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have promised payment and failed, either as to time or sum. And his word, when once given, was sacred in that respect, as he considered it an evidence either of a weak or a wicked mind to promise when there was not an ability or a good prospect of performance."* In personal appearance the baronet is said to have been of middle stature, erect and commanding. His dress was usually in the expensive style of those days, of scarlet cloth, trimmed with gold lace. It is a homely tradition, that whatever he willed was done. None thought it wise to dispute his wishes. He was affable, frank, kind, sincere, an affectionate husband, and a tender parent. His religious character we have already noted, and his minister informs us that the last petition which he desired to be put up for him was, that he might have an open and abundant entrance administered to him into the everlasting kingdom of Christ. So died "the mighty man, the man of war, the judge, the president, and the ancient, the honorable man and the counsellor."

ART. VIII-LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF MERCANTILE LIFE.

II. A GLIMPSE OF BANKRUPTCY.t

Why, who cries out on pride?

Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,

Till that the very, very means do ebb ?"

AS YOU LIKE IT.

THE clerk retraced his way to his humble home a much happier man than when he had left it an hour before. He felt happy in the consciousness of having successfully discharged a duty, the performance of which, in anticipation at least, had been attended with no little unpleasantness. We trust that none of our readers will accuse him of old-fashioned fastidiousness, when we tell them that his feelings had all along strongly recoiled from the task he had undertaken. Not that he thought again for one moment of his own sacrifice in the business, for his mind was no sooner made up, than he forgot self, and looked forward only to his resolution and his duty. His anxiety was of a different nature. Praiseworthy and virtuous as his object was, its accomplishment seemed to demand that he should outstep, in appearance at least, those bounds which habit, position, and respect had always maintained between his principal and himself. Might not the honest pride of the merchant be wounded by the proposal, involving as it did the possible loss of the little fortune which his own confidence and generous policy had enabled his clerk to amass? Or even if Mr. Ockham should judge differently concerning the hazard of the investment, might not his own awkwardness in making the proposal wound the feelings of one who was as sensitive as he was noble-hearted? These fears, however overstrained and unnecessary some may be disposed to esteem them, had embarrassed him during the whole of the interview,

Stevens' Funeral Sermon. A free use has been made of this sermon in the present sketch. The writer would also acknowledge his obligations to Belknap's valuable History of New Hampshire, Haliburton's Nova Scotia, and the collections of the Massachusetts and New Hampshire Historical Societies.

+ See Merchants' Magazine for February, 1842, vol. vi., No. 2, page 169.

until Mr. Ockham, unconscious of the true nature of his feelings, removed his anxiety by offering security. This offer, although he had more than half determined to refuse to avail himself of it, at once caused the delicate negotiation to assume somewhat the air of a business transaction. The relative position of the parties seemed to be maintained, and the embarrassment of the single-hearted clerk was over.

"A mortgage, indeed!" said he, as the tolling of the hour of nine induced him to quicken his pace-" Well, I never thought of security, but was heartily glad when Mr. Ockham mentioned it. Of course I shall never accept security from him, but it was awkward to speak of the loan as I did. It's over now, however”

The current of his thoughts was arrested by the sound of a familiar voice, and the tones of the speaker caused him to look round in some surprise. Two persons were approaching, but the shadow of an awning prevented him for a moment from discerning their features. A dreadful oath, in the same voice, sent a thrill of horror through his frame, and this was followed by vulgar and boisterous laughter. He advanced a few steps and turned again. A tall elegantly-dressed young man was approaching with an uncertain step, in noisy conversation with a person considerably older, and rather shabbily attired, whose air and language betokened any thing but respectability. The clerk quickened his step, as if he was desirous of avoiding the pain of an unwelcome recognition. But a recognition was not so easily avoided.

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'Hawkins, Bill Hawkins, as I'm alive!" shouted the young man in his ear, while a heavy blow upon the shoulder of the clerk bore witness to his physical manhood. "Roving, Hawkins? Bless us, man, it's nine o'clock. Where is Mrs. Hawkins and the little Hawkinses? Who's to sing lullaby now, William, eh?"

"Ha! ha! capital, Henry," shouted the respectable companion of this noisy young gentleman: "Placide is a fool to you-use him up, my hearty."

"Come, Hawkins," proceeded the other, very sensibly encouraged by this judicious approval of his leader, "show us your cheek, and don't be squeamish about showing that sly face at the bar."

