University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The moon was fading into the cold grey sky of the morning, and the first tint
of dawn suffused with a delicate flush the eastern horizon, when Charles Blackford
retraced his steps towards the Colleges. He had rambled from the cemetery
far over the meadow and field; and urged on by the restless spirit in his
bosom, had ascended the craggy summit of East Rock, where in the solemn silence
of the place and hour, with infinite space above him, and the earth and
sea sleeping at his feet, he at length schooled his proud and sensitive heart to
submission.

In his way to the college, on turning a corner of the street, he came suddenly
upon the stage house. The sun was already flashing the whole sky with his
ascending glories, and the sight of stage and busy passengers upon and around
it, recalled him to the consciousness that he had no longer the world all to
himself, and that the day, the dreaded day of pain and responsibility, had at
length began its round. He would have turned back shrinkingly from the
crowd of students and others about the door, but one of his fellow students of the
class below him, and whom he had often assisted in his studies, and from whom
he had received always warm demonstrations of friendship, saw him, and approached
him with an umbrella in his hand and a cloak on his arm.

`Are you off too in this stage, Blackford,' he said in an elated tone, at the
idea of leaving behind the scenes of his long confinement, and in the cheerful
anticipations of home.

`No Preston,' said Blackford, with difficulty returning the smile of his
wealthy college friend. `As you will pass through, and probably stay a day
or two in Haverhill, have the kindness to call on my father, and tell him that
you have seen me.'

`But when do you leave?'

`I cannot tell,' said he, with a slight increase of color.

`You look ill, Blackford! I hope that sickness may not detain you in this
dull place all the vacation.'

`No, I shall try a school soon,' answered Charles, smiling faintly.

`Well, its a pity your father is not rich,' said Preston in an indifferent tone.
`Thank fortune I have money enough! Look here and see what my good
kind old uncle has sent me to pay my expenses to Boston!' and the young Junior
opened his pocket book, which he held in his hand to pay his stage fare,
and displayed to Blackford's eyes a roll of bank notes.

`There seems to be a large sum, and I am glad you are so happily situated in
life,' said Charles.

`There is two hundred dollars! I shall have a little you see, to amuse myself
with on the route; and this the old gentleman kindly and thoughtfully
provided for, remembering he was once young. Well, good by, Blackford,
we'll meet next term!'

With these words the lively young gentleman shook him warmly by the
hand, but though younger in years and classes, with a sort of patronizing air
which money insensibly assumes over poverty.

`Good bye, Preston, I wish you a pleasant journey, and a happy meeting
with your friends.'

`Thank you,' returned Preston, with a cordial and friendly smile, and hastened
away to pay his passage to the agent, who stood by the door of the Inn,
with the way-bill in his hand.

Blackford remained for a few moments standing where his young friend had
parted from him. His brow was thoughtful, and an expression of mingled
doubt and hope suddenly gave a new aspect to his hitherto sad features. The
idea that the young Bostonian might befriend him in his great strait, had flashed
upon him like a gleam of hope in his despair. But the idea was no sooner
formed, than pride, shame, and keen sensibility rejected it.

`How shall I open my lips with the first word, to unfold my situation!' he
said mentally; `How shall I endure his cold, collected, listening eye, while I
tell my tale of poverty? How can I humble myself, and then subject myself to
the mortification of a refusal? How, more than all, if he should relieve
me by a loan of fifty dollars, can I repay him? I have nothing, I
have no hopes but my school! It would be only transferring my debt, without
lessening it. Yet how much rather would I have one person my creditor, and
that one Preston, than seven of various tempers and dispositions, as I now have!
In justice, too, to them I ought to make an effort to pay them! Truly and honestly,
let me ask myself, what it is that withholds me from adopting the suggestion,
and applying to Preston? I see plainly, it is pride! He may befriend
me, and give time to repay him after I get my profession, and my reputation
would not suffer the infamy my creditors will not fail to heap upon it if they
are not paid before night. They need the money, and my reputation is dear to
me! pride alone predominates in the other scale! But I had better risk the
wounding of it by applying to Preston, who is able, and I doubt not would be
willing to aid me on my representing my situation to him, than run the certain
risk of having it wounded by those whom I am unable to pay! I will, therefore,
in behalf of, and in justice to those I owe, and in protection of my own reputation
and fair name, let no false pride stand in the way of necessity and duty.—
I will ask him!'

