SECOND YOUTH.

BY J. KENRICK FISHER.

Years ago, more than I like to remember, in a stage-coach from Boston to New Haven, I became acquainted with a gentleman of full middle age, who, like myself, was going to New York in search of a fortune, or a living, as destiny might determine. He kept awake, said little, and listened much; until, somewhere near the boundary of the blue State, a tall, sharpfeatured man was taken up on the road, and, having eaten the last half of a huge apple upon which he was engaged when he entered the coach, deliberately commenced a discussion on total depravity, vindictive justice, election, etc. To this discussion, or one side of it, the gentleman referred to-I shall call him Mills-paid that sort of attention which you may observe in men who do not pitch in until they discover a good hole. Occasionally, however, Mr. Mills would quietly put a question, which drew forth lengthy and energetic explanations from the chief debater, and others who were drawn into the strife; and in this way he seemed to direct the discussion, and derive edification from it, without the excitement and fatigue if actually engaged in it. Afterwards he told me that he did not himself feel sure of any creed, but liked to know what others felt, and what was the general feeling; this, he thought, was a better guide than a opinion. At the same time he looked as if he might have a double meaning, or might have regarded the ludicrous

one-man

side of the somewhat violent controversy he had promoted; and this idea excited my curiosity, and was the occasion of my conversing with him, as soon as the dispute was ended by the departure of the tall zealot who began it.

Being both genuine Yankees, we soon learned what we were seeking, and what each knew of the chances of success. He had been a speculator, and had been up and down, up and down, several times, and was then down, but hoped to be up; and with that view he was going to New York, where he was known to some, and might find among them a better chance than was left open to him in Boston, where they deemed him a finished gentleman, or as indelicate persons might say, a used-up He had dug out of deep places before, and he had a feeling that he would not fail this time. If his coat was rather seedy, that did not discourage him there were men who could see through coats, and estimate the men within.

man.

We

Some months afterward I met Mr. Mills in New York, looking cheerful and prosperous. We exchanged compliments, professed a mutual interest, and agreed that New Englanders should not altogether keep aloof from each other, even if but accidentally and partially acquainted. called at each other's offices, and soon became friendly, and in some instances serviceable to each other; and, in short, our stage-coach survey of each other resulted in an intimacy that was mutually agreeable. We pushed our acquaintance together, within our narrow circles, and on Sundays

we usually dined together, at his lodgings -for I was a bachelor, and he had a wife, and a son about eight years old, and lived snugly in the upper part of a two-story house. We did not judge each other by the houses we lived in, or the style we maintained. I never could tell how we did judge each other, or what kept us together. Perhaps, as Mills often said, the feeling was favorable." We somehow felt that we were friends, and at least took an interest in each other, if we were of little earthly use to each other. So Mrs. Mills seemed to feel-always glad to see me and the frugal Sunday dinner, which owed its excellence to her skill rather than to extravagance of cost, was made pleasant by her homefelt cheerfulness, and intelligent conversation. In the evenings I often called, as we lived near each other, and with the help of young George we had tolerable rubbers of whist. We agreed that if whist is not vastly intellectual, it is nevertheless a solace to those who don't profess to be extremely wise, and may help to pass time agreeably, "if the feeling be all right.'

Mills had compromised with his creditors, and got a start upward. The feeling was in his favor. He did not live in style -not that he could not-but Nancy and he agreed that they would first secure an independency, and then make a grand display, if they thought they could afford it, and found it the best way to be happy. As it was, they saved about fifteen hundred a year, but could not save a dime if they lived in style; besides, if he were caught in a corner, he could get out whole, whereas he would be down if he did not keep a reserve; and digging out was a job he did not like; he had tried it. Nancy and he agreed perfectly, and lived happily; both of them industrious. She was a woman, and he a man. When he could check for six thousand a year, clear of all chance, they would be lady and gentleman, so far as style could make them so.

Had they lived in style, and displayed uncomfortable furniture, and dusty paintings warranted to be by the old masters, I could not have better relished their Sunday dinners, their tea, their whist, and their pleasant chat: their biscuits would

not have been so good, their mutton chops so well cooked, their little luxuries so skilfully nice, for they would have kept servants, who would have half-spoiled all these things, except the genuine old masters. And what to them were the old masters? Mills declared that for him there was more beauty in one old mortgage than in all of them-that is, if those he saw were really genuine. Fifty, a hundred, two or three hundred apiece for such unnatural representations of old humbug monks and nuns: he could not see how it was to pay, either for business or pleasure. When he got rich, he supposed, he should get them, as others did; but he didn't like them— should not look at them if he had them. And so for fast horses, and other extravagances, he thought them on the whole rather troublesome. So we convinced ourselves that the world was a fleeting show, as the song declares, and that economy is better than the fear of failing.

After ten years I went abroad, and was absent five years. When I returned my old friend was alone; his wife was dead, and his son was in Lima, a partner in a mercantile house. His hair, which was iron grey when I first knew him, had become nearly white, I thought from affliction rather than from age or infirmity. He lived in a private family; kept secluded in his room, and seemed to have lost his cheerfulness and hope. His only relief was in business.

He had become rich, without caring to be rich, and did not know what to do with his wealth, for his son was in profitable business, with ample capital which he had given him, with partners of such ability and connections as made it about certain that he would make an immense fortune; and he had no other relative.

He was alone. I deeply sympa thized with him, and was often with him during about two years. But I went abroad again, and remained over four years, and did not hear from him--for we were both, constitutionally, bad correspondents.

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Soon after my return, I was accosted by gentleman, whom I did not at first recog nize, yet was sure I had seen: could it be George Mills, the son of my old friend? he was very like him; no, it was my old

friend himself, but how changed! His hair was jet black, his cheek plump and rosy, his beard full. I had always seen him close-shaven. He seemed less than thirty-five, though he was over sixty, and his old vivacity had returned.

