One cold, dreary, windy day in the month
of November, 1843, a tall, dark individual
might have been observed passing to and fro,
in a mysterious manner, in one of the most
retired streets of the city of Boston. His
finely-made form and handsome features were
disguised by the folds of a spacious cloak and
scarf, which he had assumed for the double
purpose of concealment and defence against
the cold.

Several times had this strange individual
walked up and down the street, like one abstracted.
But although he seemed to have
no object in view, a keen observer would have
remarked at once that he was deeply interested
in some object he saw, or wished to see, in
a cottage over the way; for his dark, piercing
eye was turned in that direction continually.

At last, as the stranger was approaching
the house in one of his rounds, a lad of about
twelve summers, pale, and poorly clad, came
out of the door and ran lightly down the steps
into the street. The stranger paused, but as
the boy ran on before him, he followed, quickening
his pace, and was soon led by the unconscious
youth into a more busy quarter of
the town.

The two kept on at a rapid pace, the
stranger gradually nearing the boy, until the
latter suddenly turned into a large, crowded
building, composed of offices devoted to
the use of lawyers, brokers, and other business
men. The lad mounted a broad flight of
stairs, and entered a side door, which he had
scarcely closed when the stranger followed
him in.

There was but one man in the office, and
he sat at the desk with a newspaper in his

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hand. He looked up as the two entered, and
after glancing at the stranger, who coolly took
a seat near the stove, motioned the boy to
approach him.

The lad was embarrassed and seemed afraid
to speak. With his cold, numb fingers, he
played with the buttons of his coat, while his
eye turned- alternately from the stranger to
the man at the desk. The latter was a middle-aged
man, with a cold, hard, calculating
look, such as chills the heart unused to the
selfishness of the world.

`Well, William,' said he, turning to the
boy with the mockery of a smile—it was so
cold and heartless—`well, William, has your
father sent me the money for the rent, as he
promised my clerk, when he called on him
the other day? Speak out, William.'

`He sent me,' said the boy, after some hesitation,
`to tell you that he couldn't possibly
raise the money for you to-day; but that he
hopes to be able to get it for you before next
Saturday.'

The man at the desk scowled darkly.

`Tell your father,' said he, in tones of
harshness, `that I can put up with this treatment
no longer. I have been put off now
day after day with promises and protestations,
until I am tired of the same eternal lingo.
However, I will let things remain until Saturday,
when, if the rent is not paid, I shall be
under the necessity of adopting measures that
would be unpleasant both for him and me.'

`But father is very sick,' began the lad, his
eyes glistening with tears.

He would have said more, but sobs choked
his utterance, and he hurried from the office
into the street.

I said the man at the desk scowled darkly;
but when the boy was gone, and his eye fell
upon the stranger seated at the fire, at the sight
of the dignified bearing of the latter, and his
rich but simple dress, his worldly heart was
pleased, and his brow brightened with a smile.

`Excuse me,' said the stranger, approaching
the door; `I perceive I have entered the
wrong place. But will you tell me whether
or no that lad is the son of Mr. Jonathan
Harding?'

`Ay, that's he father's name,' replied the
other, politely.

`What a reverse of fortune that man must
have met with!' the other with a
sigh. `If I remember right, he was once one
of the richest and most influential
in Boston.'

`True,' replied the man at the
he has lost all his property by
ment. I knew him well five years
he was in the height of his . He
failure was quite unexpected, and very unfortunate,
for by strange
on his part, his everything, and
left him poor. Of he has been , and
he has even been brought as to be unable
to pay the of of my
houses.'

`Low, sighed the stranger, `but
his family?'

`That is small. He has but
two children, a girl of twenty and
the boy you here. The girl, I am ,
supports the family by the has
.'

`And no ?'

`No accepted ones. Many of the first
class, however—young men of fortune and
family—have offered themselves, but it seems
she prefers a life of and poverty to a
good match.'

`Indeed!'

`Strange, you think; but there is a reason—
though a one—for her foolish .
You she is young and romantic, like other
silly girls at her age, and herself on
wealth. The truth ,
for a young man who, if he is like other young
men, thinks no more about her now than as if
he had never seen her.'

`Who is he?'

`I will tell you. Many years ago, Mr.
Harding, who is a kind- man enough,
picked up a little orphan boy in the streets,
and took him and warmed, and , and

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clothed him, as if he had been his own son.
And so the boy grew up like one of the family
until he was eighteen. At that time—this
was five or six years ago—Harding's daughter,
Julia, was about fifteen, and a very pretty
girl, I assure you.

`Well, things turned out as might have
been expected. The youth was warm-hearted
and full of spirit, and the girl was a delicious,
bewitching creature, and altogether too rich
for him to withstand. In short, the poor orphan
and the rich heiress loved each other,
and became engaged before the old man knew
anything of the matter. He found it out,
however, and of course he took measures to
break off the unequal connection, by putting
the boy in the way of making his fortune
abroad, that the two might forget each other.
The thing must have had the desired effect on
one side, for the boy has never been heard
from since; but on the other hand, Julia
seems to cherish the hope that he will return
some day, rich, and as loving as ever. She's
foolish there, for the boy has seen something
of the world by this time, and lost some of the
romance by which youths now-a-days are infected.
If he should come back, it isn't probable
he would think of marrying the daughter
of a poor, broken-down merchant.'

Thus did the worldly man run on, talking
from the coldness of a heart that was a stranger
to all the kinder feelings of man's nature,
and flattering himself that he was speaking
the sentiments of a philosopher and a man.

The stranger heard him out; then making
inquiries concerning the amount of rent due
from Mr. Harding, abruptly took the sum
from his purse, laid it upon the desk, and requested,
or rather ordered, the other to make
out a receipt which he could forward to the
merchant.

The worldly man looked at the stranger in
surprise, but seeing how stern and forbidding
he appeared, simply asked his name, made
out the required paper, and passed it to the
stranger. The latter placed it in his pocket-book,
turned his back haughtily upon the astonished
landlord, and hurried from the office.