Thus reasoned a sensitive and proud young man before borrowing money for
the first time in his life! How humbling is poverty! how it crushes the generous
spirit! how withering to the finer feelings of his heart! Charles Blackford
advanced impulsively a few steps towards his friend, and then checked
himself, with a sinking sensation of his heart! Preston was paying his passage,
and the agent was inquiring of some one to change a bill to pay him back
a quarter of a dollar in change that was coming to him,

`Never mind the quarter,' said the young Bostonian carelessly `give it to
the hostler; and he approached the stage to get in.

The reply of Preston to the agent gave poor Blackford courage, and awakened
his hope, for such indifference to money, he believed promised also generosity.
But he was ignorant of the world, and knew not that a man may be ostentatious
of liberality before others, to cover an avaricious disposition! We
do not predict this, however, of young Preston, leaving the reader to see and
judge for himself, as he watches the effect of Blackford's application. With a
cheek, the moment before wholly colorless, now glowing with the momentary
blood of sensitive embarrassment he advanced and spoke to Preston as he was
getting into the stage, with one foot already upon the step.

`Mr. Preston, will you permit me to say a word to you,' he articulated with a
nervous rapidity, and insensibly addressing his fellow-student with that forma
respect which is the instinctive prompting of humble life—the first lesson of the
poor is dependence!

The young Bostonian removed his foot from the step, and taking his arm in a
friendly way, stepped aside with him, supposing he wanted to send some other
message to his friends, or supposing anything but the truth, doubtless; for men
are not wont to take a man's arm and walk aside with him, whom they suspect
is about to ask of them a pecuniary favor.

`I have taken the liberty of intruding upon your departure,' said Blackford,
with a painful effort, which showed how deeply he felt the humiliation of his

pride, as Preston stopped and looked him full in the face, waiting his communication;
`to venture to ask a favor of you?'

His friend's countenance changed from its frank and cordial aspect at this,
and Blackford thought he looked as if he suspected what he wanted. Nevertheless,
urged forward by his truly distressing condition, he continued, seeing
that Preston was silent:

`You are aware that my father is a poor rector of a country church, and that
I support myself through college by my own exertions. Up to this vacation I
have been able, with the narrowest economy, to meet my expenses. Illness,
the last vacation, prevented me from keeping school, and I entered upon the
term just ended without the usual means, earned by school-keeping, to pay my
way through, hoping to get some scholars in a night school. I commenced;
but my health broke down under combined study and unwonted exertion, and
I was compelled to give it up before I could make it a means of pecuniary profit.
The close of the term has now come, and I find my little bills, including
that to the Steward and my physician, has left me debtor to several individuals,
to the amount, in all, of forty dollars. One or two of them may possibly be put
off till the beginning of next term; but the holders of others say they must be
paid this day, and I apprehend, if they are not satisfied, the most fatal consequences
to my reputation. I have not slept the whole night on account of my
distress of mind, and returning from a walk to East Rock, I met you! The
knowledge of your ability and generous disposition, has prompted me to confide
my position to you, believing from my knowledge of you, you had only to
be informed of it to afford me temporary relief.'

Preston listened to Blackford's relation without changing countenance, to
the end. He then said, with the look of one who feels he has been uselessly
annoyed, and in a tone of cold sympathy,

`Your situation is, indeed, disagreeable, Blackford, and I am truly sorry for
you. If your reputation should suffer, it will be a pity you ever came to college,
without the means to go through. I am sorry, upon my soul, and I wish
I could help you. I have money, it is true, but only enough for my own purposes
and uses. I shall need every dollar in my pocket-book. Perhaps Robinson
can assist you!'

`No, no,! never mind, Mr. Preston,' said Blackford, feeling as if he should
sink into the earth with wounded pride and mortification. `I am sorry that I
should have intruded my affairs upon you.'

`Not in the least, Blackford. I should be happy to serve you were it in my
power to do so. Good bye!'

Preston smiled and nodded, but did not shake hands, and leaving him, returned
to the stage, into which he no sooner had got than it drove off. Blackford
stood where Preston had left him, his eyes mechanically following the
carriage till it disappeared around the corner of the next street. He then walked
slowly on a little way, with his head depressed to the pavement and his
whole attitude weighed down and sinking. He reached a retired part of the
street, leaned against a fence, and his full and bursting heart found relief in
tears.