What had happened? I soon learned. He would have me dine with him that day. I found him in a house of immense capacity, and unsurpassable fineness, with a beautiful wife of eighteen to preside over it. And no princess could have done its honors more superbly.

After dinner my old friend spoke of old times, and said he could not but suspect that I reflected on the changes before me. He felt it due to himself, and to the memory of one he always loved, to explain. I replied that all was quite natural, and needed no explanation he who had lived happily with one wife naturally would find a single life insupportable, and would marry again if he met one who merited and returned his affection.

:

"Very liberal of you, and true, as a general remark; but Nancy worked for me, and with me, to earn the wealth which my little Kate spends with a high hand. You must think me a silly old coxcomb. But hear my story

"When you last saw me I cared little what I did, or whether I lived or died. I was miserable at all times, except when excited by business. I had given up all business but stock operations, and to them I devoted myself with desperation-the more desperate, the more I was relieved. I had formerly been timid; I then felt no timidity, but bought and sold as I felt. I always had done so, but not boldly. Talk of knowing the real value of stocks! I never could calculate it, and I never had the least confidence in the estimates of others: I always, somehow, caught the feeling of others, before they expressed it in words: when they talked confidently, I felt their want of confidence, and sold; when they talked discouragingly, I felt they had some hope, and bought; and I never failed to find that the market soon followed this feeling. Being, as it were, freed from my own hopes and fears, I was more exact than ever in feeling the hopes and fears of others, and excessively daring

in acting upon them. I should have been ruined in a month if I had been mistaken, so heavy were my stakes; but I was never mistaken, and my gains were enormous. I can describe my course only as forlorn gambling; like the forlorn hopes of soldiers, that succeed because they have other expectations than success, and strike without caring to defend. This went on for several years, during which I became miserably rich, and sometimes rather wished to lose, and ran almost against the feelings, for the sake of the excitement of a loss.

"Among those I broke was a poor fellow who ten years before inherited a fortune of over eight hundred thousand, which he had increased to over a million, by ruining several others. He vanished away from the board of brokers, and was seen no more for a year. One morning I received a note from him, asking me to call at his lodgings, where he lay sick. I found him in a miserable garret, destitute of the necessaries of life, and far gone in consumption, with none to attend him but his daughter, about fifteen years old. His wife had died a short time previously. He told me that his physician had warned him that he could not live long, and that he had selected me as the only one of his acquaintance whom he durst ask to protect his destitute child.

"I never

was charitable-I never thought of charity-but somehow I felt a relief when he thus appealed to me, and I at once promised that I would treat her as my own child, and assured him he might dismiss all anxiety respecting her support, and position in society, so far as I could influence it. I had him removed to the best part of the miserable house—as he was too feeble to be removed out of it— and made him as comfortable as possible. In about two months he died.

'I took the young girl home with me, to the family in which I boarded. They were glad to take charge of her. They had two daughters, older than she was, who were ambitious to perfect themselves in music, and other accomplishments, but too poor to afford the means, so I provided teachers and what else was needed, and they studied together, and all went satis factorily.

On the day of departure one of the daughters playfully invited me to be her beau on the excursion. It never had occurred to me that I should care to go, in fact, I had always regarded such excursions as bores, and foolish exchanges of the comfort of home for the discomfort of hotels; but the matter was urged so that I conceived it might be a suitable diversion for me, in the state of feeling in which I remained. At the same time I thought my ward seemed to repent of her refusal, and again urged her to go. The question was settled by a general clamor of the party-both of us must go.

"The cheerfulness and interest of my ward during this excursion, and her expression on several occasions, excited in my mind an idea that never before had suggested itself-it was that gratitude on her part, or perhaps inconsiderate express ions of tenderness on mine, had produced a regard that difference of age had seemed to exclude altogether, even if I had dreamed of any other relation than that which existed between us. This idea once excited, observation soon confirmed it. To use my stock-market phrase, I soon perceived that the feeling was in my favor.

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What was I to do? I had conscience enough, and sense enough, to admonish me that, for my own sake as well as hers, I ought to act with entire liberality; if I should ever avail myself of her grateful regard, it should not be from her sense of obligation to me.

"I asked her into my private office one evening, and told her of my intention to acquit myself of my duty of friendship to her father, as I had promised him; and that her goodness of disposition, and assi duity in her studies, and careful attention to my comfort, had thus far made that duty a great pleasure-that, in fact, I had been a gainer by what I had undertaken, and, so long as she made her home with me, I should find her society a relief which I could not hope to find in those in whom I had only the interest of an acquaintance. But the time would naturally come when it would be necessary, for her interest, that we should part. I wished her to feel that I should regret, on my own account, the coming of that time; but for her sake, and on account of a deep sense of obligation to her father, I should take proper measures to place her in society where she would probably be sought, and our separation would naturally follow. Still, she must always regard me as a father, and feel per fect assurance that I felt it a pleasure, and in no sense a burden, to provide for her as if she were my own daughter. In this strain, but at great length, and in all proper detail, I intimated my intention to get her well married, and to endow her prop erly whenever she should meet with a suitable companion.

my

"As I had partly expected, and, I confess, earnestly hoped, this conversation cleared the way for me to say that own feelings, could I betray her interests, would lead me to forget the disadvantages against me. In short, I found that she was willing to overlook those disadvantages, and reasoned myself into the belief that I might atone for them. And here you see me married to her.

"Of course I would not mortify her by neglect of appearances, so I avail myself of all the skill of those who disguise the appearance of age, and mitigate and postpone its infirmities.

You took me to be