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accounted for. But Mr. Barnaby had never looked at the matter in this light. He did not reflect, that a cent uselessly spent every day, is equal to three dollars thrown away in the year.

On the next morning, Mr. Barnaby again went to market, and, as was usual with him, turned over in his mind the various articles he must buy, and fixed upon the sum that would meet all that was really wanted. But, as on the day before, he exceeded this ainount. The excess was one dollar, and the articles purchased could all have been left in the markethouse, and no member of Mr. Barnaby's family experienced the smallest deprivation in comfort or health.

" What a beautiful bunch of flowers !" said Mrs. Barnaby to her husband, for the tenth time, as they stood together in the parlor after breakfast. What a pity it is we haven't a glass vase to cover them. They would look so sweet!"

“Wouldn't they ?” was all the reply Mr. Barnaby made ; but the idea suggested by his wife did not die with the sound of her voice. It entered his mind, and lived there. In imagination he saw that bouquet of flowers—tissuepaper though they were

-within a glass vase, their beauty increased twofold.

Mr. Barnaby did not go direct to his office on leaving home that morning, but walked two or three squares out of his way, in order to visit a china store. Before leaving the store, his purse was lighter by two dollars, that sum having been expended for a glass to cover the bouquet of paper flowers bought for fifty cents.

As Mr. Barnaby walked along, thinking how gratified his wife would be when the vase was brought home, he passed a pickling and preserving establisbment, and saw in the window jars of fruit and vegetables of various kinds, preserved in the condition they were in on being taken from the vine or tree. One of these jars was marked, “ Tomatoes.” Mr. Barnaby liked tomatoes very much, and had them on his table from the time they were to be bought four for a shilling until frost withered the vines on which they grew. To have a taste of the delightful vegetable once during the winter could hardly be called extravagance-so thought Mr. Barnaby-even if it did cost something to procure the gratification. So in he went, without debating the matter, and bought a small jar for fifiy cents. While the shopkeeper was select

ing his change, he took up a small bottle containing less than half a pint, marked “strawberries."

“ Have these the natural flavor ?” he inquired.

“() yes," replied the shopkeeper. “They have been hermetically sealed, after exhausting the air, and are in just the state they were when taken from the vines. I opened a bottle yesterday, and found them delicious.”

" What is the price of this bottle ?"
“ Half a dollar.”

“ How better can I surprise and delight Aggy,” said Mr. Barnaby to himself, “than by buying her some of these strawberries ?"

That question settled the matter, and Mr. Barnaby's purse was soon lighter by another half dollar. The tomatoes and strawberries were then ordered to be sent home, and Mr. Barnaby, feeling very comfortable in mind, proceeded to his office, and entered upon the business of the day. Between that and nightfall, he gave a shilling to a beggar who yot drunk on the money, bought fifty cents worth of toys for the children, over which they disputed as soon as they received them, and which were all broken up and thrown away in less than twenty-four hours, and ordered home a quarter of a dollar's worth of buns for tea, and found, on sitting down to supper, that his wife had baked up enough cake to last the whole family for three or four days.

So passed the second day of the new year; and when, in the evening, reflection came, and Mr. Barnaby found nearly seven dollars less in his purse

than when he went out in the morning, he was even more at a loss than on the day before to account for the deficiency. In attempting to sum up the various expenditures into which he had been led, he could not make out over five dollars and a half; and his mind remained totally in the dark as to the balance.

On the third day--but we will not weary the reader by minutely detailing the process by which Mr. Barnaby got rid of his money on the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days of the new year. What we have given will furnish a clue to unravel the mystery of his heavy expenses, and show, what he was himself unable to find out, where the money went. The annount uselessly spent, or that might have been saved without any abridgment of physical or mental comfort, during those six days, was just fifteen




dollars! or at the rate of seven hundred and fisty dollars a year.

The manner of proceeding during this one week, shows exactly how Mr. Barnaby conducted his affairs. Not a day passed that he did not waste from one to three dollars in trifles to gratify a bad habit of desiring to have every little thing he saw, instead of waiting until real wants tugged at his purse-strings.

And it was not much better with Mrs. Barnaby. She, too, had acquired the same habit, and sixpences and shillings dropped daily from her fingers, as if they were of but small account.

Thus it went on, as it had been going for years; and when the next thirty-first of December arrived, and Mr. Barnaby examined his expense account, he found that twenty-two hundred dollars had vanished, and that scarcely a vestige of any good it had brought them remained. There had been no additions except very unimportant ones, to their furniture; no silver-plate nor fine jewelry had been purchased; nor had either Mr. or Mrs. Barnaby indulged in any extravagance of dress.

