him delight to make every one feel his power. It is for no other
reason than this, that I am now to be harassed half out of my life
in order to raise ten thousand dollars in a week, besides meeting my
other payments. I must try and get some one to take the mortgage he
is about releasing."

While thus musing, the individual who had just left him was walking
slowly down Market Street, with his eyes upon the pavement, in deep
thought. He was a short, stoutly built old man, dressed in a
well-worn suit of brown broadcloth. His hat was white, large in the
brim, low in the crown, and pulled down so heavily on the high
collar of his coat, that it turned up behind in a very decided way,
indicating the save-all propensities of its owner. His face was as
hard as iron: it was deeply seamed by years or the indulgence of the
baser cupidities of a perverted nature. His lower lip projected
slightly beyond the upper that was pressed closely upon it. His
small gray eyes were deeply sunk beneath a wrinkled forehead, and
twinkled like stars when any thing excited him; usually they were as
calm and passionless as any part of his face.

This man had never engaged, during his whole life, in any useful
branch of business. Money was the god he worshipped, and to gain
this, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice. He started in life
with five thousand dollars--a legacy from a distant relative. To
risk this sum, or any portion of it, in trade, would have been, in
his view, the most egregious folly. His first investment was in six
per cent. ground-rents, from which he received three hundred dollars
per annum. It cost him two hundred to live; he had, therefore, at
the end of the year, a surplus of one hundred dollars. He was
casting about in his mind what he should do with this in, order to