Poor Charles Blackford! thou hadst just been taught thy first bitter lesson
in human nature! Thou hadst learned that when friends are needed they prove
of no use! That men may treat each other with courtesy; grasp the hand
warmly; smile and talk freely and friendly; dine and ride, walk together and
fulfil towards one another all the outward duties of warm personal friendship!
but that when pecuniary assistance is solicited in a sudden emergency, they
disappoint the hopes that are placed in them, and the substance of the gilded
shadow proves not to exist! that to touch the purse strings of a friend, is to
dispel like magic the smile of his friendship and freeze the warm grasp of cordiality.

`Now is the cup of bitterness full,' said Blackford, as he at length grew
calmer. `I needed only this humiliation! and has he listened to the tale that
burned my tongue for shame and mortification as I told it, and treated it with
cold indifference! I did not look for this, at least. Is there no sympathy in

man's heart for his fellow? He has loaned me books, nay, did once loan me a
cloak, when I was ill, seeing that I had none. I should have thought nothing
of asking him the use of his library, during vacation, nor would he have refused
me. Why is there such a difference between books and money! between
the thing itself and the mere representative of the thing? There seems to be
none to me, though the world thinks differently. Why is it I felt myself inspired
with such awe at naming money to him? Why did the naming of it
seem, as it plainly did, so great an offence? Mysterious, indeed, is this influence
over men's minds. Why should there exist so wide a difference in asking
the loan of a friend's purse. In both cases it is the want, that is the basis
of the request, and the object of need should not in the remotest way effect the
simple premises. But this is idle speculation and administers to me no relief.
I will seek my lonely room and meet this evil day with a firm trust in God, for
vain indeed is the help of man.'

As he was about to proceed, a second stage bound to Hartford, drove up to
the Inn, from which he was not far off, and he paused a moment to see the
passengers, most of whom were students, get in. While thus engaged, he
heard a quick step behind him, and looking round, he beheld approaching, out
of breath, Peter Shears, the tailor, to whom he owed two dollars and eighty-seven
and a half cents.—Blackford felt a pang of he knew not what painful
sensation at seeing him, and somehow conceived himself to be the cause of his
haste and early appearance abroad.

`Good morning, Mr. Blackford,' he said in an ironical and inquisitive manner.
`Up early, I see. Last day of term over; happy time for students. Do
you go off in that stage this morning?'

`I shall not leave New Haven without settling with or notifying you,' quietly
answered Blackford, who saw his creditor had suspected that he was about to
leave clandestinely, and painfully augured from this the worst of consequences,
from inability to pay before night.

`Oh, oh! I thought you might be going, and came down to see you off.—
Always come to see my friends off.'

`I am indebted to your polite attention, Mr. Shears,' said Blackford, coldly,
and walked on towards the college. He had continued on his way some distance
before he perceived that Shears was shuffling by his side.

`I told you, Mr. Shears, I was not going to leave town without paying you,'
said Blackford, angry at the annoyance.

`How then came you sneaking round the Stage office at this hour in the
morning?' retorted Shears, impertinently and incredulously. Shears would
not have presumed to speak to Blackford in this manner under any other circumstances;
but creditors have a peculiar vocabulary of their own in their
intercourse with debtors, in which neither the words of civility nor of politeness
are to be found. Blackford felt like knocking him down for this rude insult
to his feelings; but prudence suggested patience, and he answered calmly,

`I have been only walking.'

`I think you intended marching, though, if I had not seen you,' answered
the fellow with a chuckle at his heartless wit. `Do you think you can settle
my demand to-day, Mr. Blackford?'

`I have no means at present, but if you will call I will tell you what I can
do, answered Charles, hoping against the hope that he could yet in some way
at least pay him. `How much is your demand?' he suddenly asked.

`Two, eighty-seven and a half;' answered Shears promptly.

`Come then to my room this afternoon and I will settle it, sir,' said Charles,
determined to rid himself of this annoyance by paying him the only two dollars
he had in the world which he had hoped to keep to pay his expenses as he travelled
on foot in search of a school. To it he hoped to add eighty-seven and a
half cents by selling a few books—for few indeed he had to sell.

