Amanda!"

"Don't be so serious, ma. I will wrap up close and have my feet wellprotected. There is not the least danger of my taking cold. "

"Well, you must do as you please. Still I cannot approve of your going, for I see that there is danger. But you are fully of age, and I willnot seek to control you. "

So strong was Amanda's desire to attend a large but select party, thatshe went, in company with a young man who called for her, notwithstanding the atmosphere was so humid and dense with fog, thatbreathing became oppressive. 

The rooms were crowded, and the air in them so warm as to cause theperspiration to start from the fair brows of the merry dancers, amongwhom none was more fair or more lively than Amanda Beaufort. At eleven, after having passed an evening of much pleasure, she started for homewith her companion. She was so well wrapped up, that she did not feelthe cold, and her feet were protected from the damp pavement by theimpervious India rubber. 

"I'm safe home, ma, after all!" she exclaimed with her merry ringinglaugh, as she bounded into the chamber where her ever-watchful andinterested mother sat awaiting her daughter's return. 

"I am glad to see you back, Amanda, " said Mrs. Beaufort kindly, "andhope that no ill consequences will follow what I must still call a veryimprudent act. "

"Oh I'm just as well as ever, and have not taken the least cold. Howcould I, wrapped up so warm?"

Still, on the next morning, unaccountable as it was to Amanda, she wasquite hoarse, and was much troubled by a cough occasioned by a slightbut constant tickling in her throat. Accompanying these symptoms was apale anxious face and a general feeling of lassitude. 

"I feared all this, Amanda, " said her mother, with manifest concern. 

"It's only a slight cold, ma. And, anyhow, I don't believe it wasoccasioned by going out last night, I was wrapped up so warm. I musthave got the bed-clothes off of me in the night. "

"What to one is a slight cold, my daughter, is a very serious affair toanother; and you are one of those who can never take a slight coldwithout shocking the whole system. Your pale face and your evidentdebility this morning show how much even this slight cold, as you callit, has affected you. That you have this cold is to me no subject ofwonder. You were well wrapped up, it is true, and your feet protected. Still, your face was exposed, and every particle of air you inhaled wasteeming with moisture. From dancing in a warm room, the pores of yourskin were all opened, and the striking of moist chilly air upon yourface could hardly fail of producing some degree of cold. The mostsusceptible parts of your body are your throat and lungs, and to theseany shock which is received by the system is directly conveyed. Youcannot take cold in your hand or foot or face, or any other part ofyour body, without your breast sympathizing;--that you are hoarse, andhave a slight cough, then, is to me in no way surprising. "

Amanda tried to make light of this, but every hour she felt worse andworse. Her hoarseness, instead of diminishing, increased, and her coughgrew more and more troublesome. Finally, she was compelled to go tobed, and have the physician called in. --"Is there any danger?" askedMrs. Beaufort, with an anxious and troubled countenance, as thephysician, after prescribing among other things a stimulatingapplication to the throat externally, was about leaving the house. 

"Is your daughter subject to these fits of hoarseness, ma'am?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir, whenever she takes cold. "

"And does that frequent irritating cough always attend the recurrenceof hoarseness?"

"Always. "

"Then, madam, it is but right that you should know, that such results, following a slight cold, indicate a very great tendency to pulmonary orbronchial affections. The predisposition existing, very great careshould be taken to prevent all exciting causes. With care, yourdaughter may retain her health until she passes over the most criticalportion in the life of every one with such a constitution as hers--thatis, from twenty years of age until thirty or thirty-five. Without greatcare and prudence during that time, her constitution may be shatteredso as to set all remedial efforts at defiance. "

"But, doctor, how is she now?" was Mrs. Beaufort's anxious inquiry. 

"Not dangerous, madam, but still in a condition requiring care andskill to prevent unfavourable consequences. "

"Then do your best for her, doctor. "

"You can rely on me for that, Mrs. Beaufort. Good morning. "

With a heavy heart the mother returned to the sick chamber of herdaughter, and sat down by the bedside, thoughtfully, for a few moments, while she held Amanda's hand, that was hot with fever. Thenrecollecting herself, she left the room to prepare the stimulatingapplication which had been ordered. 

It is remarkable how the whole system will sympathize with one diseasedpart. The cold which Amanda had taken concentrated its active effectsupon her respiratory organs; but it was felt also in every member, prostrating the whole body, and giving a sensation of generalsuffering. Her head ached violently, and a burning fever diffuseditself over the entire surface of her body. 

How sadly was she proving the truth of her mother's warning, when shesaid to her, in the language of divine authority, "The way oftransgressors is hard. "

She had violated a law of health, and in that violation, as in theviolation of every physical or moral law, the penalty of transgressionfollowed too surely. 

It was a week before Amanda was able to go about again, and then herpale cheeks, and debilitated frame indicated but too plainly the sadconsequences of a single imprudent act. 

A few weeks after she had become restored apparently to her usualhealth, as Amanda was dressing one morning to go out, her mother said--

"Your clothes are a great deal too tight, Amanda. "

"Oh no, I am not tight at all, ma. Julia Mason laces as tight again. She gets her sister to draw her lacings for her, and she has to pullwith all her strength. "

"That is wrong in Julia Mason, and yet half the pressure that she canbear would seriously injure you. "

"How can that be, ma? I am as healthy as she is. "

"I will tell you, Amanda. She has a full round chest, giving free playto the lungs; while your chest is narrow and flat. Without anycompression, the action of your lungs is not so free and healthy ashers would be, laced as tightly as you say she laces. But when to yournatural conformation you add artificial pressure, the action of yourlungs becomes not only enfeebled, but the unhealthy action inducedtends to develop that peculiar form of disease, the predisposition towhich you inherit. "

"That is only an idea of yours, ma. I am sure I have quite a fullbust, " said Amanda, glancing down at her chest, and embracing it withher hands. 

"There you are mistaken. I have noticed this defect, with much anxiety, ever since you were a child; and having had my attention called to it, have frequently made comparisons, and have found that you areremarkably narrow and flat, and what is more, have a tendency to stoop, which still lessens the size of the cavity in which the lungs play. "

"Well, ma, my clothes are not tight. Just see here. "

Mrs. Beaufort tried her clothes, and found them to be much tighter thanin her judgment was good for health. 

"You are still unwilling, Amanda, to be governed by your mother, whereher wishes come in opposition to your pride or inclinations. I knowthat you are compressing your chest too much, but you are not willingto yield to my judgment. And yet I prescribe no arbitrary rules, butendeavor to guide you by a rational consideration of true principles. These you will not see; and the consequences that must follow theirviolation will be the transgressor's reward. "

"Indeed, indeed, ma, you are too serious. You are frightened at ashadow. No one of my friends enjoys better general health than I do. "

"And so might the graceful maple say of the sturdy oak in the firstyears of their existence. But long after the first had been humbledbeneath the hand of decay, the other would stand with its roots morefirmly imbedded in the earth, and its limbs battling the storms asvigorously as ever. "

Amanda made no reply to this, for she was suddenly struck with itsforce. Still she only pretended to loosen her stays to satisfy hermother, while the lacings remained as tense as ever. 

It is unnecessary to trace, step by step, the folly of Amanda Beaufortthrough a series of years--years that caused her mother much andpainful anxiety--up to her twenty-sixth summer, when, as a wife andmother, she was suffering the penalty of her indiscretion, proving tooclearly the truth, that the way of transgressors is hard. In spite ofall her mother's warnings and remonstrances, she had continued toexpose herself to the night air in damp weather--to attend balls thinlyclad, and remain at them to a very late hour, and to lace herself sotightly as to seriously retard the healthy action of the vital organs. At the age of twenty-three she married. A year after, the birth of achild gave her whole system, which had indicated long before itsfeebleness, a powerful shock, from which the reaction was slow andunsteady. The colour never came back to her cheek, nor the elasticityto her frame. She had so long subjected herself to the pressure of anartificial external support, that she could not leave off her stayswithout experiencing such a sinking, sickening sensation, as she calledit, that she was compelled to continue, however reluctantly, thecompression and support of tightly-laced corsets. And from frequentlytaking cold, through imprudence, the susceptibility had become sogreat, that the slightest dampness of the feet or the exposure to alight draught of air was sure to bring on a cough of hoarseness. Hernervous system, too, was sadly shattered. Indeed, every indicationpresented, foreshadowed a rapid and premature decline--consequent, solely, upon her thoughtless imprudence in earlier years. 

"Shall I never feel any better, ma?" asked Amanda, one day, as a faintsickness came over her, compelling her to resign her dear little babeinto the arms of its nurse, looking up at the same time so earnestlyand appealingly into her mother's face, that Mrs. Beaufort's heart wastouched with unwonted sorrow and tenderness. 

"I hope so, Amanda, " was replied, but in a tone that, though meant toencourage, conveyed little hope to the bosom of her child. 

"Every time little Anna nurses, I feel so sick and faint, that, sometimes, it seems that I must give up. And yet the thought of lettingthe dear little angel draw her food from another bosom than mine, makesme fainter and sicker still. Can nothing be done to help me, ma?"

"We must see the doctor and consult with him. Perhaps he can dosomething, " Mrs. Beaufort replied, in an abstracted tone. 

That day the family physician was called in, and a long consultationheld. The result was, a decision that Amanda must get a nurse for herchild, and then try the effect upon her system of a change of air andthe use of medicinal waters. In a word, she must put away her child andgo to the Springs. 

"Indeed, doctor, I cannot give up little Anna, " said the invalidmother, while the tears started to her eyes. "I will be very careful ofmyself, and teach her to take a little food early, so as to relieve meas much as possible. It seems as if it would kill me, were I forced toresign to a stranger a mother's dearest privilege and holiest duty. "

"I can but honour your devotion to your child, Amanda, " the old familyphysician said, with a tenderness unusual to one whose dailyintercourse was with suffering in its varied forms. "Still, I amsatisfied, that for every month you nurse that babe, a year is takenfrom your life. "

There was in the tone and manner of the doctor a solemn emphasis, thatinstantly aroused the young husband's liveliest fears, and sent a chillto the heart of Mrs. Beaufort. 

For a moment or two, Amanda's thoughts were turned inward, and thenlooking up with a smile of strange meaning, while her eyes grewbrighter, and something like a glow kindled upon her thin, pale cheek, she said, drawing her babe at the same time closer to her bosom--

"I will risk all, doctor. I cannot forego a mother's duty. "

"A mother's duty, my dear young friend, " the physician replied, withincreased tenderness, for his heart was touched, "is to prolong, byevery possible means, her own life, for the sake of her offspring. There are duties which none but a mother can perform. Reserve yourselffor these, Amanda, and let others do for your babe all that can be doneas well as you can perform it. Take my advice. Leave little Anna athome with your mother and a careful nurse; and then, with your husbandand some female friend, upon whose judicious care you can rely, go tothe Springs and spend a few weeks. "

The advice of the physician was taken, and the young mother, withclinging, though lacerated affections, resigned to the care of a hirednurse the babe over which her heart yearned with unutterable tenderness. 

Three weeks were spent at one of the Virginia springs, but littleapparent benefit was the result. The young mother grieved for the lossof her babe so deeply and constantly, often giving way to tears, thatthe renovating effects of changed air and medicinal waters werecounteracted, and she returned home, drooping in body and depressed inspirits. Her infant seemed but half restored to her, as she clasped itto a bosom in which the current of its young life had been dried up. Sad, sad indeed was her realization of the immutable truth, that theway of transgressors is hard!

Two years more of a painful and anxious existence were eked out, andAmanda again became a mother. 

From this additional shock she partially recovered; but it soon becameevident to all, that her shattered and enfeebled constitution wasrapidly giving way. Her last babe was but four months old, when thepale messenger passed by, and gave his fearful summons. 

It was toward the close of one of those calm days in September, whennature seems pausing to note the first few traces of decay which autumnhas thrown upon garden, field, and forest, that Mrs. Beaufort, and thehusband of her daughter, with a few friends, were gathered in thechamber of their beloved one, to see her die. How sad, how very sad isthe death-bed of the young, sinking beneath premature decay! In thepassing away of one who has met the storms of life, and battled withthem through vigorous maturity, and sinks at last in the course ofnature, there is little to pain the feelings. But when the young andbeautiful die, with all their tenderest and earliest ties clinging tothem--an event so unlooked for, so out of the true order of nature--wecan only turn away and weep. We can extract from such an affliction butfew thoughts of comfort. All is dreary, and blank, and desolate. 

"Bring me my children, " the dying mother said, rousing up from a stateof partial slumber, with an earnest emphasis, that brought both hermother and her husband to her bedside. 

"What did you want, dear Amanda?" asked the husband, laying his handgently upon her white forehead, that was damp with the dews of comingdissolution. 

"My dear babes, " she replied in a changed tone, rising up with aneffort. "My Anna and Mary. Who will be a mother to them, when I am laidat rest? Oh, that I could take them with me!"

Tears came to the relief of her overwrought feelings, and leaning herhead upon the breast of her husband, she wept and sobbed aloud. Theinfant was brought in by her mother, and laid in her arms, when she hada little recovered herself. 

"Oh, my baby! my sweet baby!" she said, with tender animation. "Mysweet, sweet baby! I cannot give you up!" And she clasped it to herbreast with an energy of affection, while the large drops rolled overher pale cheek. "And Anna, dear little girl! where is my Anna?" sheasked. 

Anna, a beautiful child, a few months past her second birth-day, wasbrought in and lifted upon the bed. 

"Don't cry, ma, " said the little thing, seeing the tears upon hermother's cheeks, "don't cry; I'll always be good. "

"Heaven bless you and keep you, my child!" the mother sobbed, eagerlykissing the sweet lips that were turned up to hers; and then claspedthe child to her bosom in a strong embrace. 

The children were, after a time, removed, but the thoughts of the dyingmother were still upon them; and with these thoughts wereself-reproach, that made her pillow one of thorns. 

"I now see and feel, " said she, looking up into the face of her mother, after having lain with closed eyes for about ten minutes, "that all mysufferings, and this early death, which will soon be upon me, wouldhave been avoided, if I had only permitted myself to be guided by you. I do not wonder now that my constitution gave way. How could it havebeen otherwise, and I so strangely regardless of all the laws ofhealth? But, my dear mother, the past is beyond recall; and now I leaveto you the dear little ones from whom I must soon part for ever. I feelcalmer than I have felt for some time. The bitterness of the last agonyseems over. But I do not see you, nor you, dear husband! Give me yourhands. Here, let my head rest on your bosom. It is sweet to liethus--Anna--dear child! Mary--sweet, sweet babe!"--

The lips of the young wife and mother moved feebly, and inarticulatewhispers fell faintly from her tongue for some moments, and then shesank to sleep--and it was a sleep from which none wake in the body. 

Thus, at the age of twenty-six, abused and exhausted nature gave up thestruggle; and the mother, who had violated the laws of health, sank tothe earth just at the moment when her tenderest and holiest dutiescalled loudest for performance. 

Who, in this brief and imperfect sketch, does not recognise familiarfeatures? Amanda Beaufort is but one of a class which has far too manyrepresentatives. These are in every town and village, in every streetand neighbourhood. Why do we see so many pale-faced mothers? Why areour young and lovely females so soon broken down under their maternalduties? The answer, in far too many cases, may be found in their earlyand persevering transgression of the most palpable physiological laws. The violation of these is ever followed, sooner or later, in a greateror less degree, by painful consequences. Sometimes life is spared tothe young mother, and she is allowed to linger on through years ofsuffering that the heart aches to think of. Often death terminatesearly her pains, and her babes are left a legacy to the cold charitiesof an unfeeling world. How sad, how painful the picture! Alas! that itis a true one. 

JUST GOING TO DO IT. 

EVERY man has some little defect of character, some easily-besettingsin that is always overtaking him, unless he be ever on the alert. Myfriend, Paul Burgess, was a man of considerable force of mind; whateverhe undertook was carried through with much energy of purpose. But hisleading defect was a tendency to inertia in small matters. It requiredan adequate motive to put the machinery of his mind in operation. Somemen never let a day pass without carefully seeing after every thing, little or great, that ought to be done. They cannot rest until theday's work is fully completed. But it was very different with Paul. Ifthe principal business transactions of the day were rightly performed, he was satisfied to let things of less consideration lie over untilanother time. From this cause it occurred that every few weeks therewas an accumulation of things necessary to be done, so great that theiraggregate calls upon his attention roused him to action, and then everything was reduced to order with an energy, promptness, and internalsatisfaction that made him wonder at himself for ever having neglectedthese minor interests so long. On these occasions, a firm resolutionwas always made never again to let a day come to its close withoutevery thing being done that the day called for. It usually happenedthat the first hour did not pass after the forming of this resolutionwithout seeing its violation--so strong was the power of habit growingout of an original defect in the mind. 

Every consequence in life is the natural result of some cause, and uponthe character of the cause always depends the nature of theconsequence. An orderly cause never produces a disorderly consequence, and the converse of this is equally true. Every defect of characterthat we have, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant it maybe, if suffered to flow down into our actions, produces an evil result. The man who puts off the doing of a thing until to-morrow that ought tobe done to-day, injures his own interest or the interest of others. This may not always clearly show itself, but the fact is neverthelesstrue. Sometimes the consequences of even the smallest neglect are feltmost deeply. 