“Where does the money go?” asked, again, Mr. Barnaby, in a kind of despairing tone.

“ I'm sure I cannot tell,” sadly replied his wife. “It seems impossible that we could have spent so much. What is there to show for it? Nothing !"

“Nothing at all! That makes the great mystery. Twenty-two hundred dollars !”

While they yet conversed, their neighbors, the Malcolms, dropped in to sit an hour. No very long time passed before the subject uppermost in the minds of the Barnabys showed itself.

“How is it,” said Mr. Barnaby," that you are able to live on so much less in the year than we can, and yet appear to spend more ?"

Mrs. Malcolm smiled, and said that she was not aware that such was really the case.

“But I know that it is so," returned Mr. Barnaby. “You do not spend as much as we do by at least seven or eight hundred dollars.”

“ Probably you put our expenses considerably below what they really are.”

“No, I apprehend not. I suppose it costs you from twelve to thirteen hundred dollars a year.”

“Yes. That is pretty near the mark.” “I shouldn't like to say how much it really

does cost us; but I can assure you it is far be. yond that. As to where the money goes, I am entirely in the dark. We have nothing to show for it."

“I wish you would impart to us your system of economy," said Mr. Barnaby, smiling. “If I could get through the year for fifteen hundred dollars, I would be perfectly satisfied.”

“I have no particular system,” replied Mr. Malcolm,“ unless you call taking care of the little leaks in the cash system. When a boy, I lived with a shrewd old farmer in the country, who belonged to the 'save-your-penniesand-the-pounds-will-take-care-of-themselves' school. One fall, in putting up cider, he trusted to rather a rickety-looking barrel, which showed a disposition to leak. I guess it will do,' he said, thoughtfully eyeing the barrel after the cider had been poured into it, and noticing that in two or three places small streams were oozing forth. The barrel is a little loose, but it will soon swell.' And so the barrel was placed in the dark cellar with two or three others for the winter's supply. Two barrels were tapped one after another, and they yielded back the full amount of liquer that had been committed to their charge. But on coming to the third barrel, and taking hold of it to bring it forward to a better position, it was found to be empty. 'Aha!' said the old farmer, 'I see how it is. I thought that leak was of no consequence, but it has wasted the whole barrel of cider. There's a lesson for you, John,' he added, turning 10

* Take care of the little leaks in your pocket, when you grow up and have money to spend, for they are what run away with most men's property.' I understood hiin as fully as if he had read me a homily of an hour long. All useless expenditures I now call leaks, and stop them up immediately."

“ No doubt we spend a great many dollars that might be saved in the year,” said Mr. Barnaby ; " but I cannot conceive how all the leaks in our pockets could let out five or six hundred dollars in twelve months.”

It's an easy matter for us to let five or six hundred dollars leak out, and yet scarcely be aware of the daily waste," replied Mr. Barnaby. “Two dollars spent every day, that mighi be saved, gives six hundred dollars in a year.”

- True. But a man could hardly let that much leak away without observing it.”

“ It is very possible. Suppose you add on,


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daily, to each of your three meals, a shilling or sixpence more than is necessary; and this may be done so easily as scarcely to be noticed ; how much do you think it would be in a year? Why, the important sum of one hundred and thirty-eight dollars !"

" Is it possible ?" Mr. Barnaby looked surprised.

“ Even so. And if twenty-five cents be added to each meal, a thing easily done, as you very well know, the yearly aggregate is swelled to two hundred and seventy-six dollars."

" In the matter of desserts alone,” said Mrs. Malcolm, coming in with a remark, “which rather injures than conduces to health, half a dollar a day, in a family as large as yours, may easily be spent."

“Don't you have a dessert after dinner?” inquired Mrs. Barnaby, in a tone of surprise.

Not every day,” answered Mrs. Malcolm.

“I don't believe Mr. Barnaby would know that he had dined, if he hadn't a dessert on the table."

“Perhaps not,” replied Mr. Barnaby ; " for then my first course would digest so easily that it would be hard to imagine that I had eaten any thing. The fact is, now that I reflect upon it, these desserts are to my stomach as the extra pound that broke the camel's back. I don't believe I would have a dyspeptic symptom, if I did not touch puddings, pies, sweetmeats, nuts and raisins, blanc-manges, floating islands, and a hundred and one other things that my good wife prepares for our gratification, and which I eat after my appetite has been satiated on plain and more substantial food."

