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With a quick step, muttering to himself, and with
a twisted brow, Mr. Solomon Beckford proceeded
directly to the house of Mr. Lorman. Little Billy
was playing on the pavement, and Mr. Beckford
asked him if his father was in; and without waiting
for a reply, or rapping at the door, he opened it and
entered.

Mr. Lorman was seated in the front room, looking
over a number of accounts, with bills paid and unpaid,
large legers and day-books, scattered promiscuously
around him. He received Mr. Beckford
very coolly, and, without intermitting his avocation,
waved him to a seat.

“Friend Lorman,” said Mr. Beckford, after a
premonitory clearing of the throat, “you were much
too hasty with me the other day in the matter of
that loan. You snapped me up so short that I hardly
had time to think.”

Here Mr. Lorman laid down the account he was
inspecting, and looked at Mr. Beckford.

“Hardly time, I say, my friend, to think. You
say you want a thousand dollars to aid you in
going west, and that you will give good security for
the advance. I have no doubt upon reflection—I
did not think so the other day,—but upon mature

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thought I have changed my mind. I have no doubt
that, with your family, taking your daughter Ruth
with you to take care of them—I have no doubt, I
say, that it will be ultimately to your advantage.
Ruth is an engaging girl, and will marry well there,
and her husband being with you, it will be a great
assistance to you and your family. Upon a second
thought over these things, I concluded it would be
to your interest, and when you say you cannot start
without that sum—a thousand dollars—a very large
sum—hard to raise—but upon good security, by borrowing
I think I might compass it. You say the security
is good, and that you will make over debts
due you to the amount of fifteen hundred dollars, to
secure the payment of the thousand with an interest
of ten per cent?”

“I will,” said Mr. Lorman, “and will esteem it as
a favour—a great favour—if you will let me have the
money on these terms. I am all ready to start, but I
must have that sum. My brother, as I told you,
though he has little command of ready money,
will assist me when I arrive west. I want to be
off; I have made up my mind to go, and Ruth had
got partly reconciled to it; but, as the time approaches,
she somehow, particularly lately, seems
to shrink from it.”

“Ahem! ahem!” ejaculated Mr. Beckford. “Friend
Lorman, upon reflection, as I have told you, I believe
it will be greatly to your advantage, and to the
advantage of your daughter and family, for you to

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emigrate west, and therefore, ahem! I will try and
advance you the money—I will.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Beckford!” exclaimed
Mr. Lorman, jumping up and seizing the
old miser by the hand, “I shall be deeply indebted to
you! I thought, from what was owing to me, I
should be able to raise two thousand dollars of my
own, clear of the world; but I find my good debts—
what is owing to me I mean with good security for
payment—only amount to fifteen hundred dollars—
and I am willing to give them as security for the
payment of the thousand dollars, with ten per cent.
interest on the loan.”

“You shall have it, friend Lorman,” said Mr.
Beckford, returning the shake of his hand, “ahem!
you shall have it! You have what may be called a
large family, and the fact is, between you and I, this
is no place—your old city is no place to raise up a
family in. You know what a trouble my brother—
distinguished man as he is—has had with his son,
my hopeless nephew! Well, I declare to you I do
not know that my boy, Ralph, will be any better!
I could not advise any father, son though he is of
mine, to suffer seriously his visits to his daughter.
Ralph has been so indulged by his uncle that his
habits always have been idle, and I fear me, friend
Lorman—recollect what I say to you now is of my
own son, and therefore in strictest confidence—that
latterly they are becoming vicious!”

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Mr. Lorman, in great

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surprise. “I had no idea of such a thing; indeed,
I felt convinced that quite the contrary was the fact.”

“No, my dear friend, no; he squanders money
abominably, and is getting into evil habits. He,
in the midst of his college courses, leaves, a few
months after his entrance, and comes home—for what
purpose no one on earth can tell—for a profligate
excess I have no doubt. He is sly—I fear he is sly—
but of course this is between ourselves—entirely confidential:
he is my own son, and what I say to my
friend I would not say to the world. I expect I
shall have to cut him off in my will without a six-pence.
I cannot and will not have my hard earnings
squandered by a prodigal son, who has no respect
for me, living or dead—no, I would rather educate
the heathen with it. My will is made, and pray
God Ralph may amend before I die. Good morning!
good morning! the west is the place for you!
yes, upon second thought, I am satisfied it is the
place to marry a daughter well, and to bring up a
rising family! This evening I will call with the
amount. Get all your accounts ready, and with
the vouchers, that I may see them; and I will bring
the amount with me. If you get it this afternoon,
when will you start?”

“In three or four days at farthest. Won't you
stop and see Ruth?—do; she's up stairs—I will call
her—and then step round to Hawbuckle's store,
where I left some of my vouchers with him.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Mr. Beckford; “Ruth is a great

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favourite of mine: do call her, and I will keep her
company till you return—if you are not gone long—
and then I can look over these vouchers, notes, &c.
hey!”

“Ah! Ruth, my good girl,” exclaimed Mr. Beckford,
as she entered the room, “come and shake
hands with me! So you are going to leave us?”

“So father says, sir,” replied Ruth, giving him
her hand and sighing.

The old man twitched as he observed it, and then
said gaily, “It's a delightful country; I at first opposed
your father, but, upon reflection, I am convinced
it is for his benefit. You will catch some of
the nabobs of the land there, Ruth—some of the
nabobs—who will bring you to the east to the springs
in your coach and four—particularly if you go down
to the south-west, where they have negroes a plenty
and half of a state for a plantation. I see how it
will be: you will be visiting us some of these days
in fine style—and hardly know us, hey! Much better
matches made there, Ruth, than here. The young
men here have degenerated from their sires. I don't
know one—no, not one—a sense of justice will not
let my parental affection except even my own son—
who would make a young girl the proper kind of
match. The young men do no work nowaday—
they depend upon their fathers for support; and when
a man is actuated by a public spirit—as I hope I
am—and thinks of leaving what little property he
may possess to some great public charity or school

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—what, in such an event, I ask you, can their thriftless
sons do but starve, with their wives and families—
if, indeed, any woman would be such a fool as
to have such graceless, prodigal, spending rascals!”

“But, Mr. Beckford,” said Ruth, timidly, “why
should you include your son Ralph in such a list?
I am quite sure he deserves to be placed in better
company.”

“My dear Miss Ruth,” replied Mr. Beckford, attempting
a look of amiable confidence, while that of
scrutiny and mistrust prevailed, “I make no exception.
Unless Ralph marries a rich girl, he will be as
destitute a wretch as lives in the broad world. Between
you and I, Ruth,” continued Mr. Beckford,
drawing close to her side, “though the world imputes
considerable wealth to me, it hardly more than doubles
the sum which I am to loan to your father to
take him to the west, scarcely more than doubles
that sum. But I do not choose, you know, to correct
the impression; for now when I am pushed, as
I often am, to pay for a hogshead of sugar, this impression
is the means of my obtaining a little credit;
it is the only thing that keeps me up. Ralph's college
expenses came very heavy—he has no idea of
any profession that I know of—he might, if he were
another sort of a lad, assist me, but he is a mere
drone. Ruth, you are going west, you know, where
you will be happily, splendidly married; you will not,
of course, repeat one word of what I have said to
you; but it relieves an old man to unburden his mind

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sometimes. Good-bye, Ruth, tell your father I could
not wait any longer for him. I have nobody in my
store—Ralph might have assisted me in my old age
there—but my negro, Jeremiah, and God above only
knows how much he filches from me. Good-bye,
my dear.” So saying, the old miser departed.

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