My friend Paul had a very familiar saying when reminded by any one ofsomething that ought to have been previously done. "I was just going todo it, " or "I am just going to do it, " dropped from his tonguehalf-a-dozen times in a day. 

"I wish you would have my bill ready by three o'clock, " said a customerto him, dropping in one morning. 

"Very well, it shall be made out, " replied Paul. 

The customer turned and walked hurriedly away. He evidently had a gooddeal of business to do, and but a small time to do it in. 

Precisely at three, the man called, and found the merchant reading theafternoon paper. 

"Is my bill made out?" he asked. 

"I am just going to do it, " answered Paul, handing the paper towardshis customer. "Look over the news for a few moments while I draw itoff; it won't take me long. "

"I am sorry, " replied the customer, "for I cannot wait. I have three orfour more accounts to settle, and the boat leaves in an hour. Send methe bill by mail, and I will remit you the amount. Good-by"--offeringhis hand--"I hope to see you again in the fall. "

Paul took the extended hand of his customer, and shook it warmly. Inthe next moment he was standing alone, his ledger open before him, andhis eye resting upon an account, the payment of which was of someimportance to him just at that time. Disappointed and dissatisfied withhimself, he closed the ledger heavily and left the desk, instead ofmaking out the account and mailing it. On the next day, the want ofjust the amount of money he would have received from his customer kepthim on the street two hours. It was three weeks before he made out theaccount and sent it on. A month elapsed, but no remittance came. Hedropped his customer a line, and received for answer that when last inthe city he had bought more goods than he intended, and consequentlypaid away all his cash; business had not yet begun to stir, and thusfar what little he had sold had been for credit, but that he hoped soonto make him a remittance. The next news Paul had of his customer wasthat he had failed. 

It was said of him that when a young man he became quite enamoured of areigning belle, who to great beauty added many far more essentialprerequisites in a good wife, not the least of which in the eye of Paulwas a handsome fortune left her by a distant relative. To this younglady he paid very marked attentions for some time, but he did not standalone in the number of her admirers. Several others were as muchinterested in gaining her favourable regard as he was. 

One day a friend said to him--"Paul, have you heard the news?"

"What is it?"

"Sefton has offered himself to Miss P----. "

"It a'n't possible! Why, I was just going to do it myself! Has sheaccepted him?"

"So it is said. "

"I don't believe it. "

"I don't know how you will ascertain, certainly, unless you ask thelady herself, " replied the friend. 

"I will find out within an hour, if I have to do what you suggest. Sefton offered himself! I declare, I didn't dream that any particularintimacy existed between them. My own mind has been made up these twoor three months--in fact, long before Sefton knew her; but I have keptprocrastinating the offer of marriage I determined to make, week afterweek, like a fool as I am, until I have allowed another to step in andcarry off the prize, if what you say be true. But I can't believe it. Iam sure Miss P---- wouldn't accept any man on so short an acquaintance. "

"Sefton is a bold fellow, and prompt in all his movements, " returnedthe friend. "I rather think you will find the report true. I know thathe has been paying her the closest attentions. "

"I won't believe a word of it until I have undoubted evidence of thefact. It can't be!" said Paul, pacing the floor in considerableperturbation of mind. 

But it was all so, as he very soon ascertained, to his deep regret andmortification at allowing another to carry off the prize he had thoughthis own. When next under the influence of the tender passion, my friendtook good care to do in good time just what he was going to do. 

Paul was perfectly aware of his defect, and often made the very bestresolutions against it, but it generally happened that they were brokenas soon as made. It was so easy to put off until the next hour, oruntil to-morrow, a little thing that might just as well be done now. Generally, the thing to be done was so trifling in itself, that theeffort to do it appeared altogether disproportionate at the time. Itwas like exerting the strength of a giant to lift a pebble. 

Sometimes the letters and papers would accumulate upon his desk for aweek or ten days, simply because the effort to put away each letter asit was read and answered, and each paper as it was used, seemed sogreat when compared with the trifling matter to be accomplished, as toappear a waste of effort, notwithstanding time enough would be spent inreading the newspapers, conversation, or sitting idly about, to do allthis three or four times over. When confusion reached its climax, thenhe would go to work most vigorously, and in a few hours reduce all toorder. But usually some important paper was lost or mislaid, and couldnot be found at the time when most needed. It generally happened thatthis great effort was not made until he had been going to do it forthree or four days, and not then until the call for some account orother commercial paper, which was nowhere to be found, made a thoroughexamination of what had been accumulating for some time in his drawersand on his desk necessary. He was not always fortunate in discoveringthe object of his search. 

Notwithstanding this minor defect in Paul's character, his greatshrewdness and thorough knowledge of business made him a successfulmerchant. In matters of primary interest, he was far-seeing, active, and prompt, and as these involved the main chance, his worldly affairswere prosperous. Whatever losses he encountered were generally to betraced to his neglect of little matters in the present, to his habit of"going to do, " but never doing at the right time. 

Not only in his business, but in his domestic affairs, and in everything that required his attention, did this disposition to put off thedoing of little things show itself. The consequences of his neglectwere always disturbing him in one way or another. So long as he alonesuffered, no one had a right to complain; but it is not to be supposedthat such a fault as he was chargeable with could exist and not affectothers. 

One day while Paul was at his desk, a young lady, dressed in deepmourning, came into his store and asked to see him. The clerk handedher back to where his principal was sitting, who bowed low to thestranger and offered her a chair. The young lady drew aside her veil asshe seated herself, and showed a young and beautiful face that wasovercast with a shade of sadness. Although Paul never remembered havingseen the young lady before, he could not help remarking that there wassomething very familiar in her countenance. 

"My name is Miss Ellison, " said the stranger, in a low, tremulousvoice. "I believe you know my mother, sir. "

"Oh, very well, " quickly returned Paul. "You are not Lucy Ellison, surely?"

"Yes, sir, my name is Lucy, " returned the young lady. 

"Can it be possible? Why, it seems but yesterday that you were a littlegirl. How rapidly time flies! How is your mother, Miss Ellison? She isone of my old friends. "

"She is well, I thank you, sir, " Lucy replied, casting her eyes timidlyto the floor. 

There was a pause. While Paul was turning over in his mind what next tosay, and slightly wondering what could be the cause of this visit, theyoung lady said, "Mr. Burgess, my mother desired me to call upon you toask your interest in procuring me the situation of French teacher inMr. C----'s school. Since my father's death, our means of living havebecome so much reduced that it is necessary for me to do something toprevent absolute want from overtaking us. "

Lucy's voice trembled very much, and once or twice a choking sensationin her throat prevented the utterance of a word; but she stroveresolutely with herself, and was able to finish what she wished to saymore calmly. 

"I am perfectly ready, " she continued, "to do any thing that lies in mypower. The French language I have studied thoroughly, and havingenjoyed the friendship and been on terms of intimacy with two or threeFrench ladies of education, I believe I can speak the language withgreat accuracy. Mother says she knows you to be on intimate terms withMr. C----, and that a word from you will secure me the situation. "

"Mr. C---- is, then, in want of a French teacher?"

"Oh, yes, " replied Lucy; "we learned the fact yesterday. The salary isfive hundred dollars, which will give us a comfortable support if I canobtain the situation. "

"Of which there can be no doubt, Miss Ellison, " returned Paul, "if yourqualifications are such as to meet the approval of Mr. C----, which Ipresume they are. I will certainly call upon him and secure you theplace, if possible. Tell your mother that if in this or in any otherway I can serve either you or her, I will do it with sincere pleasure. Please take to her my kind regards. "

Lucy warmly expressed her thanks. On rising to depart, she said, "Whenshall I call in, Mr. Burgess, to hear the result of your interview withMr. C----?"

"You needn't give yourself the trouble of calling at all, MissEllison, " replied Mr. Burgess. "The moment I have seen the person ofwhom we were speaking, I will either call upon your mother or send hera note. "

"You are very kind, " dropped almost involuntarily from Lucy's lips, as, with a graceful inclination of her body, she drew her veil over herface, and, turning from the merchant, walked quickly away. 

When Paul went home at dinner-time, he said to his wife, "I am sure youcouldn't guess who I had for a visitor this morning. "

"Then of course it would be useless for me to try, " replied the wife, smiling. "Who was it?"

"You know the Ellisons?"

"Yes. "

"Mr. Ellison, you remember, died about a year ago. "

"Yes. "

"At the time of his death it was rumoured that his estate was involved, but never having had any business transactions with him, I had nooccasion to investigate the matter, and did not really know what hadbeen the result of its settlement. This morning I was greatly surprisedto receive a visit from Lucy Ellison, who had grown up into a beautifulyoung woman. "

"Indeed!" ejaculated the wife. "And what did she want?"

"She came at her mother's request to solicit my influence with Mr. C----, who is in want of a French teacher. She said that theircircumstances were very much changed since her father's death and thatit had become necessary for her to do something as a means ofsupporting the family. The salary given by Mr. C---- to his Frenchteacher is five hundred dollars. I really pitied the young thing frommy heart. Think of our Mary, in two or three years from this, when, ifever, a cloudless sky should bend over her, going to some old friend ofher father's, and almost tearfully soliciting him to beg for her, ofanother, the privilege of toiling for bread. It made my heart ache. "

"She must be very young, " remarked Mrs. Burgess. 

"Not over eighteen or nineteen. "

"Poor thing! What a sad, sad change she must feel it to be! But did youcall upon Mr. C----?"

A slight shade passed over the countenance of Paul. 

"Not yet, " he replied. 

"Oh, you ought to have gone at once. "

"I know. I was going as soon as Lucy left, but I thought I would attendto a little business down town first, and go to Mr. C----'s immediatelyon my return. When I came back, I thought I would look over thenewspaper a little; I wanted to see what had been said in Congress onthe tariff question, which is now the all-absorbing topic. I became somuch interested in the remarks of one of the members, that I forgot allabout Lucy Ellison until I was called off by a customer, who occupiedme until dinner-time. But I will certainly attend to it this afternoon. "

"Do, by all means. There should not be a moment's delay, for Mr. C----may supply himself with a teacher. "

"Very true. If that were to happen through my neglect, I should neverforgive myself. "

"Hadn't you better call as you go to the store? It will be just in yourway. "

"So it will. Yes, I will call and put the matter in train at once, "replied the husband. 

With this good intention in his mind, Paul left his dwelling afterdinner. He had only gone a couple of squares, however, before itoccurred to him that as Mr. C---- had only one session of his school, which let out at two or half-past two, he didn't know which, he ofcourse did not dine before three o'clock, and as it was then just aquarter past three, it would not do to call upon him then; so he kepton to his store, fixing in his mind four o'clock as the hour at whichhe would call. Four o'clock found Paul deeply buried in a long seriesof calculations that were not completed for some time afterwards. Onleaving his desk, he sat leisurely down in an arm-chair for the purposeof thinking about business. He had not thought long, before the imageof Lucy Ellison came up before his mind. He drew out his watch. 

"Nearly half-past four, I declare! I'm afraid Mr. C---- is out now; butas it is so late, I will defer calling until I go home; it is just inmy way. If I see him, I can drop in upon Mrs. Ellison after tea. "

On his way home, Paul fell in with a friend whose conversation was veryagreeable. He did not forget Lucy, but he thought a visit to Mr. C----would accomplish just as much after supper as before. So the call wasdeferred without a twinge of conscience. 

The first words of Mrs. Burgess, on her husband's entrance, were, "Well, dear, what did Mr. C---- say?"

"I haven't been able to see him yet, but I am going round aftersupper, " Paul replied, quickly. 

"Indeed! I am sorry. Did you call?"

"No; it occurred to me that C---- dined at three o'clock, so I put itoff until four. "

"And didn't go then?"

"No; I was going to"--

"Yes, that is just like you, Paul!" spoke up his wife with some spirit, for she felt really provoked with her husband; "you are always _goingto do_!"

"There, there, " returned Paul, "don't say a word more. A few hours, oneway or the other, can make no great difference. I will go round aftertea and have the matter settled. I shall be much more likely to findC---- in a state to talk about the matter than I would through the day. "

As soon as tea was over, urged on by his wife, Paul put on his hat andstarted for the residence of Mr. C----. Unfortunately, that gentlemanhad gone out, and Paul turned away from his door much disappointed. 

"I will call the first thing in the morning, " he consoled himself bysaying. "I will be sure to find him in then. "

I am sorry to say that Paul was just going to do what he had promisedLucy he would do immediately, at least half-a-dozen times on the nextday, but still failed in accomplishing his intended visit to Mr. C----. Mrs. Burgess scolded vigorously every time he came home, and he joinedher in condemning himself, but still the thing had not been done whenPaul laid his head that night rather uneasily upon his pillow. 

When Lucy returned and related to her mother how kindly Mr. Burgess hadreceived her, promising to call upon Mr. C---- and secure thesituation, if possible, the widow's heart felt warm with a gratefulemotion. Light broke in upon her mind, that had been for a long timeunder a cloud. 

"He was always a kind-hearted man, " she said, "and ever ready to do agood deed. If he should be so fortunate as to obtain this place foryou, we shall do very well; if not, heaven only knows what is to becomeof us. "

"Do not give way to desponding thoughts, mother, " returned Lucy; "allwill yet be well. The vacancy has just occurred, and mine, I feel sure, will be the first application. Mr. Burgess's interest with Mr. C----, if he can be satisfied of my qualifications, must secure me the place. "

"We ought to hear from him to-day, " said Mrs. Ellison. 

"Yes, I should think so. Mr. Burgess, of course, understands thenecessity that always exists in a case of this kind for immediateapplication. "

"Oh, yes, he'll do it all right. I feel perfectly willing to trust thematter in his hands. "

As the reader has very naturally inferred, the circumstances of Mrs. Ellison were of rather a pressing nature. Her family consisted of threechildren, of whom Lucy was the eldest. Up to the time of her husband'sdeath, she had been surrounded with every comfort she could desire; butMr. Ellison's estate proving bankrupt, his family were left with but asmall, and that a very uncertain income. Upon this, by the practice ofgreat economy, they had managed to live. The final settlement of theestate took away this resource, and the widow found herself with only asmall sum of money in hand, and all income cut off. This had occurredabout a month before the period of Lucy's introduction to the reader. During this time, their gradually diminishing store, and the anxietythey felt in regard to the future, destroyed all the remains of formerpride or regard for appearances, and made both Lucy and her motherwilling to do any thing that would yield them an income, provided itwere honourable. Nothing offered until nearly all their money wasexhausted, and the minds of the mother and eldest daughter were in astate of great uncertainty and distress. Just at this darkest hour, intelligence of the vacancy in Mr. C----'s school reached their ears. 

Such being their circumstances, it may well be supposed that Lucy andher mother felt deeply anxious to hear from Mr. Burgess, and countednot only the hours as they passed, but the minutes that made up thehours. Neither of them remarked on the fact that the day had nearlycome to its close without any communication having been received, although both had expected to have heard much earlier from Mr. Burgess. As the twilight began to fall, its gloom making their hearts feelsadder, Mrs. Ellison said, "Don't you think we ought to have heard fromMr. Burgess by this time, Lucy?"

"I hoped to have received some intelligence before this, " replied thedaughter. "But perhaps we are impatient; it takes time to do everything. "

"Yes; but it wouldn't take Mr. Burgess long to call upon Mr. C----. Hemight have done it in half an hour from the time you saw him. "

"If he could have left his business to do so; but you know men inbusiness cannot always command their time. "

"I know; but still"--

"He has no doubt called, " continued Lucy, interrupting her mother, forshe could not bear to hear even an implied censure passed upon Mr. Burgess; "but he may not have obtained an interview with Mr. C----, orhe may be waiting for a definite answer. I think during the evening weshall certainly hear from him. "

But notwithstanding Lucy and her mother lingered up until past eleveno'clock, the so-anxiously looked for communication was not received. 

All the next day they passed in a state of nervous solicitude andanxious expectation, but night found them still ignorant as to what Mr. Burgess had done. 

On the next day, unable to bear the suspense any longer, Lucy went tothe store of Mr. Burgess about ten o'clock. 

"Have you called upon Mr. C---- yet?" she asked, before he had time tomore than bid her a good-morning. 

"I was going to do it this moment, " replied Mr. Burgess, lookingconfused, yet trying to assume a bland and cordial manner. 

In spite of her efforts to appear indifferent, the countenance of Lucyfell and assumed a look of painful disappointment. 