`Well, I'll take your word, Mr. Blackford, and depend on being paid the
money down and no favor. Good morning.'

Blackford made no reply but walked on. As he entered the College green,
he chanced to look back, when he saw Shears watching him from a distant

street corner, to see if he did not mistake the way and take the road for the
Stage-office, instead of his room.

`Humiliating, indeed, are poverty and debt,' he said bitterly. `That fellow
despises me and suspects me to be a rogue. I cannot help feeling something
like self-contempt myself. Another such interview would make me believe
myself the felon they would make me. How poverty and debt degrade the
mind in its own esteem.'

With a heavy heart Blackford entered his room. On his way up he passed
his fellow students descending the stairs, carrying valises and carpet-bags, and
the halls and passages rung with the preparations for departure.

`Yes, all is life, hope and cheering anticipation! I seem to be the only one
desolate and unhappy,' he said, as he locked his door and threw himself, fatigued
and wretched, into his arm chair. `Now let me contemplate my position
and how I shall meet my creditors. After breakfast (and at that meal I
shall be expected to pay the steward too) I shall be called upon. Shears I have
resolved to give up my last penny to pay, and I do not fear him. What excuse
shall I make? Shall I explain all and throw myself upon the clemency
and indulgence of each? God in mercy endow me with firmness and patience
under my trials.'

He remained awhile seated as we first found him the midnight previous, with
his hand to his cheek, thoughtful and heavy. All at once he started and seized
a pen and placed a sheet of paper before him.

`Yes, I will write to my father and urge the necessity of making some sacrifice
in my behalf. It is through his pride I am here in this situation, and I will
appeal to his pride as well as his affection to do something to rescue me. He
may at least borrow fifty dollars where I could not a penny. He has rich men
in his parish and they would not refuse him. I will write.

With this determination, though on the successful issue he placed but faint
hope, he penned a letter to his father, in which he entered fully into his painful
situation, and eloquently called upon him for immediate relief. In it he appealed
equally to his pride and to his affection. Having ended it he sealed it
and went with it in person to the Post-office. Leaving the letter to the fate of
the Post, we will introduce the reader to the Rev. St. John Blackford, to whom
it was addressed. This gentleman was the son of a poor physician, in one of
the small towns in Massachusetts. He was the youngest of five brothers, all of
whom the sensible doctor put to useful trades as fast as they became of proper
age. St. John, however, disdained a trade, and after being bound to several,
finally entered, and struggled through College, and his inclinations leading
him to the Church, he studied three years in a manual labor Seminary, and
finally took orders. It cannot be denied that he had made himself a sound
scholar, and that he promised fair to become eminent as a Divine. Yet Mr.
Blackford entered the ministry with a debt of five hundred dollars, which had
followed him through the whole course of study, like a ball of snow, increasing
in bulk as it rolls. He hoped to pay this by laying by a portion of his salary;
but he remained three years a missionary with but 300 dollars a year from the
fund and scarcely a hundred from his preaching. Finally he obtained a rectorship
worth seven hundred dollars a year and married. His student's debt still
troubled him, and he solicited scholars to fit for College to enable him to commence
its liquidation. But it so chanced, that the money thus received was always
needed just at the time, and none of it went to its originally intended destination.
By and by Mr. Blackford became a father, and shortly afterwards
changed his parish to one near or in the city of Boston. Here his salary was
larger, but his expenses were larger also, and he gained nothing in a pecuniary
point of view by the exchange. Finally, twelve years after he had taken orders,
he was left a bequest of one thousand dollars, by a deceased bachelor brother,
who was a cabinet-maker, and died rich. With this he paid principal and
interest of his long haunting debt, which consumed all but about one hundred
dollars. But for this providential aid he would doubtless have gone down to
his grave with the debt contracted in College and at the Seminary, unpaid.

With this painful personal experience before his own eyes, he nevertheless

resolved to entail upon his son the same evil. When Charles, therefore, who
was one of six children, became of a suitable age, he was to be sent to College,
although his two uncles, one a wheelright and the other a machinist, both tried
to persuade their brother of the folly and wickedness of sending a youth to College
without means to support him there; while both offered to teach him their
trade. Mr. Blackford, however, like the Rev. Mr. Lamb, the Presbyterian
minister, had an idea that trades were vulgar, if not degrading. He felt, therefore,
insulted by their proposition.