Whatever might have been his conduct in other circumstances, under this insulting treatment, the clerk did not answer, for at that moment a broad glare of light from a drawing-room fell across their path. As if it had been a spectre, the clerk turned pale and grasped the arm of the young man, silently pointing to the window. The other looked up, made a desperate effort and steadied himself. That glance was enough. The laughter ceased. The two advanced swiftly to the corner of the street, and disappeared. Hawkins passed on with a slow step, and again cast a glance at the drawing-room window. A gentleman whose form was partially concealed by the folds of the rich curtain stood there gazing out upon the street, and yet apparently unconscious of ought that was transpiring before him. Hawkins shuddered at his look, for it was care-worn, haggard, almost wild. The cheek was pale and hollow, the lips strongly compressed, and the brow bent as if in intense and painful thought.

"Colonel Beers seems very unwell," soliloquized the clerk as he passed on. "Yet what wonder? so much excitement by day and such dissipation by night. It is enough to wear out a man of iron!"

And then there arose in his mind the image of his own quiet and happy

home. He thanked God, and pressed forward to gain the reality of a vision which was among the few such that are not dreams.

His benevolent sympathy with the supposed illness of Colonel Beers would have been greatly increased, perhaps, if he could have caught a glimpse of the splendid and apparently joyous scene within. There the beautiful, the fashionable, the voluptuous, were killing time midst music and smiles as gaily as if time were not a portion of eternity, as fruitlessly as if they had verily become the butterflies which they seemed. Joyous they were, seeing not or heeding not the black void infinite above them and beneath; for the god of this world has a charm wherewith to blind the eyes of his votaries, even when they are staggering on the verge of the abyss. The scene perhaps was joyous to all except the proud lord of the pageant, who stood shrouded by the curtains and looking out vacantly upon the night. Was he indeed ill? Alas! there is a sickness of the heart whose pangs can prostrate the strongest, for which there is no remedy, no solace but-in heaven. And Colonel Beers had never learned to seek for solace there.

A brilliant company was assembled in honor of the birth-day festival of the second daughter of Colonel Beers, a young lady just entering upon society, but already celebrated for her beauty and accomplishments. As to her wealth and prospects, the commercial metropolis needed no other voucher than the name of the merchant-noble whose daughter she was. Carriage after carriage continued to arrive, each with its contribution of splendor and fashion to swell the triumph of the evening.

The furniture of the saloon (for it is necessary to our moral that we glance at it) was altogether in a style of the most princely magnificence. Rich carpets vied in splendor with superb sofas, divans, and ottomans, glittering chandeliers and French pier-glasses. Yet the glitter was far from being a vulgar one, for evidences of taste were there. Several beautiful specimens of statuary were placed around the apartment, and the walls were hung with paintings of the Italian masters, mingled here and there with choice specimens of American genius. A piano of exquisite workmanship and finish occupied one of the richly curtained recesses, and a harp leaned against the divan. The centre-table was covered with books and engravings, and the silvery light from the chandeliers shed a rare cheerfulness and brilliancy within the apartment.

On a sofa, in the centre of the scene, sat, or rather reclined in the most graceful of attitudes, the empress of the festival, Miss Julia Middleton Beers, surrounded by the usual number of ambitious young gentlemen, her particular admirers. Fame had not exaggerated the charms of this young lady; she certainly was beautiful, and of an order of beauty as rare as it was enchanting. Her eye was soft, dark, lustrous, with good humor and innocence in its expression, with perhaps a subdued gleam of the pride which is never wholly absent from the heart of one that finds pleasure in the adulation of the gay world. The delicate brunette of her complexion was well relieved by the rich crimson upon her cheek, and the bright and girlish smile upon her lip. That smile too, bright and girlish as it was, had a dash of scorn, partly affected, but revealing something of character. Her hair simply parted upon a forehead decidedly intellectual in its cast, descended below her temples in a profusion of curls slightly confined by a band and brilliant, once the glory of Marquand.

At her side, and dividing her attention with wonderful skill among the various guests as they successively appeared or became stationary at her daughter's throne, sat the agreeable, worldly-minded Mrs. Beers. Her placid countenance, speaking eye, and clear unwrinkled brow, revealed nothing of the anxiety, the care, the suspense, that like fiends were tugging at her heart-strings. What painful mockery does the world some. times demand of its votaries! How surely do the worshippers of this Dagon become his victims! Fascinating indeed is the glittering whirlpool that rolls unceasingly around his shrine; but, alas for those who, having ventured in, are carried down to the black deeps beneath, when the indiarubber bag of fortune suddenly collapses!