"You shall hear from me in an hour, " said Mr. Burgess, feeling stronglycondemned for his neglect. "I have had a great many things on my mindfor these two days past, and have been much occupied with business. Iregret exceedingly the delay, but you may rely upon my attending to itat once. As I said, I was just going out for the very purpose when youcalled. Excuse me to your mother, and tell her that she will certainlyhear from me within the next hour. Tell her that I have already madeone or two efforts to see Mr. C----, but without succeeding in myobject. He happened not to be at home when I called. "

Lucy stammered out a reply, bade Mr. Burgess good-morning, and returnedhome with a heavy heart. She had little doubt but that the vacancy wasalready supplied. Scarcely half an hour elapsed, when a note was left. It was briefly as follows:--

"Mr. Burgess's compliments to Mrs. Ellison. Is very sorry to say thatthe vacancy in Mr. C----'s seminary has already been filled. If in anything else Mr. B. Can be of any service, Mrs. E. Will please feel atperfect liberty in calling upon him. He exceedingly regrets that hisapplication to Mr. C---- was not more successful. "

The note dropped from the hands of Mrs. Ellison, and she groanedaudibly. Lucy snatched it up, and took in its contents at a singleglance. She made no remark, but clasped her hands together and drewthem tightly across her breast, while her eyes glanced involuntarilyupward. 

About an hour afterwards, a lady who felt a good deal of interest inMrs. Ellison, and who knew of the application that was to be madethrough Mr. Burgess to Mr. C----, called in to express her sincereregret at Lucy's having failed to secure the situation, a knowledge ofwhich had just reached her ears. 

"Nothing but the neglect of Mr. Burgess to call upon Mr. C---- at once, as he promised to do, has prevented Lucy from getting the place!" shesaid, with the warmth of a just indignation. "A person who was presentwhen Mr. B. Called this morning, told me, that after he left Mr. C----remarked to her that he was perfectly aware of Lucy's highqualifications for teaching French, and would have been glad of herservices had he known her wish to engage as an instructor, but that itwas now too late, as he had on the day before employed a competentperson to fill the situation. "

Lucy covered her face with her hands on hearing this, and gave way to apassionate burst of tears. 

When Mr. Burgess came home at dinner-time, his wife said, immediatelyon his entrance, "Have you secured that place for Lucy Ellison, mydear? I hope you haven't neglected it again. "

"I called upon Mr. C---- this morning, " replied the husband, "but foundthe vacancy already filled. "

"Oh, I am so sorry!" said Mrs. Burgess, speaking in a tone of deepregret. "When was it filled?"

"I didn't inquire. Mr. C---- said that Lucy would have suited himexactly, but that her application came too late. "

"Poor thing! She will be terribly disappointed, " said the wife. 

"No doubt she will be disappointed, but I don't know why it should beso very terrible to her. She had no right to be positively certain ofobtaining the situation. "

"Have you heard any particulars of her mother's situation?" inquiredMrs. Burgess. 

"Nothing very particular. Have you?"

"Yes. Mrs. Lemmon called to see me this morning; she is an intimatefriend of Mrs. Ellison. She told me that the small income which Mrs. Ellison has enjoyed since her husband's death has, at the finalsettlement of his estate, been cut off, the estate proving to beutterly insolvent. A month has elapsed since she has been deprived ofall means of living beyond the small sum of money that happened to bein her hands, an amount not over thirty or forty dollars. Since thattime Lucy has been anxiously looking about for some kind of employmentthat would yield enough for the support of the family, to obtain whichshe was willing to devote every energy of body and mind. The vacancy inMr. C----'s school is the first opening of any kind that has yetpresented itself. For this she was fully competent, and the salarywould have supported the family quite comfortably. It is too bad thatshe should not have obtained it. I am almost sure, if you had gone atonce to see about it, that you might have obtained it for her. "

"Well, I was going to see about it at once, but something or otherprevented me. If I really thought it was my fault, I should feel verybad. "

That afternoon accident made him fully acquainted with the fact thathe, and he alone, was to blame in the matter, and then he felt badenough. 

"That dreadful habit of procrastination, " he murmured to himself, "isalways getting me into trouble. If I alone were made to suffer, itwould be no matter; but when it involves other people as it now does, it becomes a crime. In the present case I must make reparation in someway; but I must think how this is to be done. "

When any matter serious enough to call for the undivided attention ofMr. Burgess presented itself, that thing was generally done, and welldone. He had great energy of character, and mental resources beyondwhat were ordinarily possessed. It was only when he felt the want of anadequate purpose that neglect became apparent. 

On the morning after the day upon which Lucy and her mother had been sobitterly disappointed, the former, while looking over the newspaper, called the attention of the latter to an advertisement of a young ladywho was desirous of obtaining a situation as a French teacher in someprivate family or seminary. The advertiser represented herself as beingthoroughly versed in the principles of the language, and able to speakit as well as a native of Paris. The highest testimonials as tocharacter, education, social standing, &c. Would be given. 

"I think I had better do the same, " Lucy said. 

"It won't be of any use, " replied the mother, in a tone of despondency. 

"We don't know that, mother, " said Lucy. "We must use the best meansthat offer themselves for the accomplishment of what we desire. "

"There is already one advertisement for a situation such as youdesire--some disappointed applicant for the place at Mr. C----'s, nodoubt. It is hardly to be supposed that two more French teachers arewanted in the city. "

"Let us try, mother, " returned Lucy to this. 

"If you feel disposed to do it, child, I have no objection, " said Mrs. Ellison; "but I shall count nothing on it. "

"It is the only method that now presents itself, and I think it will beright at least to make the trial. It can do no harm. "

The more Lucy thought about an advertisement, the more hopeful did shefeel about the result. During the day she prepared one and sent it downto a newspaper office. Her messenger had not been long gone before theservant came up to the room where she sat with her mother, and saidthat a gentleman was in the parlour and wished to see them. He had sentup his card. 

"Mr. Burgess!" ejaculated Lucy, on taking the card from the servant'shand. 

"I do not wish to see him, " said Mrs. Ellison, as soon as the servanthad withdrawn. "You will have to go down alone, Lucy. "

Lucy descended to the parlour with reluctant steps, for she had littledesire to see the man whose thoughtlessness and neglect had so cruellywronged them. The moment she entered the parlour, Mr. Burgess steppedforward to meet her with a cheerful expression of countenance. 

"Yesterday, " he began immediately, "I had discouraging news for you, but I am happy to bring you a better story to-day. I have obtained asituation for you as a French teacher, in a new seminary which has justbeen opened, at a salary of six hundred dollars a year. If you will gowith me immediately, I will introduce you to the principal, and settleall matters preliminary to your entering upon the duties of yourstation. "

"I will be with you in a few minutes, " was all that Lucy could say inreply, turning quickly away from Mr. Burgess and gliding from the room. Her heart was too full for her to trust herself to say more. In amoment after she was sobbing upon her mother's bosom. It was someminutes before she could command her feelings enough to tell the goodnews she had just heard. When she did find utterance, and brieflycommunicated the intelligence she had heard, her mother's tears of joywere mingled with her own. 

Lucy accompanied Mr. Burgess to the residence of the principal of thenew seminary, and there entered into a contract for one year to teachthe French language, at a salary of six hundred dollars, her duties tocommence at once, and her salary to be drawn weekly if she desired it. She did not attempt an expression of the gratitude that oppressed herbosom. Words would have been inadequate to convey her real feelings. But this was not needed. Mr. Burgess saw how deeply grateful she was, and wished for no utterance of what she felt. 

That night both Mr. Burgess, as well as those he had benefited, hadsweeter dreams than visited their pillows on the night preceding. Thelatter never knew how much they stood his debtor. He put in theadvertisement which Lucy had read, and she was the person it described. Five hundred dollars was all the principal of the seminary paid; theother hundred was placed in his hands by Mr. Burgess, that the salarymight be six hundred. 

MAKING HASTE TO BE RICH. 

"CENT to cent, shilling to shilling, and dollar to dollar, slowly andsteadily, like the progress of a mole in the earth! That may suit some, but it will never do for Sidney Lawrence. There is a quicker road tofortune than that, and I am the man to walk in it. 'Enterprise' is theword. Yes, enterprise, enterprise, enterprise! Nothing venture, nothinggain, is my motto. "

"Slow and sure is the safer motto, my young friend, and if you willtake my advice, you will be content to creep before you walk, and towalk before you run. The cent to cent and dollar to dollar system isthe only sure one. "

This was the language of an old merchant, who had made his fortune bythe system he recommended, and was addressed to a young man justentering business with a capital of ten thousand dollars, the jointproperty of himself and an only sister. 

Sidney Lawrence had been raised in a large mercantile establishment, that was doing an immense business and making heavy profits. But allits operations were based upon adequate capital and enlargedexperience. When he commenced for himself, he could not brook the ideaof keeping near the shore, like a little boat, and following its saferwindings; he felt like launching out boldly into the ocean and reachingthe desired haven by the quickest course. He wished to accumulate moneyrapidly, and believed that, on the capital he possessed, five or sixthousand dollars a year might as easily be made as one thousand, if aman only had sufficient enterprise to push business vigorously. Thecareful, plodding course pursued by some, and strongly recommended tohim, he despised. It was beneath a man of true business capacity. 

"As I said before, nothing venture, nothing gain, " replied Lawrence tothe old merchant's good advice. "I am not content to eke out a thousandor two dollars every year, and, at the age of fifty or sixty, retirefrom business on a paltry twenty or thirty thousand dollars. I must getrich fast, or not at all. "

"Remember the words of Solomon, my young friend, " returned themerchant. "'_He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent. _'Among all the sayings of the wise man, there is not one truer thanthat. I have been in business for thirty years, and have seen the riseand fall of a good many 'enterprising' men, who were in a hurry to getrich. Their history is an instructive lesson to all who will read it. Some got rich, or at least appeared to get rich, in a very short spaceof time. They grew up like mushrooms in a night. But they were gone asquickly. I can point you to at least twenty elegant mansions, built bysuch men in their heyday of prosperity, that soon passed into otherhands. And I can name to you half a dozen and more, who, when reversescame, were subjected to trials for alleged fraudulent practices, resorted to in extremity as a means of sustaining their totteringcredit and escaping the ruin that threatened to engulf them. One ofthese, in particular, was a young man whom I raised, and who had alwaysacted with the most scrupulous honesty while in my store. But he wasardent, ambitious, and anxious to get rich. His father started him inbusiness with ten thousand dollars capital. In a little while, he wastrading high, and pushing his business to the utmost of its capacity. At the end of a couple of years, his father had to advance him tenthousand dollars more to keep him from failing. During the next fiveyears, he expanded with wonderful rapidity, built himself a splendidhouse, and took his place at the court end of the town, as one of ourwealthy citizens. It was said of him that he had made a hundredthousand dollars. But the downfall came at last, as come I knew itmust. He toppled over and fell down headlong. Then it was discoveredthat he had been making fictitious notes, purporting to be the billspayable of country merchants, which his own credit had carried througha number of the banks, as well as made pass freely to money-brokers. Hehad to stand a long and painful trial for forgery, and came within anace of being sent to the State's prison. As soon as the trial closed, he left the city, and I have never heard of him since. "

"But you don't mean to insinuate, " said Lawrence, rather sternly, "thatI would be guilty of forgery in any extremity?"

"Sidney Lawrence!" replied the merchant, speaking in a firm, seriousvoice, "I am a plain-spoken man, and always tell my real mind when Ifeel it my duty to do so, whether I give offence or not. That Solomonspoke truly, when he said, '_He that maketh haste to be rich shall notbe innocent, _' I fully believe, because I am satisfied, from what Ihave seen and know of business, that whoever follows it with an eagerdesire to make money rapidly, will be subjected to daily temptations, and it will be almost impossible for him not to seek advantages overhis neighbour in trade, and trample under foot the interests of othersto gain his own. If this is done in little matters unscrupulously, itwill in the end be done in great matters. What is the real difference, I should like to know, between taking advantage of a man in bargaining, and getting his money by passing upon him a forged note? The principleis undoubtedly the same, only one is a legal offence and the other isnot. And therefore, I hold that he who takes an undue advantage of hisfellow man in trade, will not in the end hesitate about committing agreater wrong, if he have a fair chance of escape from penalty. In myyoung days, the motto of most business men, who were not very niceabout the interests of others, was, '_Every man for himself and theLord for us all. _' But the motto has become slightly changed in thesetimes. It now reads, '_Every man for himself, and the d----l take thehindmost!_' I hear this too often unblushingly avowed, but see it muchoftener acted out, all around me. My young friend, if you wish to keepa clear conscience, adopt neither of these mottoes, but regard, inevery transaction, the good of others as well as your own good. And letme most seriously and earnestly warn you against making haste to berich. The least evil that can overtake you, in such an effort, will bethe almost certain wreck of all your worldly hopes, some five or tenyears hence, and your fall, so low, that to rise again will be almostimpossible. "

This well-meant, but plainly uttered advice, more than half offendedLawrence. He replied, coldly, that he thought he knew what he wasabout, and would try, at least, to "steer clear of the penitentiary. "

With shrewdness, tact, untiring industry, and a spirit that knew nodiscouragement, the young man pressed forward in business. The warningof the merchant, if it did not repress his desire to get rich in haste, caused him to look more closely than he would otherwise have done intoevery transaction he was about to make. This saved him from manyserious losses. 

The want of more capital soon began to be felt. He saw good operationsevery day, that might be made if he had capital enough to enter intothem. 

"A man deserves no credit for getting rich, if he have capital enoughto work with, " was a favourite remark. "There is plenty of business tobe done, and ways of making money in abundance, if the means are onlyat hand. "

One week, if he had only been in the possession of means, he would havepurchased a cotton-factory; the next week become possessor of a ship, and entered into the East India trade; and, the next week after that, purchased an interest in a lead-mine on the Upper Mississippi. 

Money, money, more money, was ever his cry, for he saw goldenopportunities constantly passing unimproved. A neighbour, to whom hewas expressing his desire for the use of larger capital, said to him, one day--

"I'll tell you how you can get more money!"

"How?" was the eager question. 

"Get into the direction of some bank, push through the notes of abusiness friend, in whom you have confidence, who will do the same foryou in another bank of which he is one of the managers. There arewheels within wheels in those moneyed institutions, from which the fewand not the many reap the most benefit. Connect yourself with as manyas you can of them, and make the most of the opportunities suchconnections will afford. You know Balmier?"

"Yes. "

"And what a rushing business he does?"

"Yes. "

"He dragged heavily enough, and was always flying about for money, until he took a hint and got elected into the Citizens and Traders'Bank. Since then he has been as easy as an old shoe, and has done fivetimes as much business as before. "

"Is it possible?"

"Oh, yes! You are not fully up to the tricks of trade yet, I see, shrewd as you are. "

"I know well enough how to use money, but I have not yet learned how toget it. "

"That will all come in good time. We are just now getting up a petitionfor the charter of a new bank in which I am to be a director, and I caneasily manage to get you in if you will subscribe pretty liberally tothe stock. It is to be called the People's Bank. "

"But I have no money to invest in stock. That would be taking awayinstead of adding to my capital in trade, which is light enough in allconscience. "

"There will be no trouble about that. Only an instalment of twentycents in the dollar will be necessary to set the institution going. Andnot more than ten cents in the dollar will be called in at a time. After two or three instalments have been paid, you can draw outtwo-thirds of the amount on stock notes. "

"Indeed! That's the way it's done?"

"Yes. You ought to take about a hundred shares, which will make it easyfor us to have you put into the Board of Directors. "

"I'll do it, " was the prompt response to this. 

"And take my word for it, you will not be many months a bank director, if you improve the opportunities that will be thrown in your way, without having a good deal more money at your command than at present. "

The charter for the People's Bank was obtained, and when an electionwas held, Lawrence went in as a director. He had not held that positionmany months, before, by favouring certain paper that was presented fromcertain quarters, he got paper favoured that came from certain otherquarters; and in this was individually benefited by getting the use ofabout fifteen thousand dollars additional capital, which came to himreally but not apparently from the bank in which he held a hundredshares of stock. For the sake of appearances, he did not borrow backhis instalments on stock notes. It was a little matter, and would havelooked as if he were pressed for money. 

From this time Sidney Lawrence became a financier, and plunged deepinto all the mysteries of money-raising. His business operations becamedaily more and more extended, and he never appeared to be much pressedfor money. At the end of a couple of years, he held the office ofdirector in two banking institutions, and was president of an insurancecompany that issued post-notes on which three per cent. Was charged. These notes, as the institution was in good credit, could readily bepassed through almost any bank in the city. They were loaned prettyfreely on individual credit, and also freely on real estate and othercollateral security. 

It is hard to serve two masters. The mind of man is so constituted, andthe influences bearing upon it are so peculiar in their orderlyarrangements, that the more it is concentered upon one object andpursuit, the more perfection and certainty attend its action. But if itbe divided between two objects and pursuits, and especially if both ofthese require much thought, its action will be imperfect to a certaindegree in both, or one will suffer while the other absorbs the mostattention. 

Thus it happened with Lawrence. While ardently engaged in financiering, his business received less attention. Instead of using to the bestpossible advantage the money already obtained in his financieringoperations, he strove eagerly after more. In fact, too reckless aninvestment, in many instances, of borrowed capital, from which noreturn could be obtained perhaps for years, made his wants still asgreat as before, and kept in constant activity all the resources of hismind in order to meet his accommodations and steadily to increase them. 

Ten years from the time when Sidney Lawrence started in business havepassed. He is living in handsome style and keeps his carriage. Five orsix years previously, he was married to a beautiful and lovely-mindedwoman, connected with some of the best families of the city. He hasthree children. 