`Who ever heard of a clergyman's son being put apprentice to a trade, brothers?'
he asked, with the pride of professional position as little becoming a sensible
man as a Christian. `You, yourselves, by being tradesmen, do not move
in the same society in which I do, and I wish my son to keep in the class to
which his father belongs.'

`It is a class of beggars, brother, not to wound your feelings;' said David
Blackford, the wheelwright, bluntly. `But I do not wish to say much to you,
as you are a minister of God, and God, not I, must judge you. But I would
speak in nephew Charles's behalf. Send him to College, poor as you are, and
he will always be a poor and unhappy man. I prophecy it, brother!'

Thus parted the brothers, and Charles Blackford was sent to College, eloquently
pleading to be put to a trade with one of his uncles, as if having a presentiment
of the dark destiny in store for him as a poor student. He went not
as a beneficiary, like poor Edward Lamb, for Mr. St. John Blackford, his father,
had too much pride for this. He went with the understanding that he was
to keep school vacations—the forlorn hope of poor scholars!—and be clothed
from home. The first three years it was with Charles Blackford a continual
struggle to keep out of debt, but it was in some degree, a successful one. The
fourth year, his constitution originally strong and healthy, gave way under too
much work, and illness, privation, debt, and a series of painful mortifications
followed. The last day of the second term of his senior year arrived, and he
found himself involved, as we have shown, beyond his ability to extricate himself.

Returning from the Post Office, he crossed into a bye street, and entering a
low, dark shop, the door of which was garnished with second hand clothing
hung about it, he took from beneath his arm a small bundle wrapped in a newspaper,
and laid it upon the greasy counter. A black man was in attendance behind
it.

`I have some articles I wish to sell,' said Charles; and the black, without
saying a word, took up the bundle and displayed its contents, viz: a vest very
much worn, and three books.

`What gen'leman 'spec' get for dis ol' rag,' said the negro, opening and holding
up the garment to the light, with a look of contempt for it.

`I will sell it for ninety cents.'

`Ninety cent! Marcy dear! I would not get twenty cent for him. See! one
button off, and de pocket worn! I buy it for twenty cent.'

`I must have more,' said Charles, to whom towards paying Shears, twenty
cents was of little use.

`I no gib one cent more,' answered the black, decidedly.

`Will you buy the books, then?' asked Blackford, who had taken them with
him as a sort of forlorn hope, in case, as he much feared, his vest should not
bring the full amount he needed.

`Book! I don't want gen'leman's book,' said the negro, with a grin. `I don't
know him value. But what 'll gen'leman take for de books?'

`Twenty-five cents each?

`I'll gib you ten cent apiece.'

`No. I must have somehow ninety cents from them and the vest.'

`I'll gib you tree quarter dollar for de vest you got on,' said the black, coolly
eyeing the plain satin vest he wore.

`Will you?' exclaimed Blackford, and then directly checked himself, as
he looked at his old vest on the counter, which was hardly decent to resume
again.

`Three quarters and done! what gen'leman say?'

Blackford hesitated; but the face of Shears rose before his sensitive apprehension,
and he closed the sale. Taking off the vest he resumed the old one
with a sigh. The negro then paid him seventy-five cents for the vest, and thirty
more for the books, and Charles with eighteen cents in his possession over
and above the debt to Shears, quit the shop of the black and took his way back
to his chambers, with his coat close buttoned, to hide his shabby waistcoat.—
But, withal, he felt happy at having it in his power to release himself from the
grasp of the unfeeling Shears.

On entering his room, who should he find there but the tailor himself!

Ah! Mr. Blackford, I beg pardon, but I called to see if—if' and the lying
rogue hesitated and stuttered, for he well knew, as did Charles, also, that he
came there to assure himself that his prey had not eluded him.

`Don't make any apologies at all, Mr. Shears,' said Blackford, ironically; `I
am happy to see you, inasmuch as I have the money ready for you and, as I
shall take great pleasure after paying you the last farthing I owe you, to show
you a new way out.'

