what is due them, and are always harassed for ready money. They are honorable fellows, and would not plead usury under circumstances the most aggravating. They make notes, and get a broker to sell them. This broker, understanding their antecedents, and who they are most intimate with, goes probably to some rich friend of the particular "party" wanting a loan, who is thoroughly acquainted with the " case," and who knows that the note will be paid when due, although at the sacrifice of putting a new one on the market, and getting it shaved elsewhere. So he cashes it at a fearful rate, puts the broker under an oath of secrecy not to reveal where he got the money, which oath it is for the broker's interest to keep, and our fashionable acquaintance is relieved. He hurries home in time for the opera or a dinner-out, and meeting several duns in the hall, he pays them off and sets about his evening's enjoyment.

There are others who, having secured an excellent government contract, either "general," "state," or "corporation," need friends to help them through with it. They can afford to pay well and they do pay well for cash accommodations. In fact the street is full of persons about to realize, who want money a little in advance of the period, and who are ready to pay a large bonus for it. The result is, they do all the work, and the money-lender gets nearly all the profits. Sometimes this latter personage mistakes his investment and makes a loss. But he can well afford it. And he never quarrels with the man who has been so unfortunate as to "let him in." He knows he can't do without such people, so he nurses them along when it is necessary. He treats them with as much care as a planter treats

a valuable negro who has been taken ill, and for precisely the same reason.

Among those who habitually want money are builders with little capital, who, having taken a contract, find they must raise more cash than they anticipated to go through with it. When their necessities are discovered, they have to bleed freely. Often the capitalist who has engaged these men to erect a row of buildings for him is the very person to shave their notes, at the rate of four per cent. a month, or cash their checks, dated a few days ahead, at the moderate charge of cent. per cent. Very safe operation this, since the money has already been laid out by the builder, though perhaps not quite due under the contract, or it may be it is withheld through some quibble, in order to make these very operations. Now, reader, you must understand that such delicate little matters are managed through the intervention of third parties. The builder, foolish man, fancies he is keeping up his credit because he meets his obligations at such fearful sacrifice.* He does not wish the wealthy proprietor to know how hard-up he is, for fear he may not think him reliable for another contract. So he employs a broker, who takes care to be thoroughly posted in all his affairs, and who goes straight to the man, of all others, the poor builder wishes to avoid.

* I shall never forget with what gusto a wealthy acquaintance once pointed out to me a block of buildings he had just erected, remarking: "There is a row of what I call honest-built houses. Not a thing slighted, from cellar to roof. Drew the contract myself; one must build two or three times to learn how. I don't leave any loop-hole for extras. I tell you, the fellow who did that work lost a heap of money by it. I was afraid he would break down when he saw how it was going, materials rose so fast, but he stuck it out like a trump.

Yes, this rich man actually chuckled over the idea that an honest, high-minded mechanic had lost a couple of thousand dollars and a whole season besides, in manfully carrying out his agreement. "Honest-built houses" indeed!-c. E. P.

To this inferior class of paper belongs, as I have said, an inferior class of brokers. Men who are willing to wait on a set of supercilious, avaricious, mean creatures; to follow their suggestions; to run back and forward to carry out their plans of low cunning for getting high rates and triple security. I say who are "willing" to wait-rather who are forced to do so. For only a dire necessity compels such an allegiance.

I was disappointed in the kind of people these brokers proved to be. I had associated them with whatever was tricky and dishonest. I did them great injustice. While there are of course a good many unprincipled persons among them, the majority are simply unfortunate. Men who have been driven into this business by stress of weather. They are a poor, hard-working, and sympathizing set. For I know of no misery so despairing that it does not "love company," or which avoids association. And I believe the wretched slave of the nabob and usurer, griper and money-knave of Wall-street may hereafter find a place in the kingdom of heaven, when these latter miscreants are "thrust out." I can truly record that, with some special exceptions, which should only prove the rule, I was treated with more kindness and congeniality by the individuals just alluded to, than I had ever before experienced from any class. They are really sorry if you are in trouble; they exhibit genuine regret if you meet with a disappointment; and they will take pains to remove an obstacle from your path, whenever they can do so.

ABOUT this time Mrs. Hitchcock was taken sick and died. Soon after our first acquaintance, I procured for her the third story of a small house, quite near our own, which was occupied by a worthy family, who, desiring to economize, concluded to rent a part. This was easily arranged for housekeeping, and afforded the widow an agreeable home at a low price. She had an abundance of needle-work, and by close economy, mother and daughter managed to support themselves. Matilda was a constant visitor at our house. She was as unlike Alice as possible, and perhaps for that reason the two girls became attached to each other. It was not always easy to remain on intimate terms with her. She was so sensitive, and consequently so quick to take offence, so proud, so passionate, and at times so unreasonable, that I used to wonder how Alice managed to keep up the intimacy. On the other hand, she manifested so many noble and generous traits, she was so kind-hearted, so disinterested, so truthful, so affectionate, that she attached one to her in an extraordinary degree, despite her faults. Her character showed ever-varying phases of cloud and sunshine, of storm and pleasant weather. After all, such natures attract more powerfully than any other.

Of these two, if Matilda appeared to be the controlling

spirit, being the readier and more demonstrative, it was Alice's influence, after all, which led. Not through any contest or compétition, but by acquiescence of her companion as something natural, and as a matter of course. The result was, they became firm and devoted friends. Matilda was about three years the younger, yet she had an extraordinary maturity of mind and body. So that, really, the two appeared to be of the same age.

Matilda Hitchcock had one great fault, which it was impossible to correct, scarcely to modify. She would not submit to circumstances. On the contrary, she perpetually deplored and resisted what she called her miserable destiny.

"Why did GoD make me so?" she would exclaim; "why have I such a love for every thing rare and expensive, and such a disgust for whatever is common and coarse, when I was born in poverty, and when I am destined forever to suffer in poverty? I am fond of gayety. I love society. I should enjoy life in the world; my tastes are expensive; my ideas unsuited to my position; I cannot help it. I was made so, but why? Does it not seem unjust? You need not look shocked. I didn't make myself. I didn't make my tastes. I didn't make condition. I can't control my fate. I hate every thing and every body, and I wish I were dead!" Such was the occasional strain indulged in by this singular girl. Alice, shocked by expressions bordering, as she considered, on the blasphemous, would attempt to reply, to argue and explain. It was never of the least use. The dark hour, however, would presently pass, and not a trace of all this bitterness remain. It was sure to return, sometimes at brief intervals. For whenever Matilda went in

my