"Are you not well, dear?" asked his wife, one day about this period. They were sitting at the dinner-table, and Mr. Lawrence was hardlytasting his food. 

"I haven't much appetite, " he replied indifferently. 

"You eat scarcely any thing; hardly enough to keep you alive. I amafraid you give yourself too much up to business. "

Mr. Lawrence did not reply. He had evidently not heard more than halfof his wife's last remark. In a little while he left the table, saying, as he rose, that he had some business requiring his immediateattention. Mrs. Lawrence glanced toward the door that closed after herhusband with a troubled look, and sighed. 

From his dwelling Mr. Lawrence hurried to his store, and spent an hourthere in examining his account books, and in making calculations. Atfive o'clock he met the directors of the insurance company, of which hewas still president, at an extra meeting. All had grave faces. Therewas a statement of the affairs of the company upon the table aroundwhich they were gathered. It showed that in the next two weekspost-notes, amounting in all to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, would fall due; while not over fifty thousand dollars in billsreceivable, maturing within that time, were on hand, and the availablecash resources of the company were not over five thousand dollars. Thetime was, when by an extra effort the sum needed could have been easilyraised. But extra efforts had been put forth so often of late, that thecompany had exhausted nearly all its resources. 

"I do not understand, " remarked one of the directors, looking up fromthe statement he had been carefully examining, "how there can be ahundred and fifty thousand dollars of post-notes due so soon, and onlyfifty thousand dollars in bills receivable maturing in the same time. If I am not mistaken, the post-notes were never issued except againstbills having a few days shorter time to run. How is this, Mr. Lawrence?"

"All that is plain enough, " the president replied promptly. "A largeportion of these bills have been at various times discounted for us inthe People's Bank, and in other banks, when we have needed money. "

"But why should we be in such need of money?" inquired the directorearnestly. He had been half asleep in his place for over a year, andwas just beginning to get his eyes open. "I believe we have had noserious losses of late. There have been but few fires that have touchedus. "

"But there have been a good many failures in the last six months, mostof which have affected us, and some to quite a heavy amount, " returnedthe president. "Our post-note business has proved most unfortunate. "

"So I should think if it has lost us a hundred thousand dollars, asappears from this statement. "

"It is useless to look at that now, " said Mr. Lawrence. "The greatbusiness to be attended to is the raising of means to meet this tryingemergency. How is it to be done?"

There was a deep silence and looks of concern. 

"Can it be raised at all? Is there any hope of saving the institution?"asked one of the board, at length. 

"In my opinion, none in the world, " was replied by another. "I havethought of little else but the affairs of the company since yesterday, and I am satisfied that all hope is gone. There are thirty thousanddollars to be provided to-morrow. Our balance is but five thousand, even if all the bills maturing to-day have been paid. "

"Which they have, I presume, as no protests have come in, " remarked thepresident. 

"But what is the sum of five thousand dollars set off against thirtythousand? It is as nothing. "

"Surely, gentlemen are not prepared to give up in this way, " said thepresident, earnestly. "A failure will be a most disastrous thing, andwe shall all be deeply sufferers in the community if it takes place. Wemust make efforts and sacrifices to carry it through. Here are twelveof us; can we not, on our individual credit, raise the sum required? I, for one, will issue my notes to-morrow for twenty thousand dollars. Ifthe other directors will come forward in the same spirit, we mayexchange the bills among each other, and by endorsing them mutually, get them through the various banks where we have friends or influence, and thus save the institution. Gentlemen, are you prepared to meet mein this thing?"

Two or three responded affirmatively. Some positively declined; andothers wanted time to think of it. 

"If we pause to think, all is ruined, " said Mr. Lawrence, excited. "Wemust act at once, and promptly. "

But each member of the board remained firm to the first expression. Nothing could be forced, and reflection only tended to confirm thosewho opposed the president's views in their opposition to the plansuggested. The meeting closed, after two hours' perplexingdeliberation, without determining upon any course of action. At teno'clock on the next day the directors were to meet again. 

Mr. Lawrence walked the floor for half of that night, and lay awake forthe other half. To sleep was impossible. Thus far, in the manydifficulties he had encountered, a way of escape from them had openedeither on the right hand or on the left, but now no way of escapepresented itself. A hundred plans were suggested to his mind, canvassedand then put aside. He saw but one measure of relief, if it could becarried out; but that he had proposed already, and it was not approved. 

The unhappy state in which she saw her husband deeply distressed Mrs. Lawrence. Earnestly did she beg of him to tell her all that troubledhim, and let her bear a part of the burden that was upon him. At firsthe evaded her questions; but, to her oft-repeated and tenderly urgedpetition to be a sharer in his pains as well as his pleasures, hementioned the desperate state of affairs in the company of which he waspresident. 

"But, my dear husband, " she replied to this, "you cannot be heldresponsible for the losses the institution has sustained. "

"True, Florence; but the odium, the censure, the distress that mustfollow its failure, --I cannot bear to think of these. My credit, too, will suffer, for I shall lose all I have invested in the stock, andthis fact, when known, will impair confidence. "

"All this is painful and deeply to be regretted, Sidney, " said thewife, speaking in as firm a voice as she could assume. "But as it is acalamity that cannot now be avoided, and is not the result of any wrongact of yours, let a clear conscience sustain you in this severe trial. Let the public censure, let odium be attached to your name--so long asyour conscience is clear and your integrity unsullied, these cannotreally hurt you. "

But this appeal had little or no effect. The mind of the unhappy mancould not take hold of it, nor feel its force. It was repeated againand again, and with as little effect. Finally he begged to be left tohis own reflections. In tears his wife complied with his request. Thatnight she slept as little as her miserable husband. 

On the next day the ---- Insurance Company was dishonoured, and "wentinto liquidation. " On the day following Sidney Lawrence suspendedpayment. Trustees were appointed to take charge of the effects of thecompany, who immediately commenced a rigid examination into itsaffairs. Lawrence made an assignment at the same time for the benefitof his creditors. 

One evening, about a week after his failure, Mr. Lawrence came homepaler and more disturbed than ever. There was something wild in theexpression of his countenance. 

"Florence, " said he, as soon as he was alone with her, "I must leavefor Cincinnati in the morning. "

"Why?" eagerly asked the wife, her face instantly blanching. 

"Business requires me to go. I have seen your father, and have madearrangements with him for you to go to his house, with the children, while I am away. This property, as I have before told you, has to besold, and the sale will probably take place while I am gone. "

"How soon will you return?"

"I cannot tell exactly; but I will come back as quickly as possible. "

There was something in the manner of her husband, as he made thisannouncement, that startled and alarmed Mrs. Lawrence. She tried to askmany questions, but her voice failed her. Leaning her head down uponher husband's breast, she sobbed and wept for a long time. Lawrence wasmuch affected, and kissed the wet cheek of his wife with unwontedfervour. 

On the next morning, early, the unhappy man parted with his family. Hiswife clung to him with an instinctive dread of the separation. Tearswere in his eyes, as he took his children one after another in his armsand kissed them tenderly. 

"God bless you all, and grant that we may meet again right early, andunder brighter skies!" he said, as he clasped his wife to his bosom ina long embrace, and then tore himself away. 

On the third day after Mr. Lawrence left, one of the city newspaperscontained the following paragraph:

"THE ---- INSURANCE COMPANY. --We understand that in the investigationof the affairs of this concern, it has been discovered that Mr. Lawrence, the president, proves to be a defaulter in the sum of nearlya hundred thousand dollars. The public are aware that post-notes wereissued by the company to a large amount, and loaned to individuals ongood collateral security. These bore only the signature of thepresident. It now appears that Mr. Lawrence used this paper without theknowledge of the directors. He signed what he wanted for his own use, and when these came due, signed others and negotiated them, managingthrough the principal clerk in the institution, who it seems was anaccomplice, to keep the whole matter a secret. This was continued untilhe had used the credit of the concern up to a hundred thousand dollars, when it sank under the load. Preparations were made, immediately on thediscovery of this, to have him arrested and tried for swindling, but hegot wind of it and has left the city. We presume, however, that he willbe apprehended and brought back. His own private affairs are said to bein a most deplorable condition. It is thought that not over twentycents in the dollar will be realized at the final settlement. "

Here we drop a veil over the history of the man who made haste to berich, and was not innocent. His poor wife waited vainly for him toreturn, and his children asked often for their father, and wondered whyhe stayed so long away. Years passed before they again met, and then itwas in sorrow and deep humiliation. 

LET HER POUT IT OUT. 

I HOPE there is no coolness between you and Maria, " said Mrs. Appletonto her young friend, Louisa Graham, one evening at a social party. "Ihave not seen you together once to-night; and just now she passedwithout speaking, or even looking at you. "

"Oh, as to that, " replied Louisa, tossing her head with an air ofcontempt and affected indifference, "she's got into a pet aboutsomething; dear knows what, for I don't. "

"I am really sorry to hear you say so, " remarked Mrs. Appleton. "Mariais a warm-hearted girl, and a sincere friend. Why do you not go to her, and inquire the cause of this change in her manner?"

"Me! No, indeed. I never humour any one who gets into a pet and goespouting about in that manner. "

"But is it right for you to act so? A word of inquiry or explanationmight restore all in a moment. "

"Right or wrong, I never did and never will humour the whims of suchkind of people. No, no. Let her pout it out! That's the way to curesuch people. "

"I don't think so, Louisa. She is unhappy from some real or imaginarycause. That cause it is no doubt in your power to remove. "

"But she has no right to imagine causes of offence; and I don't chooseto have people act as she is now acting towards me from mere imaginarycauses. No; let her pout it out, I say. It will teach her a goodlesson. "

Louisa spoke with indignant warmth. 

"Were you never mistaken?" asked Mrs. Appleton, in a grave tone. 

"Of course, I've been mistaken many a time. "

"Very well. Have you never been mistaken in reference to another'saction towards you?"

"I presume so. "

"And have not such mistakes sometimes given you pain?"

"I cannot recall any instances just at this moment, but I have no doubtthey have. "

"Very well. Just imagine yourself in Maria's position; would you notthink it kind in any one to step forward and disabuse you of an errorthat was stealing away your peace of mind?"

"Yes; but, Mrs. Appleton, I don't know anything about the cause ofMaria's strange conduct. She may see that in my character ordisposition to which she is altogether uncongenial, and may have madeup her mind not to keep my company any longer. Or she may feel herself, all at once, above me. And I'm not the one, I can tell you, to cringeto any living mortal. I am as good as she is, or any one else!"

"Gently, gently, Louisa! Don't fall into the very fault you condemn inMaria; that of imagining a sentiment to be entertained by another whichshe does not hold, and then growing indignant over the idea and at theperson supposed to hold it. "

"I can't see clearly the force of what you say, Mrs. Appleton; andtherefore I must come back to what I remarked a little while ago: Shemust pout it out. "

"You are wrong, Louisa, " her friend replied, "and I cannot let you restin that wrong, if it is in my power to correct it. Perhaps, by relatinga circumstance that occurred with myself a few years ago, I may be ableto make an impression on your mind. I had, and still have, an esteemedfriend, amiable and sincere, but extremely sensitive. She is too apt tomake mistakes about other people's estimation of her, which, I oftentold her, is a decided fault of character. That she has only to beself-conscious of integrity, and then she will be truly estimated. Well, this friend would sometimes imagine that _I_ treated her coolly, or indifferently, or thrust at her feelings, when I felt towards herall the while a very warm affection. The consequence would be, that shewould assume a cold or offended exterior. But I never said to myself, 'Let her pout it out. ' I knew that she was mistaken, and that she wasreally suffering under her mistake; and I would always go to her, andkindly inquire the cause of her changed manner. The result was, ofcourse, an immediate restoration of good feeling, often accompanied bya confession of regret at having injured me by imagining that Ientertained unkind sentiments when I did not. On one occasion I noticeda kind of reserve in her manner; but thinking there might be somecircumstances known only to herself, that gave her trouble, I did notseem to observe it. On the next morning I was exceedingly pained andsurprised to receive a note from her, in something like the followinglanguage--

"The fact is, Mrs. Appleton, I cannot and will not bear any longer yourmanner towards me. You seem to think that I have no feelings. Andbesides, you assume an air of superiority and patronage that isexceedingly annoying. Last night your manner was insufferable. As Ihave just said, I cannot and will not bear such an assumption on yourpart. And now let me say, that I wish, hereafter, to be considered byyou as a stranger. As such I shall treat you. Do not attempt to answerthis, do not attempt to see me, for I wish for no humiliatingexplanations. '

"Now what would you have done in such a case, Louisa?"

"I would have taken her at her word, of course, " was the prompt reply;"did not you?"

"Oh, no; that would not have been right. "

"I must confess, Mrs. Appleton, that your ideas of right, and mine, arevery different. This lady told you expressly that she did not wish tohold any further intercourse with you. "

"Exactly. But, then, she would not have said so, had she not beendeceived by an erroneous idea. Knowing this, it became my duty toendeavour to remove the false impression. "

"I must confess, Mrs. Appleton, that I cannot see it in the same light. I don't believe that we are called upon to humour the whims of everyone. It does such people, as you speak of, good to be let alone, andhave their pout out. If you notice them, it makes them ten times asbad. "

"A broad assertion like that you have just made needs proof, Louisa. I, for one, do not believe that it is true. If an individual, under afalse impression, be let alone to 'pout it out, ' the mere pouting, asyou call it, does not bring a conviction that the cause of unpleasantfeeling is altogether imaginary. The ebullition will subside in time, and the subject of it may seem to forget the cause; but to do so, isnext to impossible where the false impression is not removed. Now letme tell you how _I_ did in reference to the friend I have justmentioned. "

"Well. How did you do?"

"After the acute pain of mind which was caused by her note hadsubsided, I began to examine, as far as I could recollect them, all mywords and actions towards her on the previous evening. In one or twothings, I thought I could perceive that which to one of her sensitivedisposition might appear in a wrong light. I remembered, too, that inher domestic relations there were some circumstances of a painfulcharacter, and I knew that these weighed heavily upon her mind, oftendepressing her spirits very much. One of these circumstances, thoughperfectly beyond her control, was extremely humiliating to ahigh-minded and somewhat proud-spirited woman. All these things Iturned over in my mind, and instead of suffering myself to feelincensed against her for the unkind note she had written to me, Iendeavoured to find excuses for her, and to palliate her fault all thatI could. What troubled me most, was the almost insurmountable barrierthat she had thrown between us. 'Do not attempt to answer this; do notattempt to see me;' were strong positions; and my pride rose up, andforbade me to break through them. But pride could not stand before theawakening of better feelings. 'I must see her. I will see her!' I said. 

"This resolution taken, I determined that I would not call upon heruntil towards evening, thus giving her time for reflection. The hour atlength came in which I had made up my mind to perform a most painfulduty, and I dressed myself for the trying visit. When I pulled thebell, on pausing at her door, I was externally calm, but internallyagitated. 

"'Tell Mrs. ---- that a friend wishes to speak to her, ' said I to theservant who showed me into the parlour. I did not feel at liberty toask her not to mention my name; but I emphasized the word 'friend, ' inhopes that she would understand my meaning. But she either did not orwould not, for in a few minutes she returned and said, in a confusedand hesitating voice, "'Mrs. --says that she does not wish to see you. '"

"And you left the house on the instant?" Louisa said, in an indignanttone. 

"No, I did not, " was Mrs. Appleton's calm reply. 

"Not after such an insult! Pardon me--but I should call it a breach ofpoliteness for any one to remain in the house of another under suchcircumstances. "

"But, Louisa, you must remember that there are exceptions to everygeneral rule; and also, that the same act may be good or bad, accordingto the end which the actor has in view. If I had proposed to myself anymere sinister and selfish end in remaining in the house of my friendafter such an unkind and to me, at the time, cruel repulse, I shouldhave acted wrong; but my end was to benefit my friend--to disabuse herof a most painful mistake, which I could only do by meeting her, andletting her ears take in the tones of my voice, that she might thusjudge of my sincerity. "

Louisa did not reply, and Mrs. Appleton continued, --

"'Tell Mrs. ----, ' said I to the servant, 'that I am very anxious tosee her, and that she must not refuse me an interview. ' In a fewminutes she returned with the positive refusal of Mrs. ---- to see me. There was one thing that I did not want to do--one thing that Ihesitated to do, and that was to force myself upon my estranged friendby intruding upon her, even in her own chamber, where she had retiredto be secure from my importunity. But I looked to the end I had inview. 'Is not the end a good one?' I said, as I mused over theunpleasant position in which I found myself. 'Will not even Mrs. ----thank me for the act after she shall have perceived her error?' Thus Iargued with myself, and finally made up my mind that I would compel aninterview by entering my friend's chamber, even though she had twicerefused to see me. 

"As I resolved to do, so I acted. Once fully convinced that the act wasright, I compelled myself to do it, without once hesitating or lookingback. My low knock at her chamber-door was unanswered. I paused but afew moments before opening it. There stood my friend, with a pale yetfirm countenance, and as I advanced she looked me steadily in the facewith a cold, repulsive expression. 