Shears turned pale, glanced at the open window, and retreated a step, and
laid his hand on the latch of the door! Charles paid no attention to him, but
selecting his account, counted out the money, and laid it beside it upon the table.
The tailor's eye glowed at the sight of the money, but he was afraid to
leave his position at the door, as he felt that the attitude in which he had lately
stood to his debtor, was now changed, and that he had no security (except his
insignificance) against a just retribution for his insults.

`Mr. Shears, there is your money! I will trouble you to receipt this account,'
said Blackford, sternly, feeling as forcibly as Shears himself, the change
the small sum of money had made in their relative position to each other.

Shears advanced with evident suspicious of danger, bowing and smirking his
mean cocked up features; `You need'nt have troubled yourself about paying
it just now, Mr. Blackford—this afternoon, or even to-morrow would have answered
my purpose just as well.'

`My receipt if you please.'

Shears put his hat humbly down upon the floor, and taking a pen, stood up,
though a chair was convenient, and receipted the account without looking at
the amount of money.

`You see, Mr. Blackford, I don't count the sum. I trusted to your honor
that it is all right.'

`I insist on your counting it, every penny. The sum of your account is $2,
87 1-2. See if I have paid that sum.'

`Yes, sir—all right,' said Shears, obeying him and taking up his hat. `I am
exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Blackford. I wish you a pleasant vacation,
sir,' and as he was speaking, he was all the while edging towards the door.—
Charles enjoyed his apprehensions, but the object of his indignation was too
contemptible for him to inflict upon him the chastisement he so richly merited.

`Go, Mr. Shears,' he said, opening the door wide for him to pass; `it only
wanted the exhibition of this craven fear of just punishment, so strongly contrasting
to your impudence to me this morning, to complete my contempt for
you. Go, and learn from my forbearance, to be merciful to the unfortunate
debtor circumstances may place you in relation with. Go! I would not spurn
you with my foot!'

Shears who had cautiously retreated so as to avoid coming in proximity with
Blackford, from whom he felt he deserved chastisement, made no delay in taking
advantage of his permission to depart, and darting through the door way,
instinctively shrinking in, as if to evade the kick he seemed still to expect, he
descended the stairs three steps at a time.

`Oh, poverty, poverty! that makes the proud and generous spirit such a man's
bond slave! Alas, my father, to what degredation has your ambition and wicked
pride brought me! But it is useless to reflect upon him. I have dismissed
one of my creditors, and the most troublesome, as I believe; but I cannot tell
this till the others have been told they cannot be paid. How unfortunate that

this should happen to me so near the end of my College course. One term more
and I should graduate! But how am I to live another term when I don't see
how to live another day! I shall, after all my father's desire to give me a profession,
have to throw up my connexions with the College, and if I obtain a
a degree at all, get it only by the courtesy of the Faculty. But if I do not pay
these demands, the rumor of my defalcation will bring my name before them
with a blot that will defeat even this hope! My situation is indeed deplorable.
Ah, there is a step approaching. My palpitating and coward heart tells me beforehand,
that it is a creditor's! It is the Steward's clerk.

`Good morning, Mr. Blackford,' said a saturnine looking young man, a beneficiary
acting clerk. `Mr. Twining, not seeing you at breakfast, desired me
to call for the amount of your board bill.'

`I really forgot breakfast in my other engagements,' said Charles. `Be so
kind, Disbrow, to say to Mr. Twining I will call and see him in the course of
the day about it.'

`This account was presented, and should have been paid according to usage,
on the last day of term. Mr. Blackford, I must have it settled without longer
delay.'

`I will settle it then with the Steward.'

`He has left it wholly with me, Mr. Blackford.'

`Oh, then I can obtain your indulgence, till I hear from my father, to whom
I have written for money,' said Charles, who well knew the cold and turgid
character of Disbrow, who was a hypocrite in religion, a sycophant in manners,
a tyrant in feeling; who, dependant himself, and often made to feel it, when
power was in his hands, delighted to exercise. He disliked, particularly, poor
students who were not, like himself, beneficiaries.

`You can get nothing from that source, for we all know you depend on yourself,'
he said doggedly in reply.

`Then if you are aware I depend on myself you should admit this as a plea
and not press me too closely, Disbrow,' said Charles, calmly. `Ah me!' he
added to himself as he heard another step advancing along the passage; `here
is another! God strengthen me! Good morning Mr. Lapstone, you have come
I suppose for the amount of your little bill?'

