failure of Perleg, Jackson & Co. of London—news brought on last steamer—creditors pressing him.
"'What amount would tide you over this crisis?' asks Hiram Strosser, respectfully.
"'Seventy-five thousand dollars!'
"'Then, sir, you shall have it,' replied Hiram, and stepping to the desk he drew a check for the full amount."
Nor can I ever forget the stroke of poetic justice with which the anecdote concluded. Mr. Hawley of Milk Street was also embarrassed by the failure of Perleg, Jackson & Co., but, for want of a trustful friend in funds, was thrown into bankruptcy. Mr. Barton had the chastened pleasure of telling Mr. Hawley about Hiram's loan, and of reminding him that he had neglected a fair opportunity to become a co-benefactor of that upright and open-handed youth; whereupon the ruined Hawley—deservedly ruined, the tale implied—"moved on, dejected and sad, while Mr. Barton returned to his establishment cheered and animated."
The gross, the immoral romanticism of this tale was not then, of course, apparent to me. Children are so defenceless! Child that I was, I believed it would be entirely practicable for a lad in his teens to borrow two thousand dollars from a Boston merchant, by reminding him that the boy is not the man. So readily is the young mind poisoned. During the latter part of the lesson, between looks stolen fearfully at her profile, I was mentally engaged in bor-