"'Mrs. ----, ' said I, extending my hand and forcing a smile, while thetears came to my eyes, and my voice trembled--'if I had been guilty ofthe feelings with which you have charged me, I would not have thussought you, in spite of all your repulses. Let me now declare to you, in the earnestness of a sincere heart, that I am innocent of all youallege against me. I have always regarded you as one of my choicestfriends. I have always endeavoured to prefer you before myself, insteadof setting myself above you. You have, therefore, accused mewrongfully, but I do most heartily forgive you. Will you not thenforgive me for an imaginary fault?'

"For a few moments after I commenced speaking, she continued to look atme with the same cold, repulsive stare, not deigning to touch the handthat I still extended. But she saw that I was sincere; she felt that Iwas sincere, and this melted her down. As I ceased speaking, shestarted forward with a quick, convulsed movement, and throwing her armsaround me, hid her face in my bosom and wept aloud. It was some timebefore the tumult of her feelings subsided. 

"'Can you indeed forgive me?' she at length said; 'my strange, blind, wayward folly?'

"'Let us be friends as we were, Mrs. ----, ' I replied, 'and let thishour be forgotten, or only remembered as a seal to our friendship. '

"From that day, Louisa, there has been no jarring string in ourfriendly intercourse. Mrs. ---- really felt aggrieved; she thought thatshe perceived in my conduct all that she had alleged, and it woundedher to the quick. But the earnest sincerity with which I sought her outand persisted in seeing her, convinced her that she had altogethermisunderstood the import of my manner, which, under the peculiar stateof her feelings, put on a false appearance. "

"Well, Mrs. Appleton, " Louisa said with a deep inspiration, as thatlady ceased speaking, "I cannot say that I think you did wrong: indeed, I feel that you were right; but I cannot act from such unselfishmotives; it is not in me. "

"But you can compel yourself to do right, Louisa, even where there isno genuine good impulse prompting to correct actions. It is by our thuscompelling ourselves, and struggling against the activity of a wrongmotive, that a right one is formed. If I had consulted only myfeelings, and had suffered only offended self-love to speak, I shouldnever have persevered in seeing my friend; to this day there would havebeen a gulf between us. "

"Still, it seems to me that we ought not, as a general thing, to humourpersons in these idle whims; it only confirms them in habits of mindthat make them sources of perpetual annoyance to their friends. Indeed, as far as I am concerned, I desire to be freed from acquaintances ofthis description; I do not wish my peace ever and anon interfered within such an unpleasant way. "

"We should not, " Mrs. Appleton replied, "consider only ourselves inthese, or indeed in any matters pertaining to social intercourse, butshould endeavour sometimes to look away from what is most pleasant andgratifying to ourselves, and study to make others happy. You know thatthe appearance which true politeness puts on is that of preferringothers to ourselves. We offer them the best seats, or the most eligiblepositions; or present them with the choicest viands at the table. Weintroduce subjects of conversation that we think will interest othersmore than ourselves, and deny ourselves in various ways, that othersmay be obliged and gratified. Now, the question is, are these mere idleand unmeaning forms? Or is it right that we should feel as we act? Ifthey are unmeaning forms, then are the courtesies of social intercoursea series of acts most grossly hypocritical. If not so, then it is rightthat we should prefer others to ourselves; and it is right for us, whenwe find that a friend is under a painful mistake--even if to approachher may cause some sacrifice of our feelings--for us to go to thatfriend and disabuse her mind of error. Do you not think so, Louisa?"

"I certainly cannot gainsay your position, Mrs. Appleton; but still Ifeel altogether disinclined to make any overtures to Maria. "

"Why so, Louisa?"

"Because I can imagine no cause for her present strange conduct, andtherefore see no way of approaching"--

The individual about whom they had been conversing passed near them atthis moment, and caused Mrs. Appleton and Louisa to remember that theywere prolonging their conversation to too great an extent for a socialparty. 

"We will talk about this again, " Mrs. Appleton said, rising and passingto the side of Maria. 

"You do not seem cheerful to-night, Maria; or am I mistaken in myobservation of your face?" Mrs. Appleton said in a pleasant tone. 

"I was not aware that there was any thing in my manner that indicatedthe condition of mind to which you allude, " the young lady replied, with a smile. 

"There seemed to me such an indication, but perhaps it was only anappearance. "

"Perhaps so, " said Maria, with something of abstraction in her manner. A silence, embarrassing in some degree to both parties, followed, whichwas broken by an allusion of Mrs. Appleton's to Louisa Graham. 

To this, Maria made no answer. 

"Louisa is a girl of kind feelings, " remarked Mrs. Appleton. 

"She is so esteemed, " Maria replied, somewhat coldly. 

"Do you not think so, Maria?"

"Why should I think otherwise?"

"I am sure I cannot tell; but I thought there was something in yourmanner that seemed to indicate a different sentiment. "

To this the young lady made no reply, and Mrs. Appleton did not feel atliberty to press the subject, more particularly as she wished to induceLouisa, if she could possibly do so, to sacrifice her feelings and goto Maria with an inquiry as to the cause of her changed manner. She nowobserved closely the manner of Maria, and saw that she studiouslyavoided coming into contact with Louisa. Thus the evening passed away, and the two young ladies retired without having once spoken to eachother. 

Unlike too many of us under similar circumstances, Mrs. Appleton didnot say within herself, "This is none of my business. If they havefallen out, let them make it up again. " Or, "If she chooses to get the'pouts' for nothing, let her pout it out. " But she thought seriouslyabout devising some plan to bring about explanations and a goodunderstanding again between two who had no just cause for not regardingeach other as friends. It would have been an easy matter to have goneto Maria and to have asked the cause of her changed manner towardsLouisa, and thus have brought about a reconciliation; but she wasdesirous to correct a fault in both, and therefore resolved, ifpossible, to induce the latter to go to the former. With this object inview, she called upon Louisa early on the next morning. 

"I was sorry to see, " she said, after a brief conversation on generaltopics, "that there was no movement on the part of either yourself orMaria to bring about a mutual good understanding. "

"I am sure, Mrs. Appleton, that I haven't any thing to do in thematter, " was Louisa's answer. "I have done nothing wilfully to wound oroffend Maria, and therefore have no apologies to make. If she sees inmy character any thing so exceedingly offensive as to cause her thus torecede from me, I am sure that I do not wish her to have any kind ofintercourse with me. "

"That is altogether out of the question, Louisa. Maria has seen nothingreal in you at which to be offended; it is an imaginary something thathas blinded her mind. "

"In that case, Mrs. Appleton, I must say, as I said at first--Let herpout it out. I have no patience with any one who acts so foolishly. "

"You must pardon my importunity, Louisa, " her persevering friendreplied. "I am conscious that the position you have taken is a wrongone, and I cannot but hope that I shall be able to make you see it. "

"I don't know, Mrs. Appleton; none are so blind, it is said, as theywho will not see, " Louisa replied, with a meaning smile. 

"So you are conscious of an unwillingness to see the truth if opposedto your present feelings, " said Mrs. Appleton, smiling in return; "Ihave some hope of you now. "

"You think so?"

"Oh, yes; the better principles of your mind are becoming more active, and I now feel certain that you will think of Maria as unhappy fromsome erroneous idea which it is in your power to remove. "

"But her unkind and ungenerous conduct towards me"--

"Don't think of that, Louisa; think only if it be not in your poweragain to restore peace to her mind; again to cause her eyes to brightenand her lips to smile when you meet her. It is in your power--I knowthat it is. Do not, then, let me beg of you, abuse that power, andsuffer one heart to be oppressed when a word from you can remove theburden that weighs it down. "

To this appeal Laura remained silent for a few moments, and thenlooking up, said, "What would you have me do, Mrs. Appleton?"

"Nothing but what you see to be clearly right. Do not act simply frommy persuasion. I urge you as I do, that you may perceive it to be aduty to go to Maria and try to disabuse her of an error that isproducing unhappiness. "

"Then how do you think I ought to act?"

"It seems to me that you should go to Maria, and ask her, with thatsincerity and frankness that she could not mistake, the cause of herchanged manner; and that you should, at the same time, say that youwere altogether unconscious of having said or done any thing to woundor offend her. "

"I will do it, Mrs. Appleton, " said Louisa, after musing for a fewmoments. 

"But does it seem to you right that you should do so?"

"It does when I lose sight of myself, and think of Maria as standing toanother in the same light that she really stands to me. "

"I am glad that you have thus separated your own feelings from thematter; that is the true way to view every subject that has regard toour actions towards others. Go, then, to your estranged friend on thismission of peace, and I know that the result will be pleasant to bothof you. "

"I am fully convinced that it is right for me to do so; and more, I amfully resolved to do what I see to be right. "

About an hour after the closing of this interview, Louisa called at thehouse of her friend. It was some minutes after she had sent up her namebefore Maria descended to the parlour to meet her. As she came in shesmiled a faint welcome, extending at the same time her hand in a coldformal manner. Louisa was chilled at this, for her feelings were quick;but she suppressed every weakness with an effort, and said, as shestill held the offered hand within her own--

"There must be something wrong, Maria, or _you_ would never treat me socoldly. As I am altogether unconscious of having said or done any thingto wound your feelings, or injure you in any way, I have feltconstrained to come and see you, and ask if in any thing I haveunconsciously done you an injury. "

There was a pause of some moments, during which Maria was evidentlyendeavouring to quiet her thoughts and feelings, so as to give acoherent and rational response to what had been said; but this she wasunable to do. 

"I am a weak and foolish girl, Louisa, " she at length said, as themoisture suffused her eyes; "and now I am conscious that I have wrongedyou. Let us forget the past, and again be friends as we were. "

"I am still your friend, Maria, and still wish to remain your friend;but in order that, hereafter, there may be no further breach of thisfriendship, would it not be well for you to tell me, frankly, in whatmanner I have wounded your feelings?"

"Perhaps so; but still I would rather not tell the cause; it involves asubject upon which I do not wish to speak. Be satisfied, then, Louisa, that I am fully convinced that you did not mean to wound me. Let this(kissing her tenderly) assure you that my old feelings have allreturned. But do not press me upon a point that I shrink from eventhinking about. "

There was something so serious, almost solemn in the manner of theyoung lady, that Louisa felt that it would be wrong to urge her uponthe subject. But their reconciliation was complete. 

So much interest did Mrs. Appleton feel in the matter, that she calledin, during the afternoon of the same day, to see Louisa. 

"Well, it's all made up, " was almost the first word uttered as Mrs. Appleton came in. 

"I am truly glad to hear it, " replied that lady. 

"And I am glad to be able to say so; but there is one thing that I donot like: I could not prevail upon her to tell me the cause of hercoldness towards me. "

"I am sorry for that, because, not knowing what has given offence, youare all the time liable again to trespass on feelings that you desirenot to wound. "

"So I feel about it; but the subject seemed so painful to her that Idid not press it. "

"When did you first notice a change in her manner?"

"About a week ago, when we were spending an evening at Mrs. Trueman's. "

"Cannot you remember something which you then said that might havewounded her?"

"No, I believe not. I have tried several times to recall what I thensaid, but I can think of nothing but a light jest which I passed uponher about her certainly coming of a crazy family. "

"Surely you did not say that, Louisa!"

"Yes, I did. And I am sure that I thought no harm of it. We wereconversing gayly, and she was uttering some of her peculiar, and oftenstrange sentiments, when I made the thoughtless and innocent remark Ihave alluded to. No one replied, and there was a momentary silence thatseemed to me strange. From that time her manner changed. But I havenever believed that my playful remark was the cause. I think her a girlof too much good sense for that. "

"Have you never heard that her father was for many years in thehospital, and at last died there a raving maniac?" asked Mrs. Appletonwith a serious countenance. 

"Never, " was the positive answer. 

"It is true that such was his miserable end, Louisa. "

"Then it is all explained. Oh, how deeply I must have wounded her!"

"Deeply, no doubt. But it cannot be helped. The wound, I trust, is nownearly healed. " Then, after a pause, Mrs. Appleton resumed:

"Let this lesson never be forgotten, my young friend. Suppose you hadfollowed your own impulses, and let Maria 'pout it out, ' as you said;how much would both she and yourself have suffered--she, under thefeeling that you had wantonly insulted and wounded her; and you, inestranged friendship, and under the imputation, unknown to yourself, ofhaving most grossly violated the very first principles of humanity. Letthe lesson, then, sink deeply into your heart. Never again permit anyone to grow cold towards you suddenly, without inquiring the cause. Itis due to yourself and your friends. "

"I shall never forget the lesson, Mrs. Appleton, " was Louisa's emphaticresponse. 

"A FINE, GENEROUS FELLOW. "

MY friend Peyton was what is called a "fine, generous fellow. " Hevalued money only as a means of obtaining what he desired, and wasalways ready to spend it with an acquaintance for mutual gratification. Of course, he was a general favourite. Every one spoke well of him, andfew hesitated to give his ears the benefit of their good opinion. I wasfirst introduced to him when he was in the neighbourhood of twenty-twoyears of age. Peyton was then a clerk in the receipt of six hundreddollars a year. He grasped my hand with an air of frankness andsincerity, that at once installed him in my good opinion. A littlepleasure excursion was upon the tapis, and he insisted upon my joiningit. I readily consented. There were five of us, and the expense toeach, if borne mutually, would have been something like one dollar. Peyton managed every thing, even to paying the bills; and when Ioffered to repay him my proportion, he said--

"No, no!"--pushing back my hand--"nonsense!"

"Yes; but I must insist upon meeting my share of the expense. "

"Not a word more. The bill's settled, and you needn't trouble your headabout it, " was his reply; and he seemed half offended when I stillurged upon him to take my portion of the cost. 

"What a fine, generous fellow Peyton is!" said one of the party to me, as we met on the next day. 

"Did he also refuse to let you share in the expense of our excursion?"I asked. 

"After what he said to you, I was afraid of offending him by proposingto do so. "

"He certainly is generous--but, I think, to a fault, if I saw a fairspecimen of his generosity yesterday. "

"We should be just, as well as generous. "

"I never heard that he was not just. "

"Nor I. But I think he was not just to himself. And I believe it willbe found to appear in the end, that, if we are not just to ourselves, we will, somewhere in life, prove unjust to others. I think that hissalary is not over twelve dollars a week. If he bore the whole expenseof our pleasure excursion, it cost him within a fraction of half hisearnings for a week. Had we all shared alike, it would not have been aserious matter to either of us. "

"Oh! as to that, it is no very serious matter to him. He will neverthink of it. "

"But, if he does so very frequently, he may feel it sooner or later, " Ireplied. 

"I'm sure I don't know any thing about that, " was returned. "He is agenerous fellow, and I cannot but like him. Indeed, every one likeshim. "

A few evenings afterwards I met Peyton again. 

"Come, let us have some oysters, " said he. 

I did not object. We went to an oyster-house, and ate and drank as muchas our appetites craved. He paid the bill!

Same days afterwards, I fell in with him again, and, in order toretaliate a little, invited him to go and get some refreshments withme. He consented. When I put my hand in my pocket to pay for them, hishand went into his. But I was too quick for him. He seemed uneasy aboutit. He could feel pleased while giving, but it evidently worried him tobe the recipient. 

From that time, for some years, I was intimate with the young man. Ifound that he set no true value upon money. He spent it freely withevery one; and every one spoke well of him. "What a generous, whole-souled fellow he is!" or, "What a noble heart he has!" were theexpressions constantly made in regard to him. While "Mean fellow!""Miserly dog!" and other such epithets, were unsparingly used inspeaking of a quiet, thoughtful young man, named Merwin, who was clerkwith him in the same store. Merwin appeared to set an undue value uponmoney. He rarely indulged himself in any way, and it was withdifficulty that he could ever be induced to join in any pleasures thatinvolved expense. But I always observed that when he did so, he wasexact about paying his proportion. 

About two years after my acquaintance with Peyton began, an incidentlet me deeper into the character and quality of his generosity. Icalled one day at the house of a poor widow woman who washed for me, toask her to do up some clothes, extra to the usual weekly washing. Ithought she looked as if she were in trouble about something, and saidso to her. 

"It's very hard, at best, " she replied, "for a poor woman, with threeor four children to provide for, to get along--especially if, like me, she has to depend upon washing and ironing for a living. But when somany neglect to pay her regularly"--

"Neglect to pay their washerwoman!" I said, in a tone of surprise, interrupting her. 

"Oh, yes. Many do that!"

"Who?"

"Dashing young men, who spend their money freely, are too apt toneglect these little matters, as they call them. "

"And do young men, for whom you work, really neglect to pay you?"

"Some do. There are at least fifteen dollars now owed to me, and Idon't know which way to turn to get my last month's rent for mylandlord, who has been after me three times this week already. Mr. Peyton owes me ten dollars, and I can't"--

"Mr. Peyton? It can't be possible!"

"Yes, it is, though. He used to be one of the most punctual young men Iwashed for. But, of late, he never has any money. "

"He's a very generous-hearted young man. "

"Yes, I know he is, " she replied. "But something is wrong with him. Helooks worried whenever I ask him for money; and sometimes speaks as ifhalf angry with me for troubling him. There's Mr. Merwin--I wish allwere like him. I have never yet taken home his clothes, that I didn'tfind the money waiting for me, exact to a cent. He counts every piecewhen he lays out his washing for me, and knows exactly what it willcome to: and then, if he happens to be out, the change is always leftwith the chambermaid. It's a pleasure to do any thing for him. "

"He isn't liked generally as well as Mr. Peyton is, " said I. 