`Yes, sir,' said the shoemaker looking very serious on seeing Disbrow standing
with his steward's account which he had taken from the table in his hand
and with a look of dissatisfaction on his homely vissage.

`It is a small amount to be sure, Mr. Lapstone, but I regret to tell you I am
unable to meet it to-day. I have written to my father and hope soon to get
money.'

`He will have to hope, I guess,' said Disbrow, sneeringly.

`I want my money, Mr. Blackford; I have waited a long time and I can't
afford to lose it. It is a small amount as you say, only $2.18, and I hope you
will settle it and let me go to my work.'

`Indeed, sir, I am sorry you are so warm about it,' said poor Charles hardly
knowing how to manage him, as he saw he was quick tempered and promised
to be violent; `if you will wait for me till I can get a letter from Haverhill—'

`I shall have to wait till Haverhill comes to New Haven! No, no, I must
have my money. `Aint he paid Mr. Twining yet, Mr. Disbrow, that you are
standing there waiting?' he asked sullenly.

`No, but he will, I rayther think,' drawled the other with a dogged look.

`Here comes another!' cried the victim of parental pride and poverty as he
heard a person advancing rapidly towards his room.

`Oh, you are here,' said a little sharp faced, pale man with a long frame,
stepping quickly into the room and smiling as he discovered the occupant was
present. `I am glad to find you have not left town. My apprentice told me
he was sure he saw you at the stage office, but I was sure it must have
been a mistake and told him so. Indeed I did, Mr. Blackford, I assure you.—
Because a man owes me a little money and don't pay the very day due, it is no
reason I should think he may runaway. No, no, I knew I should find you safe

here. So, you have visitors! Very well, I have no secrets, I will just receipt
that little account if convenient, and go back to my pestle and mortar.'

`Really, Mr. Bluepill,' said the embarrassed and confused young man, `I
must request your kind indulgence for a few days.'

`Till he hears from his father,' said Disbrow, sneeringly.

`I should be happy to oblige you, Mr. Blackford,' said the little apothecary
with a fallen countenance; `but really in these times one needs all the money
owing to him. It is but $3.10—a mere trifle.'

`Trifle as it is, it is out of my power to pay it to you to-day,' said Charles
with more firmness than he would have believed he could have commanded at
such a moment of humiliating trial. Oh, the anguish and bitter mortification,
and even self-contempt that rung his sensitive bosom through that scene! He
stood by his table with his hand resting upon it, pale but outwardly calm.

Scarcely had he replied to Mr. Bluepill, who looked very fierce and very determined,
when Dr. Pulsefer entered. He was a mild, soft spoken gentleman,
and had an air of candor and kindness that invited confidence. He stared on
seeing who were his late patient's visitors, and said,

`I was passing, Mr. Blackford, and called to receive that little amount for
visit and prescription. It is a small matter, or I wouldn't trouble you,' said the
Doctor, courteously.

`I am unable to settle it now, Doctor,' said Blackford.

`Ah, very well, another time,' was the careless reply, and the Doctor was
going out when Disbrow shouted in a loud rough tone, `will you settle this or
not, Mr. Blackford?'

`And will you pay mine, sir?' demanded the shoemaker, taking up the key.

`And mine too, if you please?' cried Mr. Bluepill, looking blue with anger.

`Do you owe all these men, Mr. Blackford?' asked the Doctor, gravely.

`Yes, and one more who I see is approaching, Mr. Otterskin the hatter,' answered
Charles with forced composure.

`Then, sir, if you are so reckless of getting into debt and have so many creditors,
I must insist on the immediate settlement of my account,' said the physician,
who, though naturally courteous and gentlemanly, was instantly prejudiced
against his debtor by this array of damning proof of his reckless extravagance.
Thus by the greatness of Charles Blackford's misfortune did the world
measure his supposed guilt! The words of his friend the doctor, whom he
really esteemed, cut him to the heart, and he would have wept for grief, but
that the injustice of the reproof sustained him. He felt his cup was full!—
Another footstep approached and he looked up expecting to see the face of his
stationer, but to his surprise a stage driver entered, and asking him if his name
was Blackford, handed him a letter.