Altogether in contrast with the beautiful daughter and the worldly. minded mother, thus presented to the reader, are two individuals whom it is also incumbent on us to notice for a moment amidst the throng which now almost fills the saloon. On a sofa at the right sits a young lady, upon whose plain but not unpleasing features we discern intelligence, sweetness of disposition, and womanly gentleness. She is engaged in apparently earnest conversation with a gentleman whose appearance and manners are characterized by a modest and quiet dignity not common in one so young. There is a shade of care upon her brow, and her eye is troubled at times as she steals a glance at the curtained recess of the window. That young lady is the eldest daughter of Colonel Beers, and her companion is the only son of Mr. Ockham, a young lawyer of some eminence and much promise.

The eye

of Emily Beers brightened as her father advanced from his position and approached the sofa which she occupied.

"I find these rooms oppressively warm, my dear," he observed as he took a seat by her side, and laid his hand upon hers.

"I feared you were ill, father," replied his daughter in a voice of peculiar sweetness, "and waited anxiously for your re-appearance."

"The heat overcame me," replied Colonel Beers, with a faint smile; " and, besides, I am far from feeling well."

The ingenuous and affectionate girl thought no more of the causes of the extreme paleness and former dejection of her father. There was yet an expression about his full, haughty eye which mere physical pain is not wont to bring on; but Emily either saw it not, or interpreted it as her father wished to have it interpreted. He arose, passed on, and was soon lost in the throng of his guests.

"I think you hardly do us justice, Mr. Ockham," said Emily, as if in reply to some previous remark of the young lawyer; "you must surely give our sex credit for some power of endurance for fortitude in suffering, if not for that active courage which we hardly need."

"Certainly," replied the lawyer; "my remark was â general one, and it is my own fault that you misunderstood me. I have recently become acquainted with instances that illustrate your remark most thoroughly and most nobly. Washington Irving's beautiful tale of The Wife,' can hardly be said to come up to your meaning, perhaps; but circumstances recently falling within my knowledge have convinced me how exquisitely true it is; indeed, Miss Beers, almost a portrait."

"One could almost wish, if it were not sinful," remarked the young lady, with a slight glow upon her cheek, "that such cases might occur oftener, for the sake of the example."

"Nay, Miss Beers," replied the other, "they are common enough, and some cases I assure you are very painful to such of our profession as have any heart left, who are brought in contact with them."

"To those whose sole trust, whose only happiness is placed in worldly fortune, such things must come very hard; but not so hard, Mr. Ockham, to those who have resources above the reach of fortune."

"But when the hour of trial comes"

"Nay, speak it out," she said, observing his hesitation; "you think that many who in their own fancied strength would not shrink, might be prostrated when the hour of trial comes. Doubtless it is so-but not, I think, not with those who have truly found the consolations of the gospel."

Charles Ockham was a religious man, and he knew the strength of the divine principle which the earnest and gentle being at his side so eloquently described. Yet her words left a heaviness upon his heart, for the shadows of coming events, to those nearest and dearest to him, darkened his spirit.

Having introduced to the reader these few of the many there assembled, we may retire and let the festival proceed according to its wont.

The hours wore away brightly and swiftly. At length, when the heavy chimes of midnight were heard, there was a movement among the guests, and one after another departed. The family speedily retired, and Colonel Beers was left alone.

With an agitated, uncertain step he walked up and down the empty saloon, and his countenance bore the same haggard, care-worn, and wild expression which had startled Hawkins as he passed the window hours ago. At times, when his eye rested for a moment on some splendid article of furniture, a shudder seemed to run through his noble frame, and once, twice, he groaned inwardly. At length large drops appeared upon his burning brow, and his step faltered upon the floor. He flung himself upon a sofa and shaded his eyes with his hands.

"It must come," he muttered at intervals" and then, my God! the extravagance of this night, and of the thousand scenes like this; would I could hide my head in the earth, for I cannot even bear the bitterness of this hour-and this, this hour, what is it to what must be? No! I am resolved!"

He spake almost with the energy of desperation, and sprang to his feet. For a moment he did not notice the frail and trembling form which occupied the sofa near where he had last sat. The flickering light of the chandeliers fell dimly upon the pale upturned features of his daughter, who in her night-dress had stolen to the saloon, fearful for the health of her father. For the first time, over her young and loving heart there flashed the conviction that her parent was struggling with some great mental agony, and as she caught the fearful frown upon his brow, she screamed faintly, and, unknowing what she did, grasped his arm.

"Emily!" exclaimed her father, in the strong harsh tones in which he had last spoken

"Oh, my father, forgive me," faltered out the agitated girl-"I feared you were unwell, for indeed you looked dreadfully pale this evening." "Pale-did I seem agitated? Tell me, Emily, if that is what you meandreadfully pale. Nay, girl, your foolish fears must have alarmed you. I did not think," he added, fixing his dark, gleaming eye upon her counte

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