"Isn't he? It's strange!" the poor woman returned, innocently. 

On the very next day, I saw Peyton riding out with an acquaintance in abuggy. 

"Who paid for your ride, yesterday?" I said to the latter, with whom Iwas quite familiar, when next we met. 

"Oh, Peyton, of course. He always pays, you know. He's a fine, generousfellow. I wish there were more like him. "

"That you might ride out for nothing a little oftener, hey?"

My friend coloured slightly. 

"No, not that, " said he. "But you know there is so much selfishness inthe world; we hardly ever meet a man who is willing to make theslightest sacrifice for the good of others. "

"True. And I suppose it is this very selfishness that makes us sowarmly admire a man like Mr. Peyton, who is willing to gratify us athis own charge. It's a pleasant thing to ride out and see the country, but we are apt to think twice about the costs before we act once. Butif some friend will only stand the expense, how generous andwhole-souled we think him! It is the same in every thing else. We likethe enjoyments, but can't afford the expense; and he is a generous, fine-hearted fellow, who will squander his money in order to gratifyus. Isn't that it, my friend?" said I, slapping him on the shoulder. 

He looked half convinced, and a little sheepish, to use an expressiveSaxonism. 

On the evening succeeding this day, Peyton sat alone in his room, hishead leaning upon his hand, and his brow contracted. There was a tap athis door. "Come in. " A poorly-clad, middle-aged woman entered. It washis washerwoman. 

The lines on the young man's brow became deeper. 

"Can't you let me have some money, Mr. Peyton? My landlord is pressinghard for his rent, and I cannot pay him until you pay me. "

"Really, Mrs. Lee, it is impossible just now; I am entirely out ofmoney. But my salary will be due in three weeks, and then I will payyou up the whole. You must make your landlord wait until that time. Iam very sorry to put you to this trouble. But it will never happenagain. "

The young man really did feel sorry, and expressed it in his face aswell as in the tone of his voice. 

"Can't you let me have one or two dollars, Mr. Peyton? I am entirelyout of money. "

"It is impossible--I haven't a shilling left. But try and wait threeweeks, and then it will all come to you in a lump, and do you a greatdeal more good than if you had it a dollar at a time. "

Mrs. Lee retired slowly, and with a disappointed air. The young mansighed heavily as she closed the door after her. He had been toogenerous, and now he could not be just. The buggy in which he haddriven out with his friend on that day had cost him his last twodollars--a sum which would have lightened the heart of his poorwasherwoman. 

"The fact is, my salary is too small, " said he, rising and walkingabout his room uneasily. "It is not enough to support me. If theaccount were fully made up, tailor's bill, bootmaker's bill, and all, Idare say I should find myself at least three hundred dollars in debt. "

Merwin received the same salary that he did, and was just three hundreddollars ahead. He dressed as well, owed no man a dollar, and was farhappier. It is true, he was not called a "fine, generous fellow, " bypersons who took good care of their own money, while they were verywilling to enjoy the good things of life at a friend's expense. But hedid not mind this. The want of such a reputation did not disturb hismind very seriously. 

After Mrs. Lee had been gone half an hour, Peyton's door was flungsuddenly open. A young man, bounding in, with extended hand camebustling up to him. 

"Ah, Peyton, my fine fellow! How are you? how are you?" And he shookPeyton's hand quite vigorously. 

"Hearty!--and how are you, Freeman?"

"Oh, gay as a lark. I have come to ask a favour of you. "

"Name it. "

"I want fifty dollars. "

Peyton shrugged his shoulders. 

"I must have it, my boy! I never yet knew you to desert a friend, and Idon't believe you will do so now. "

"Suppose I haven't fifty dollars?"

"You can borrow it for me. I only want it for a few days. You shallhave it back on next Monday. Try for me--there's a generous fellow!"

"There's a generous fellow, " was irresistible. It came home to Peytonin the right place. He forgot poor Mrs. Lee, his unpaid tailor's bill, and sundry other troublesome accounts. 

"If I can get an advance of fifty dollars on my salary to-morrow, youshall have it. "

"Thank you! thank you! I knew I shouldn't have to ask twice when Icalled upon Henry Peyton. It always does me good to grasp the hand ofsuch a man as you are. "

On the next day, an advance of fifty dollars was asked and obtained. This sum was loaned as promised. In two weeks, the individual whoborrowed it was in New Orleans, from whence he had the best of reasonsfor not wishing to return to the north. Of course, the generous HenryPeyton lost his money. 

An increase of salary to a thousand dollars only made him less carefulof his money. Before, he lived as freely as if his income had beenone-third above what it was; now, he increased his expenses in a likeratio. It was a pleasure to him to spend his money--not for himselfalone, but among his friends. 

It is no cause of wonder, that in being so generous to some, he wasforced to be unjust to others. He was still behindhand with his poorold washer-woman--owed for boarding, clothes, hats, boots, and a dozenother matters--and was, in consequence, a good deal harassed with duns. Still, he was called by some of his old cronies, "a fine, generousfellow. " A few were rather colder in their expressions. He had borrowedmoney from them, and did not offer to return it; and he was such agenerous-minded young man, that they felt a delicacy about calling hisattention to it. 

"Can you raise a couple of thousand dollars?" was asked of him by afriend, when he was twenty-seven years old. "If you can, I know afirst-rate chance to get into business. "

"Indeed! What is the nature of it?"

The friend told him all he knew, and he was satisfied that a betteroffering might never present itself. But two thousand dollars wereindispensable. 

"Can't you borrow it?" suggested the friend. 

"I will try. "

"Try your best. You will never again have such an opportunity. "

Peyton did try, but in vain. Those who could lend it to him consideredhim "too good-hearted a fellow" to trust with money; and he was forcedto see that tide, which if he could have taken it at the flood, wouldhave led him on to fortune, slowly and steadily recede. 

To Merwin the same offer was made. He had fifteen hundred dollars laidby, and easily procured the balance. No one was afraid to trust himwith money. 

"What a fool I have been!" was the mental exclamation of Peyton, whenhe learned that his fellow-clerk had been able, with his own earnings, on a salary no larger than his own, to save enough to embrace thegolden opportunity which he was forced to pass by. "They call Merwin_mean_ and _selfish_--and I am called a _generous fellow_. That means, he has acted like a wise man, and I like a fool, I suppose. I know himbetter than they do. He is neither mean nor selfish, but careful andprudent, as I ought to have been. His mother is poor, and so is mine. Ah, me!" and the thought of his mother caused him to clasp both handsagainst his forehead. "I believe two dollars of his salary have beensent weekly to his poor mother. But I have never helped mine a singlecent. There is the mean man, and here is the generous one. Fool! fool!wretch! He has fifteen hundred dollars ahead, after having sent hismother one hundred dollars a year for five or six years, and I am overfive hundred dollars in debt. A fine, generous fellow, truly!"

The mind of Peyton was, as it should be, disturbed to its very centre. His eyes were fairly opened, and he saw just where he stood, and whathe was worth as a generous man. 

"They have flattered my weakness, " said he, bitterly, "to eat and drinkand ride at my expense. It was easy to say, 'how free-hearted he is, 'so that I could hear them. A cheap way of enjoying the good things oflife, verily! But the end has come to all this. I am just twenty-sevenyears old to-day; in five years more I shall be thirty-two. My salaryis one thousand dollars. I pay one hundred and fifty dollars a year forboarding; one hundred and fifty more shall clothe me and furnish all myspending-money, which shall be precious little. One year from to-day, if I live, I will owe no man a dollar. My kind old mother, whom I haveso long neglected, shall hear from me at once--ten dollars every monthI dedicate to her. Come what will, nothing shall touch that. After I amclear of debt, I will save all above my necessary expenses, until I getone or two thousand dollars ahead, which shall be in five years. Then Iwill look out for a golden opportunity, such as Mervin has found. Thisagreement with myself I solemnly enter into in the sight of heaven, andnothing shall tempt me to violate it. "

"Are you going to ride out this afternoon, Peyton?" inquired a youngfriend, breaking in upon him at this moment. 

"Yes, if you'll hire the buggy, " was promptly returned. 

"I can't afford that. "

"Nor I either. How much is your salary?"

"Only a thousand. "

"Just what mine is. If you can't, I am sure I cannot. "

"Of course, you ought to be the best judge. I knew you rode out almostevery afternoon, and liked company. "

"Yes, I have done so; but that's past. I have been a 'fine, generousfellow, ' long enough to get in debt and mar my prospects for life, perhaps; but I am going to assume a new character. No doubt the veryones who have had so many rides, oyster suppers, and theatre tickets atmy expense, will all at once discover that I am as mean and selfish asMervin; but it's no great odds. I only wish I had been as truly nobleand generous in the right quarters as he has been. "

"You are in a strange humour to-day. "

"I am in a changed humour. That it is so very strange, I do notsee--unless for me to think wisely is strange, and perhaps it is. "

"Well, all I have to say is, that I, for one, do not blame you, even ifI do lose a fine ride into the country now and then, " was the frankresponse. 

Peyton went to work in the matter of reform in right good earnest, buthe found it hard work; old habits and inclinations were very strong. Still he had some strength of mind, and he brought this into asvigorous exercise as it was possible for him to do, mainly withsuccess, but sometimes with gentle lapses into self-indulgence. 

His mother lived in a neighbouring town, and was in humblecircumstances. She supported herself by keeping a shop for the sale ofvarious little articles. The old lady sat behind her counter, oneafternoon, sewing, and thinking of her only son. 

"Ah, me!" she sighed, letting her hands fall wearily in her lap, "Ithought Henry would have done something for himself long before this;but he is a wild, free-hearted boy, and I suppose spends every thing ashe goes along, just as his father did. I'm afraid he will never do anything for himself. It is a long time since he wrote home. Ah, me!"

And the mother lifted her work again, and strained her dimmed eyes overit. 

"Here's a letter for you at last, Mother Peyton, " said the well-knownvoice of the postman, breaking in upon her just at this moment. "Thatboy of yours don't write home as often as he used to. "

"A letter from Henry! Oh, that is pleasant! Dear boy! he doesn't forgethis mother. "

"No, one would think not, " muttered the postman, as he walked away, "considering how often he writes to her. "

With trembling hands, Mrs. Peyton broke the seal; a bank-bill crumpledin her fingers as she opened the letter. A portion of its contents was:

"DEAR MOTHER--I have had some very serious thoughts of late about myway of living. You know I never liked to be considered mean; this ledme to be, what seemed to everybody, very generous. Everybody waspleased to eat, and drink, and ride at my expense; but no one seemedinclined to let me do the same at his expense. I have been getting agood salary for six or seven years, and, for a part of that time, asmuch as a thousand dollars. I am ashamed to say that I have not afarthing laid by; nay, what is worse, I owe a good many little bills. But, dear mother, I think I have come fairly to my senses. I have cometo a resolution not to spend a dollar foolishly; thus far I have beenable to keep my promise to myself, and, by the help of heaven, I meanto keep it to the end. My first thought, on seeing my folly, was of myshameful disregard to my mother's condition. In this letter are tendollars. Every month you will receive from me a like sum--more, if youneed it. As soon as I can lay by a couple of thousand dollars, I willlook around for some means of entering into business, and, as soonafter as possible, make provision for you, that your last days may bespent in ease and comfort. "

"God bless the dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Peyton, dropping the letter, while the tears gushed from her eyes. The happy mother wept long forjoy. With her trembling hand she wrote a reply, and urged him, by thetenderest and most sacred considerations, to keep to his goodresolutions. 

At the end of a year Peyton examined his affairs, and found himselffreed from debt; but there were nearly one hundred dollars for which hecould not account. He puzzled over it for one or two evenings, and madeout over fifty dollars spent foolishly. 

"No doubt the rest of it will have to be passed to that account, " saidhe, at last, half angry with himself. "I'll have to watch closer thanthis. At the end of the next year, I'll not be in doubt about where ahundred dollars have gone. "

It was but rarely, now, that you would hear the name of Peytonmentioned. Before, everybody said he was a "fine, generous fellow;"everybody praised him. Now he seemed to be forgotten, or esteemed of noconsideration. He felt this; but he had started to accomplish a certainend, and he had sufficient strength of mind not to be driven from hiscourse. 

"Have you seen Peyton of late?" I asked, some two years after thischange in his habits. I spoke to one of his old intimate associates. 

"No, not for a month of Sundays, " was his lightly-spoken reply. "What aremarkable change has passed over him! Once, he used to be a fine, generous fellow--his heart was in his hand; but now he is as penuriousas a miser, and even more selfish: he will neither give nor take. Ifyou happen to be walking with him, and, after waiting as long asdecency will permit to be asked to step in somewhere for refreshments, you propose something, he meets you with--'No, I thank you, I am notdry, ' or hungry, as the case may be. It's downright savage, it is!"

"This is a specimen of the way in which the world estimates men, " saidI to myself, after separating from the individual who complained thusof Peyton. "The world is wonderfully impartial in its judgment of men'sconduct!"

At the end of five years from the time Peyton reformed his loosehabits, he had saved up and placed out at interest the sum of twothousand dollars; and this, after having sent to his mother, regularly, ten dollars every month during the whole period. The fact that he hadsaved so much was not suspected by any. It was supposed that he hadlaid up some money, but no one thought he had over four or five hundreddollars. 

"I wish you had about three thousand dollars, " said Merwin to him, oneday. Merwin's business had turned out well. In five years, he hadcleared over twenty thousand dollars. 

"Why?" asked Peyton. 

"I know a first-rate chance for you. "

"Indeed. Where?"

"There is a very good business that has been fairly established, and isnow languishing for want of a little capital. The man who has made itwill take a partner if he can bring in three thousand dollars, whichwould make the whole concern easy, perfectly safe, and sure of success. "

"It's more than I have, " returned Peyton, in a voice that was slightlysad. 

"So I supposed, " Merwin said. 

"Although such needn't have been the case, if I had acted as wisely asyou through life. "

"It's never too late to mend our ways, you know. "

"True. But a year mis-spent, is a whole year lost. No matter how hardwe strive, we can never make it up. To the day of our death, there willbe one year deficient in the sum of life's account. "

"A just remark, no doubt. How much would every man save, if he wouldtake good care not only of his years, but of his weeks and days! Thesum of life is made up of small aggregations. "

"And so the sum of a man's fortune. A dollar mis-spent is a dollarlost, and never can be regained. You say that it will require threethousand dollars to admit a partner into the business of which you justspoke?"

"Yes. Nothing less will do. "

"I have but two thousand. "

"Have you so much, Peyton?" said Merwin, with a brightening face. 

"I have. "

"Right glad am I to hear it. I only wish that I could furnish you witha thousand more. But it is out of my power entirely. Our businessrequires the use of every dollar we have; and it would not be just tomy partner to draw out so large a sum for the purpose of assisting afriend in whom he can feel no interest. "

"No, of course not. I neither ask nor expect it. I will wait a littlelonger. Something else will offer. "

"But nothing so really advantageous as this. Let me see. I think Imight get you five hundred dollars, if you could borrow as much more. "

"That I cannot do. I never asked a favour of any one in my life. "

"Though you have dispensed thousands. "

"Foolishly perhaps. But no matter. I will wait. "

A week afterward, Peyton, who dismissed all thought of embracing theproposed offer of going in business, paid a visit to his mother. He hadnot seen her for a year. She was still cheerful, active, and retainedher usual good health. 

"I think it time you gave up this shop, mother, " said he to her. "Youare too old now to be working so closely. I've got something saved upfor a rainy day, in case any thing should go wrong with me for a time. You will give up this shop, won't you?"

"No, Henry; not yet. I am still able to help myself, and so long as Iam able, I wish to do it. If you have saved any thing, you had betterkeep it until an opportunity for going into business offers. "

"Such a chance has just presented itself. But I hadn't capital enough. "

"How much have you saved?"

"Two thousand dollars. "

"So much? How much is required?"

"Three thousand dollars. "

"And you have but two?"

"That is all--though a friend did offer to get me five hundred more. But twenty-five hundred is not sufficient. There must be threethousand. "

Mrs. Peyton made no reply. She sat a few minutes, and then arose andwent up-stairs. In about ten minutes she came down, and approaching herson, with a warm glow of pleasure upon her face, placed a small roll inhis hands, saying as she did so--

"There is all you need, my son. The money you sent me so regularly forthe last five years, I have kept untouched for some such moment asthis. I did not feel that I needed it. Take it back, and start fairlyin the world. In a few more years I may need rest, as life draws nearerto a close. Then I trust you will be in circumstances so good that Ineedn't feel myself a burden to you. "

"A burden? Dear mother! Do not speak of ever being a burden to me, "said the young man, embracing his parent with tearful emotion. "No--no, " and he pushed back her hand; "I cannot take that money. It isyours. I will not risk in business the little treasure you have savedup so carefully. I may not succeed. No--no!" and he still pushed backhis mother's hand--"it is of no use--I cannot--I _will_ not take it!"