`I was ordered by the young gentleman to give it to you in person as there is
money in it,' said the coachman.

At the word `money' there was manifested a general sympathetic movement
among Charles's creditors in the room. Blackford who had just then anticipated
the issue of his levee of angry creditors would be half-a-dozen writs
served upon him, and was weighing in his mind how he should act, hastily tore
the seal. To his surprise it contained a bank note of fifty dollars, which, slipping
through his trembling fingers, fell fluttering to the floor. The little apothecary
sprung forward and caught it and politely returned it to his hand. With
an incredulous vision he glanced for explanation at the signature. It was that
of Grayham Preston! Hurriedly and with a joyful heart he read as follows,
written with a pencil.

The tears rushed to Blackford's eyes but pride in the presence of those around
him, restrained their grateful flow. He felt like kneeling down and thanking
God for this happy issue out of all his afflictions. But the present was not the
time! The moment called for different kind of action. Assuming a composed
countenance, and stilling his glad heart as well as he could, he locked his joy
up in his bosom, from the inquiring eye of those before him, and turning to
Disbrow he asked him with dignified severity to receipt the account he held
and return him twenty-six dollars. The clerk obeyed and tendered him the receipted
bill.

`Now, sir, leave my room,' said Charles, commandingly, pointing to the door.

Disbrow would have hesitated, but Blackford took him quickly by the collar
and put him out.

`Mr. Lapstone, here is the money I owe you. Receipt your bill. Now, sir,
I respect your favors too much to turn you out of my chamber, though taking
advantage of my need, you have rudely insulted me. I have nothing farther
to say to you.

`Mr. Bluepill, you are now paid your demand,' he added, after settling with
that worthy, who looked all the while as if he expected his nose or ears pulled,
or some kind of assault upon his anatomical person; `now as you are beneath
my notice, I shall not trouble myself to escort you down stairs, but I would recommend
you to make no delay in getting well down to the bottom yourself,
without my assistance.'

Mr. Bluepill took the hint and vanished. Mr. Otterskin, the hatter, who had
come in too late, to have his human charity towards a debtor tested, was next
paid and took his departure, doubtless saving his credit and learning a cautionary
lesson in courtesy, from the treatment which he had seen his fellow creditors
receive, at the hands of the indignant Blackford, who had now become
(such is the magic of money!) the judge of his tyrants and masters!

`Now, Dr Pulsefeeler,' said Charles, fixing his calm and penetrating gaze upon
this gentleman, who colored and looked exceedingly embarrassed, and as if he
felt altogether self-condemned and ashamed of his unjust opinion and conduct,
`I take no little pleasure in paying your bill. There are six dollars, the price of
your self respect!'

`Pardon me, Mr. Blackford, I was deceived by appearances, and—

`No apologies are necessary, sir,' answered Charles, quietly; `I trust you
have just the amount of your bill!'

`Yes sir.'

`And I have your receipt. Good morning, sir!'

`I would atone, my dear Mr. Blackford, for my injustice to you,' said the physician.

`Then, sir,' said Charles, less severely, let it be by charity of opinion towards
debtors; nor believe a young man, because you discover he is in debt, in need,
and surrounded by insulting and heartless creditors, to be unworthy of confidence
and respect, unentitled to civility, and open and amenable to uncharitable
judgment, unjust suspicion, and the persecutions of the unfeeling; but believe
rather that debt is the eloquent sign of want and of misfortune, challenging the

sympathies of the benevolent and opulent, and enlisting the sweet influence of
gentle pity in its behalf.'

Once more alone in his chamber, the full heart of our poor and now happy
student found vent in tears. He knelt down to thank God for his mercies, and
prayed in the same voice for blessings on the head of his young and generous
benefactor.

The following day Charles Blackford left and took a school in the country.
At the opening of the next and his last term he had earned enough money to
pay his way through, and finally he graduated with an honor as high as one, a
third of whose time was taken up in school teaching, could hope to obtain.—
With his dearly-bought diploma in his pocket, and just money enough to reach
Haverhill, he left the classic shades of Yale, where he had experienced so
much privation and sorrow, and sought his home for a few weeks' repose, before
launching his bark upon the broad, rough billows of life, to sink or swim
with the current.