The roll of money fell to the floor. 

"It is yours, Henry, not mine, " urged the mother. "I did not stand inneed of it. "

"Your son owed you much more than that. He was wrong that he did notdouble the amount to you, in order to make up for former years ofneglect. No--no--I tell you, mother, I cannot take your money. Nothingwould tempt me to do it. I will wait a little longer. Otheropportunities will soon offer. "

It was in vain that Mrs. Peyton urged her son, until her distress ofmind became so great that he was almost forced to receive the money shepushed upon him--although, in doing so, it was with the intention ofleaving it behind him when he returned to the city. But the deepsatisfaction evinced by his mother, on his consenting to take it, wasof a kind that he did not feel it would be right for him to do violenceto. When he did return to the city, he could not find it in his heartto leave the money, just six hundred dollars, on the table in thelittle room where he slept, as he had at first resolved to do. He tookit with him; but with the intention of investing it for her in somesafe security. 

When he again met Merwin, he was urged so strongly to make an effort toraise the capital requisite to become a partner in the business thathad been named to him, that after some severe struggles with himself, he at last consented to use the money he had brought home with him. Hisfriend loaned him four hundred dollars to make up the required sum. 

The business succeeded beyond his expectations. In a few years he wasable to marry, and live in a very comfortable style. He would hear noneof the objections urged by his mother against living with him, but shutup her shop in spite of her remonstrances, and brought her to the city. No one who saw her during the remaining ten years of her life wouldhave called her unhappy. 

I know Peyton still. He is not now, by general reputation, "a fine, generous fellow. " But he is a good citizen, a good husband, and a goodfather; and was a good son while his mother lived with him. He has wonthe means of really benefiting others, and few are more willing than heis to do it, when it can be done in the right way. He is "generous"still--but wisely so. 

TAKING IT FOR GRANTED. 

MR. EVERTON was the editor and publisher of the ---- Journal, and, liketoo many occupying his position, was not on the best terms in the worldwith certain of his contemporaries of the same city. One morning, onopening the paper from a rival office, he found an article therein, which appeared as a communication, that pointed to him so directly asto leave no room for mistake as to the allusions that were made. 

Of course, Mr. Everton was considerably disturbed by the occurrence, and thoughts of retaliation arose in his mind. The style was not thatof the editor, and so, though he felt incensed at that personage foradmitting the article, he went beyond him, and cast about in his mindfor some clue that would enable him to identify the writer. In this hedid not long find himself at a loss. He had a man in his employment whopossessed all the ability necessary to write the article, and uponwhom, for certain reasons, he soon fixed the origin of the attack. 

"Have you seen that article in the Gazette?" asked an acquaintance, whocame into Everton's office while he sat with the paper referred tostill in his hand. 

"I have, " replied Everton, compressing his lips. 

"Well, what do you think of it?"

"It'll do no harm, of course; but that doesn't touch the malice of thewriter. "

"No. "

"Nor make him any the less base at heart. "

"Do you know the author?"

"I believe so. "

"Who is he?"

"My impression is, that Ayres wrote it. "

"Ayres?"

"Yes. "

"Why, he is indebted to you for his bread!"

"I know he is, and that makes his act one of deeper baseness. "

"What could have induced him to be guilty of such a thing?"

"That's just what I've been trying to study out, and I believe Iunderstand it all fully. Some six months ago, he asked me to sign arecommendation for his appointment to a vacant clerkship in one of ourbanks. I told him that I would do so with pleasure, only that my nephewwas an applicant, and I had already given him my name. He didn't appearto like this, which I thought very unreasonable, to say the least ofit. "

"Why, the man must be insane! How could he expect you to sign theapplication of two men for the same place? Especially, how could heexpect you to give him a preference over your own nephew?"

"Some men are strangely unreasonable. "

"We don't live long in this world ere becoming cognisant of that fact. "

"And for this he has held a grudge against you, and now takes occasionto revenge himself. "

"So it would seem. I know of nothing else that he can have against me. I have uniformly treated him with kindness and consideration. "

"There must be something radically base in his character. "

"I'm afraid there is. "

"I wouldn't have such a man in my employment. "

Everton shrugged his shoulders and elevated his eyebrows, but saidnothing. 

"A man who attempts thus to injure you in your business by falserepresentations, will not hesitate to wrong you in other ways, " saidthe acquaintance. 

"A very natural inference, " replied Everton. "I'm sorry to have tothink so badly of Ayres; but, as you say, a man who would, in so base amanner, attack another, would not hesitate to do him an injury if agood opportunity offered. "

"And it's well for you to think of that. "

"True. However, I do not see that he has much chance to do me anill-turn where he is. So far, I must do him the justice to say that heis faithful in the discharge of all his duties. "

"He knows that his situation depends upon this. "

"Of course. His own interest prompts him to do right here; but when anopportunity to stab me in the dark offers, he embraces it. He did not, probably, imagine that I would see the hand that held the dagger. "

"No. "

"But I am not so blind as he imagined. Well, such work must not bepermitted to go unpunished. "

"It ought not to be. When a man indulges his ill-nature towards oneindividual with entire impunity, he soon gains courage for extendedattacks, and others become sharers in the result of his vindictiveness. It is a duty that a man owes the community to let all who maliciouslywrong him feel the consequences due to their acts. "

"No doubt you are right; and, if I keep my present mind, I shall let myparticular friend Mr. Ayres feel that it is not always safe to stabeven in the dark. "

The more Mr. Everton thought over the matter, the more fully satisfiedwas he that Ayres had made the attack upon him. This person was engagedas reporter and assistant editor of his newspaper, at a salary of tendollars a week. He had a family, consisting of a wife and fourchildren, the expense of whose maintenance rather exceeded than camewithin his income, and small accumulations of debt were a naturalresult. 

Everton had felt some interest in this man, who possessed considerableability as a writer; he saw that he had a heavy weight upon him, andoften noticed that he looked anxious and dejected. On the very dayprevious to the appearance of the article above referred to, he hadbeen thinking of him with more than usual interest, and had actuallymeditated an increase of salary as a compensation for more extendedservices. But that was out of the question now. The wanton andinjurious attack which had just appeared shut up all his bowels ofcompassion, and so far from meditating the conferring of a benefit uponAyres, he rather inclined to a dismissal of the young man from hisestablishment. The longer he dwelt upon it, the more inclined was he topursue this course, and, finally, he made up his mind to take some oneelse in his place. One day, after some struggles with himself, he said, "Mr. Ayres, if you can suit yourself in a place, I wish you would do soin the course of the next week or two. "

The young man looked surprised, and the blood instantly suffused hisface. 

"Have I not given you satisfaction?" inquired Ayres. 

"Yes--yes--I have no fault to find with you, " replied Mr. Everton, withsome embarrassment in his air. "But I wish to bring in another personwho has some claims on me. "

In this, Mr. Everton rather exceeded the truth. His equivocation wasnot manly, and Ayres was deceived by it into the inference of a reasonfor his dismissal foreign to the true one. 

"Oh, very well, " he replied, coldly. "If you wish another to take myplace, I will give it up immediately. "

Mr. Everton bowed with a formal air, and the young man, who felt hurtat his manner, and partly stunned by the unexpected announcement thathe must give up his situation, retired at once. 

On the next day, the Gazette contained another article, in which therewas even a plainer reference to Mr. Everton than before, and itexhibited a bitterness of spirit that was vindictive. He was no longerin doubt as to the origin of these attacks, if he had been previously. In various parts of this last article, he could detect the particularstyle of Ayres. 

"I see that fellow is at work on you again, " said the person with whomhe had before conversed on the subject. 

"Yes; but, like the viper, I think he is by this time aware that he isbiting on a file. "

"Ah! Have you dismissed him from your service?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You have served him right. No man who attempted to injure me shouldeat my bread. What did he say?"

"Nothing. What could he say? When I told him to find himself anotherplace as quickly as possible, his guilt wrote itself in hiscountenance. "

"Has he obtained a situation?"

"I don't know; and, what is more, don't care. "

"I hope he has, for the sake of his family. It's a pity that theyshould suffer for his evil deeds. "

"I didn't think of them, or I might not have dismissed him; but it isdone now, and there the matter rests. "

And there Mr. Everton let it rest, so far as Ayres was concerned. Theindividual obtained in his place had been, for some years, connectedwith the press as news collector and paragraph writer. His name wasTompkins. He was not a general favourite, and had never been veryhighly regarded by Mr. Everton; but he must have some one to fill theplace made vacant by the removal of Ayres, and Tompkins was the mostavailable person to be had. There was a difference in the Journal afterTompkins took the place of assistant editor, and a very perceptibledifference; it was not for the better. 

About three months after Mr. Everton had dismissed Ayres from hisestablishment, a gentleman said to him, "I am told that the young man who formerly assisted in your paper is invery destitute circumstances. "

"Ayres?"

"Yes. That is his name. "

"I am sorry to hear it. I wish him no ill; though he tried to do me allthe harm he could. "

"I am sorry to hear that. I always had a good opinion of him; and come, now, to see if I can't interest you in his favour. "

Everton shook his head. 

"I don't wish to have any thing to do with him. "

"It pains me to hear you speak so. What has he done to cause you tofeel so unkindly towards him?"

"He attacked me in another newspaper, wantonly, at the very time he wasemployed in my office. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, and in a way to do me a serious injury. "

"That is bad. Where did the attack appear?"

"In the Gazette. "

"Did you trace it to him?"

"Yes; or, rather, it bore internal evidence that enabled me to fix itupon him unequivocally. "

"Did you charge it upon him?"

"No. I wished to have no quarrel with him, although he evidently triedto get up one with me. I settled the matter by notifying him to leavemy employment. "

"You are certain that he wrote the article?"

"Oh, yes; positive. "

And yet the very pertinence of the question threw a doubt into the mindof Mr. Everton. 

The gentleman with whom he was conversing on retiring went to theoffice of the Gazette, with the editor of which he was well acquainted. 

"Do you remember, " said he, "an attack on Mr. Everton, which, some timeago, appeared in your paper?"

The editor reflected a few moments, and then replied:

"A few months since, two or three articles were published in theGazette that did refer to Everton in not a very kind manner. "

"Do you know the author?"

"Yes. "

"Have you any reasons for wishing to conceal his name?"

"None at all. They were written by a young man who was then in myoffice, named Tompkins. "

"You are certain of this?"

"I am certain that he brought them to me in his own manuscript. "

"Everton suspected a man named Ayres to be the author. "

"His assistant editor at the time?"

"Yes; and what is more, discharged him from his employment on thestrength of this suspicion. "

"What injustice! Ayres is as innocent as you are. "

"I am glad to hear it. The consequences to the poor man have been verysad. He has had no regular employment since, and his family are nowsuffering for even the common necessaries of life. "

"That is very bad. Why didn't he deny the charge when it was madeagainst him?"

"He was never accused. Everton took it for granted that he was guilty, and acted from this erroneous conclusion. "

"What a commentary upon hasty judgments! Has he no employment now?"

"None. "

"Then I will give him a situation. I know him to be competent for theplace I wish filled; and I believe he will be faithful. "

Here the interview ceased, and the gentleman who had taken the pains tosift out the truth returned to Everton's office. 

"Well, " said he, on entering, "I believe I have got to the bottom ofthis matter. "

"What matter?" asked Everton, looking slightly surprised. 

"The matter of Ayres's supposed attack upon you. "

"Why do you say supposed?"

"Because it was only supposed. Ayres didn't write the article of whichyou complain. "

"How do you know?"

"I've seen the editor of the Gazette. "

"Did he say that Ayres was not the author?"

"He did. "

"Who wrote it then?"

"A man named Tompkins, who was at the time employed in his office. "

Everton sprang from his chair as if he had been stung. 

"Tompkins!" he exclaimed. 

"So he says. "

"Can it be possible! And I have the viper in my employment. "

"You have?"

"Yes; he has filled the place of Ayres nearly ever since the latter wasdismissed from my office. "

"Then you have punished the innocent and rewarded the guilty. "

"So much for taking a thing for granted, " said Everton, as he moved, restlessly, about the floor of his office. 

So soon as the editor of the ---- Journal was alone, he sent forTompkins, who was in another part of the building. As the young manentered his office, he said to him, in a sharp, abrupt manner, --

"Do you remember certain articles against me that appeared in theGazette a few months ago?"

The young man, whose face became instantly red as scarlet, stammeredout that he did remember them. 

"And you wrote them?"

"Ye--ye--yes; bu--but I have regretted it since, very much. "

"You can put on your hat and leave my employment as quickly as youplease, " said Mr. Everton, angrily. He had little control of himself, and generally acted from the spur of the occasion. 

Tompkins, thus severely punished for going out of the way to attack aman against whom he entertained a private grudge, beat a hasty retreat, and left Mr. Everton in no very comfortable frame of mind. 

On being so unceremoniously dismissed from employment, Mr. Ayres, whowas by nature morbidly sensitive, shrank into himself, and experienceda most painful feeling of helplessness. He was not of a cheerful, confident, hopeful disposition. He could not face the world, and battlefor his place in it, like many other men. A little thing discouragedhim. To be thrust out of his place so unceremoniously--to be turned offfor another, stung him deeply. But the worst of all was, the supply ofbread for his family was cut off, and no other resource was before him. 

From that time, for three months, his earnings never went above theweekly average of five dollars; and he hardly knew on one day where hewas to obtain employment for the next. His wife, though in poor health, was obliged to dispense with all assistance, and perform, with her ownhands, the entire work of the family. This wore her down daily, andAyres saw her face growing thinner, and her step becoming more feeble, without the power to lighten her burdens. 

Thus it went on from week to week. Sometimes, the unhappy man wouldgrow desperate, and, under this feeling, force himself to makeapplications--to him humiliating--for employment at a faircompensation. But he was always unsuccessful. 

Sickness at last smote the frame of his wife. She had borne up as longas strength remained, but the weight was too heavy, and she sank underit. 

Sickness and utter destitution came together. Ayres had not been ableto get any thing at all to do for several days, and money and food wereboth exhausted. A neighbour, hearing of this, had sent in a basket ofprovisions. But Ayres could not touch it. His sensitive pride ofindependence was not wholly extinguished. The children ate, and heblessed the hand of the giver for their sakes; yet, even while he didso, a feeling of weakness and humiliation brought tears to his eyes. His spirits were broken, and he folded his arms in impotent despair. While sitting wrapt in the gloomiest feelings, there came a knock athis door. One of the children opened it, and a lad came in with a notein his hand. On breaking the seal, he found it to be from the publisherof the Gazette, who offered him a permanent situation at twelve dollarsa week. So overcome was he by such unexpected good fortune, that hewith difficulty controlled his feelings before the messenger. Handingthe note to his wife, who was lying on the bed, he turned to a tableand wrote a hasty answer, accepting the place, and stating that hewould be down in the course of an hour. As the boy departed, he lookedtowards his wife. She had turned her face to the wall, and was weepingviolently. 

"It was very dark, Jane, " said Ayres, as he took her hand, bending overher at the same time and kissing her forehead, "very dark; but thelight is breaking. "

Scarcely had the boy departed, when a heavy rap at the door disturbedthe inmates of that humble dwelling. 

"Mr. Everton!" exclaimed Ayres in surprise, as he opened the door. 

"I want you to come back to my office, " said the visitor, speaking in aslightly agitated voice. "I never ought to have parted with you. But tomake some amends, your wages shall be twelve dollars a week. And here, "handing out some money as he spoke, "is your pay for a month inadvance. "

"I thank you for the offer, Mr. Everton, " replied the young man, "butthe publisher of the Gazette has already tendered me a situation, and Ihave accepted it. "

The countenance of Mr. Everton fell. 

"When did this occur?" he inquired. 

"His messenger has been gone only a moment. "

Mr. Everton stood for a few seconds irresolute, while his eyes took inthe images of distress and destitution apparent on every hand. Hisfeelings no one need envy. If his thoughts had been uttered at thetime, his words would have been, "This is the work of my hands!" Hestill held out the money, but Ayres did not touch it. 

"What does he offer you?" he at length asked. 

"Twelve dollars a week, " was replied. 

"I will make it fifteen. "

"I thank you, " said Ayres, in answer to this, "but my word is passed, and I cannot recall it. "

"Then take this as a loan, and repay me when you can. "

Saying this, Everton tossed a small roll of bank bills upon the floor, at the feet of the young man, adding as he did so--"And if you are everin want of a situation, come to me. "

He then hurriedly retired, with what feelings the reader may imagine. 

The reason for this suddenly awakened interest on the part of Mr. Everton, Ayres did not know until he entered the service of his newemployer. He had the magnanimity to forgive him, notwithstanding all hehad suffered; and he is now back again in his service on a more liberalsalary than he ever before enjoyed. 

Mr. Everton is now exceedingly careful how he takes any thing forgranted. 

LOVE AND LAW. 

LLOYD TOMLINSON was a Virginia gentleman of the old school, and heldhigh notions on the kindred subjects of social rank and familydistinctions. His ancestors were connected with English families ofsome renown, and had figured in history as Cavaliers, during thetroublesome times of Charles I. Portraits of the most noted of thesewere hung upon the walls in Mr. Tomlinson's fine old mansion, and itwas with pride that he often referred to them and related the story ofeach. But such stories were generally wound up by an expression ofregret for the sad deteriorations that were going on in this country. 

"A man like that, " he would sometimes say, pointing to the picture of astern old Cavalier, "is rarely, if ever, met with, and in a littlewhile there will be no living representative of such--at least not inAmerica, where all social distinctions are rapidly disappearing. Infact, we have scarcely any thing left, even now, but the shadow of atrue aristocracy, and that is only to be found in Virginia. At theNorth, mere wealth makes a man a gentleman; and this new invention ofthese degenerate times is fast being adopted even here in the 'OldDominion. ' But it won't do--unless a man is born and bred a gentleman, he never can become one. "

It was no use to argue with the rigid old Virginian about thearistocracy of virtue, or the aristocracy of mind; he scouted at theidea, and reiterated, with added emphasis, that only he who was born ofgentle blood could be a gentleman. 

The family of Mr. Tomlinson, which had consisted of his wife, two sons, and two daughters, was, at the time our story opens, composed of onlytwo members, himself and his youngest child, Edith, now in hernineteenth year. Death had taken all but one. 

Edith, though born and bred a lady, her father observed, with pain, didnot set a high value upon the distinction, and at last actually refusedto receive the addresses of a young man who came of pure old Englishblood, and was a thorough gentleman in the eyes of Mr. Tomlinson, because she liked neither his principles, habits, nor generalcharacter, while she looked with favour upon the advances of a youngattorney, named Denton, whose father, a small farmer in Essex county, had nothing higher than honesty and manly independence of which toboast. 

The young gentleman of pure blood was named Allison. He was the lastrepresentative of an old family, and had come into possession, onattaining his majority, of a large landed estate immediately adjoiningthat owned by Mr. Tomlinson. The refusal of Edith to receive hisaddresses aroused in him an unhappy spirit, which he cherished until itinspired him with thoughts of retaliation. The means were in his hands. There existed an old, but not legally adjusted question, about thetitle to a thousand acres of land lying between the estates of Mr. Tomlinson and Mr. Allison, which had, more than fifty years before, been settled by the principal parties thereto on the basis of a fairdivision, without the delay, vexation, expense, and bitterness of aprolonged lawsuit. By this division, the father of Mr. Tomlinsonretained possession of five hundred acres, and the grandfather of Mr. Allison of the other five hundred. The former had greatly improved theportion into the full possession of which he had come, as it was by farthe most beautiful and fertile part of his estate. His old residencewas torn down, and a splendid mansion erected on a commanding eminencewithin the limits of this old disputed land, at a cost of nearly eightythousand dollars, and the whole of the five hundred acres graduallybrought into a high state of cultivation. To meet the heavy outlay forall this, other and less desirable portions of the estate were sold, until, finally, only about three hundred acres of the originalTomlinson property remained. 

Mr. Lloyd Tomlinson, as he advanced in years, and felt the paralyzingeffects of the severe afflictions he had suffered, lost much of theenergy he had possessed in his younger days. There was a gradualdiminution in the number of hogsheads of tobacco and bushels of cornand wheat that went into Richmond from his plantation annually; andthere was also a steady decrease in the slave population with which hewas immediately surrounded. From a hundred and fifty, his slaves haddecreased, until he only owned thirty, and with them did little morethan make his yearly expenses. Field after field had been abandoned, and left to a fertile undergrowth of pines or scrubby oaks, until therewere few signs of cultivation, except within the limits of two or threehundred acres of the rich lands contiguous to his dwelling. 

Henry Denton, the young attorney to whom allusion has been made, hadbecome deeply enamoured with Edith Tomlinson, who was often met by himin her unaristocratic intercourse with several excellent and highlyintelligent families in the neighbourhood. To see her, was for him tolove her; but the pride of her father was too well known by him toleave much room for hope that the issue of his passion would besuccessful, even if so fortunate as to win the heart of the maiden. Hewas inspired with courage, however, by the evident favour with whichshe regarded him, and even tempted to address her in language that nowoman's ear could mistake--the language of love. Edith listened with aheart full of hope and fear. She had great respect for the character ofDenton, which she saw was based upon virtuous principles; and thisrespect easily changed into love that was true and fervent; but sheknew too well her father's deeply-rooted prejudices in favour of rankand family, to hope that the current of her love would run smooth. Thisproved to be no idle fear. When Henry Denton ventured to approach Mr. Tomlinson on the subject of his love for Edith, the old gentlemanreceived him with great discourtesy. 

"Who are you, sir?" he asked, drawing himself proudly up. 

"I hardly think you need ask that question, " the young man replied. "Iam not an entire stranger to you, nor unknown in your neighbourhood. "

"But who are you, sir? That is what I ask to know. Who is your father?"

"An honest man, sir. " The young man spoke with firmness and dignity. 

"Humph! there are plenty of them about. I could marry my daughter to anhonest man any day I liked. Old Cato, my coachman, is an honest man;but that is no reason why I should let his son Sam marry Edith. No, myyoung friend, you cannot connect yourself with my family; be contentwith the daughter of some honest man like your father. "

But the lover was not to be driven off by even such a rude repulse. Hetried to argue his case, but Mr. Tomlinson cut the matter short bystarting from his seat in great discomposure of mind, and pointing witha trembling hand to a grim picture on the wall, while he thus addressedthe young man:--

"That, sir, is the portrait of Sir Edgar Tomlinson, who, by interposinghis body between the spear of a Roundhead and his royal master, savedhis life at the imminent risk of his own, for which gallant deed he wasknighted, and afterwards presented, by royal hands, with a noble bride. When you have done as great a deed, young man, you will be worthy toclaim the hand of my daughter--not before!"

Saying this, the excited father turned away and strode from the room, leaving Denton in dismay at the quick and hopeless termination of hisconference. 

On the next day, the young attorney, who was known to possess finetalents, acuteness, and extensive legal knowledge, was waited upon byMr. Allison. 

"I wish your services, Mr. Denton, " said he, "in a suit of greatimportance that I am about commencing. Here is your retainingfee, "--and he laid upon the table of the lawyer a check for two hundreddollars. "If you gain me my cause, your entire fee will be fivethousand dollars. "

Allison then went on to state, that Mr. Tomlinson's claim to the fivehundred acres next adjoining his (Allison's) plantation, and upon whichhis mansion stood, was a very doubtful one. That it, in fact, belongedto the Allison estate, and he was going to have the question ofrightful ownership fully tested. He furnished the young attorney withdocuments, data, and every thing required for commencing the suit. Denton asked a week for an examination of the whole matter. At the endof this time, Allison again waited on him. 

"Well, sir, what do you think of my case?" he said. 

"I think it a doubtful one, " was replied. "Still, it is possible youmight gain it, as there are one or two strong points in your favour. "

"I have not the least doubt of it. At any rate, I am going to give thematter a fair trial. Five hundred acres of such land are worth aneffort to gain. "

"But you must not forget that, as you will open the question ofownership on the whole tract of one thousand acres, you run the risk oflosing the half of which you are now in possession. "

"I'm willing to run the risk of losing five hundred acres ofuncultivated land in the effort to acquire possession of as large aquantity in a high state of improvement, " returned the uncompromisinggentleman 'born and bred. ' "So you will forthwith make a beginning inthe matter. "

The young attorney was grave and silent for some time. Then opening adrawer, he took out the check which had been given to him as aretaining fee, and handing it to Allison, said--"I believe, sir, I mustdecline this case. "

"Why so?" quickly asked the young man, a deep flush passing over hisbrow. 

"I do it from principle, " was replied. "I find, on examining the wholematter, that your grandfather and the father of Mr. Tomlinson, while inpossession of their respective estates, in view of the difficulty therewas in settling the precise title of the tract of land, agreed to anequal division of it, which was done in honour and good faith, and I donot think their heirs, on either side, have any right to disturb thearrangement then made. "

"I did not ask you to judge the case, but to present it for judgment, "said Allison, greatly offended. "You may, perhaps, be sorry for this. "

Another member of the bar, less scrupulous about the principlesinvolved in a case, readily undertook the matter; and as the fee, if heproved successful, was to be a large one, opened it immediately. 

When Mr. Tomlinson received notice of the fact that this long-settleddispute was again to be revived, he was thrown into a fever of alarmand indignation. The best counsel that could be employed was obtained, and his right to the whole thousand acres vigorously maintained. Aftera year of delays, occasioned by demurrers, allegations, and all sortsof legal hinderances, made and provided for the vexation of clients, the question came fairly before the court, where it was most ablyargued on both sides for some days. When the decision at length came, it was adverse to Mr. Tomlinson. 

An appeal was entered, and preparations made for a more vigorouscontest in a higher court. Here the matter remained for over a year, when the decision of the first tribunal was confirmed. 

Two years of litigation had made sad work with old Mr. Tomlinson; helooked at least ten years older. The same signs of decay appeared inevery thing around him; his fields remained uncultivated, the fenceswere broken down, and cattle strayed where once were acres of grain orother rich products. Slaves and stock had been sold to meet the heavyexpenses to which this suit had subjected him, and every thing seemedfast tending towards ruin. Once or twice during the period, Dentonagain approached him on the subject of Edith, but the proud oldaristocrat threw him off even more impatiently than at first. 

Edith, too, had changed during this time of trouble; she was rarelyseen abroad, and received but few visitors at home. No one saw hersmile, unless when her father was present; and then her manner wascheerful, though subdued. It was clear that she was struggling againsther own feelings, in the effort to sustain his. Her father had extortedfrom her a promise never to marry without his consent; this settled thematter for the time between her and Denton, although both remainedfaithful to each other; they had not met for over a year. 

Meantime the cause was carried up still higher, where it remained fortwo years longer, and then another adverse decision was made. Mr. Tomlinson was in despair; what with court charges, counsel fees, andloss from the diminished productions of his farm, he had sunk in thelast four years over fifteen thousand dollars, a portion of which hadbeen raised by mortgage on that part of his estate to which he had anundisputed title, almost equal to the full value of the land. 

To the Supreme Court the matter came at last, but the old man had butlittle hope. In three courts, after a long and patient hearing, thedecision had been against him; if it should again be adverse, he wouldbe totally ruined. As it was, so greatly had his means become reduced, that it was with difficulty he could raise sufficient money to pay offthe heavy expenses of the last court. The fees of his two attorneyswere yet unsettled, and he feared, greatly, that he should not be ableto induce more than one of them to attend at the Supreme Court. On theother side, money was expended freely, and the most energetic counselthat money could command enlisted. The fact was, the principal reasonwhy Mr. Tomlinson had failed in each of the three trials that hadalready taken place lay in the superior tact, activity, and ability ofthe adverse counsel. 

The anxiously looked-for period at length came, and Mr. Tomlinson madepreparations for leaving home to meet the final issue, after nearlyfive years of most cruel litigation. 

"Dear father!" said Edith, as they were about to separate. She spokewith forced calmness, while a faint smile of encouragement played abouther lips; her voice was low and tender. "Dear father, do not let thismatter press too heavily upon you; I have a hope that all will come outright. I do not know why, but I feel as if this dreadful blow will notbe permitted to fall. Be calm, be brave, dear father! even the worstcan be borne. "

The maiden's voice began to quiver, even while she uttered hopefulwords. Mr. Tomlinson, whose own heart was full, bent down and kissedher hurriedly. When she looked up, he was gone. How fast the tearsflowed, as she stood alone on the spot where they had just parted!

A few hours after the father had left, a gentleman called and asked tosee Edith. On entering the room where he had been shown by the servant, she found a young man whose countenance she had never seen before. Hemade known his business after a few embarrassing preliminaries, whichproved to be an overture of peace from Allison, if she would accept theoffer of marriage he had made her five years previously. After hearingthe young man patiently through, Edith replied, in a firm voice--"TellMr. Allison that there is no evil in this world or the next that Iwould consider greater than a marriage with him. "

He attempted to urge some considerations upon her, but she raised herhand, and said, in a tone of decision, "You have my answer, sir; takeit to your principal. "

The young man bowed, and withdrew in silence. He felt awed beneath thesteady eye, calm face, and resolute voice of the maiden, crushed almostto the earth as she was. 

When Mr. Tomlinson arrived at the capital, he found neither of hiscounsel there, although the case was expected to be reached on thesucceeding day. On the next morning he received a note from one ofthem, which stated that illness would prevent his attending. The otherattorney was prepared to go on with the case, but he was by far theweakest of the two. 

On the opposite side there was the strongest possible array, both as tonumber and talents. Mr. Tomlinson felt that his case was hopeless. Onthe first day the prosecution argued their case with great ability. Onthe second day, the claims of Mr. Tomlinson were presented, with evenless point and tact than before; it was clear that the advocate eitherconsidered the case a bad one, or had lost all interest in it. Theother side followed with increased confidence, and, it was plain, madea strong impression upon the court. A feeble rejoinder was given tothis, but it produced little or no effect. 

Just at this crisis, an individual, not before particularly noticed byMr. Tomlinson, arose and addressed the court. His opening remarksshowed him to be familiar with the whole subject, and his tone andmanner exhibited a marked degree of confidence. It was soon apparentwhich side of the case he had taken; if by nothing else, by the frownthat settled upon the brow of Allison. He was a young man, tall andwell made, with a strong, clear voice, and a fine command of language. The position in which he stood concealed so much of his face from Mr. Tomlinson, that the latter could not make out whether it was one withwhich he was familiar or not. The voice he had heard before. 

The volunteer advocate, after having occupied the court for an hour, during which time he had shown a most minute and accurate knowledge ofthe matter in dispute, gave the whole question a new aspect. During thesecond hour that his argument was continued, in which precedent afterprecedent, not before introduced, were brought forward, bearing adirect application to the case under review, the court exhibited themost marked attention. When he concluded, all present saw hope for theold Virginian. 

This new and unexpected champion in the cause aroused the counsel ofAllison to another and more determined effort; but he tore theirarguments into ribands, and set off their authorities with anoverwhelming array of decisions directly in the teeth of those theyintroduced bearing upon their side of the question. It was wonderful toobserve his perfect familiarity with the whole matter in dispute, thelaw bearing upon it, and the decisions of courts in this country andEngland, that could in any way throw light upon it, far outstrippingthe learned advocates on both sides, who had been at work upon the casefor five years. 

During the time this brilliant champion was fighting his battle for himin the last defensible position he could ever obtain, Mr. Tomlinsonremained as if fixed to the spot where he was sitting, yet with hismind entirely active. He saw, he felt that there was hope for him; thatthis heaven-sent advocate, whoever he was, would save him from ruin. Atlast the case closed, and the court announced that its decision wouldbe given in the morning. 

"Who is he?" Mr. Tomlinson heard some one ask of his persecutor, as theyoung man closed his last and most brilliant effort. 

With an imprecation uttered between his teeth, he replied, "One thatrefused to take my side, although I offered him a fee of five thousanddollars if successful. "

"What is his name?"

"Denton. "

"Pity you couldn't have secured him. "

Mr. Tomlinson heard no more. He turned his eyes upon the young man hehad three times rudely repulsed, but he could not see his face; he wasbending over and arranging some papers. The announcement of the court, in regard to the time when a decision was to be made, drew hisattention from him. When he again sought the young attorney, he wasgone. 

Nearly a week of most distressing suspense was suffered by Edith. Everyday she heard from her father, but all was doubt and despondency, untilthere came a letter announcing the sudden appearance of a volunteeradvocate, who had changed the whole aspect of affairs, and created themost lively hopes of success. Who he was, the letter did not say. 

During the morning that succeeded the one on which this letter wasreceived, Edith wandered about the house like a restless spirit. Thedecision had been made on the day previous, and in a few hours herfather would be home. What intelligence would he bring? Whenever sheasked herself that question, her heart trembled. Twenty times had shebeen to the highest windows in the house to look far away where theroad wound down a distant hill, to see if the carriage were coming, although she knew two hours must elapse before her father couldpossibly arrive. 

At last the long and anxiously looked-for object came in sight, windingalong the road far in the distance. Soon it passed from view, and shewaited breathlessly, until it should appear at a nearer point. Again itmet her eyes, and again disappeared. At last it reached the long avenueof poplars that lined the carriage-way leading up to the house; thehorses were coming at a rapid speed. Edith could not breathe in therooms--the atmosphere was oppressive. She went into the porch, and, leaning against or rather clinging to one of the pillars, stood almostgasping for breath. The suspense she suffered was awful; but certaintysoon came. The carriage whirled rapidly into its position before thedoor, and Mr. Tomlinson sprang from it as agile as a boy. He had merelytime to say--

"All is safe!" when Edith sank into his arms, unable longer to stand. 

"And here is our noble champion, " he added, as another stood by hisside. 

Edith opened her eyes, that she had closed in the excess of joy; theface of her lover was near her. She looked up at him for a moment, andthen closed them again; but now the tears came stealing through hershut lids. 

The young lawyer had gained two suits in one. Three months afterwardsEdith was his bride, and the dowry was the five hundred acres of landfrom the estate of Allison, awarded to her father by the Supreme Court. 

THE END.