“ Upon my word !” exclaimed Mrs. Barnaby. “And so, after all, these are the thanks I am to receive for my trouble. Dear knows! if it was not for you, I wouldn't worry myself every day about a dessert for dinner."

“And at a cost of over a hundred dollars a year,” returned Mr. Barnaby, good-humoredly. "I begin to see a little of the way in which the money goes."

“ There are so many ways in which we are obliged to spend money," said Mr. Malcolm, “that unless we are watchful, a little will leak out at a dozen points every day, and shows, in the end, although we remain all unconscious of the waste that is going on, an alarming de

ficiency. When I first entered upon life, I saw how this was in my own case. Sixpences, shillings, and even dollars, did not seem of much importance; though of fives, tens, and twenties, I was very careful. The consequence was, that the small change kept constantly running away; and, in the end, the fives, tens, and twenties, had mysteriously disappeared. I saw that this wouldn't do, and reformed the system. I took care of the small sums, and soon found that I always had large sums to spend for things actually needful, and had really more satisfaction in what I obtained with my money than I had before."

“But it is so hard,” said Mrs. Barnaby," to be careful of the sixpences, without growing mean and penurious, and even seeking to save at the expense of others' just rights."

" Perhaps it is,” replied Mrs. Malcolm. “ But the consequence need not follow. All we have to do is, to deny ourselves the indul. gence of a weak desire to spend money for little articles that we could do without and not abridge our comfort in the least, and we will find enough left in our purses to remove us from the temptation to be unjust to others."

Taking care of the pennies, then, and leaving the pounds to take care of themselves, is your system,” remarked Mr. Barnaby.

“ Yes," answered Mr. Malcolm. “ That is our system, and we have found it to work very well. We not only enjoy every comfort we could reasonably desire, but have nearly two thousand dollars in the savings bank.”

“ And yet your salary is only fifteen hundred dollars a year.”

“ That is all."

“While my income is over two thousand, and I haven't a cent left to bless myself with when the thirty-first of December arrives. But I see where the leak is. I understand, now, clearly, how the money goes; and, by the help of a good resolution, I will stop the leak.”

How far Mr. Barnaby was successful in stopping the leak, we do not know. It is hard to reform confirmed habits of any kind, and we are afraid that he found the task assumed a hard one. But if he conquered in the attempt, his reward was ample, compared to the amount of self-denial required for the achievement.






On a certain morning, not half a 'century since, a fine-looking old gentleman might have been seen climbing up the side of a merchantman moored at the wharf of one of our seaports. The vessel had only reached the pier the evening before, and she was crowded with emigrants from Europe. Mr. Ralston-such was the gentleman's name-was a man in easy circumstances, and having been fortunate in business, was now enjoying his fortune. City life and his well-earned reputation for promptness, had cultivated in him a manner slightly dictatorial, and a feeling of superiority to all dependent on him. He did not lack intelligence or shrewdness as a wholesale merchant, and yet he did lack penetration into the characters of those he met for the first time. His foible, if it deserve that name, and his feelings, will appear in a conversation which took place on the morning alluded to.

“I tell you, sir," said Mr. Ralston, “I am tired of employing native servants. The men are all sovereigns, and the women are all ladies. They have such notions of their dignity, that they act as if they were conferring all the obligation by working for you, if it be only as scavengers."

“ But ought not that to gratify, rather than to disgust, Mr. R., when you see them having a proper self-respect? You do not want our poor to become servile as the paupers of Eu

with him, or he will insult you as an aristocrat!”

“Well, well, you give rather a musical account of these American workers, and yet you must remember that some of them have just as good parentage as those who occupy the White House."

“ Yes, my friend, these ideas are amazingly comfortable; but what would you think of my coachman, the other day, after hearing a frothy declamation from the Hon. Senator the dignity of American citizenship, the sovereignty of the people, and such like stuff? Why, I happened to call him ‘John,' instead of Mister Whipster, and he threw himself on his offended dignity, and told me he was not accustomed to such disrespect! And sure enough, off he went."

“ That was somewhat provoking, surely, but then, Mr. R., perhaps you will hear of him in legislative halls, and may think differently of this matter then."

“No, no, no; I am tired of these sovereigns on the coach-box and at the ploughtail, whose modest notions would lead them to sup with the President, if he were your guest, in their shirtsleeves. They do well enough to vote, but they make miserable servants. I am determined to try foreigners, and must off now to the ship after a factotum to take up the river with me to-night.”

“I will accompany you, if you are willing.” “Glad of your company, but let us hurry."

What a medley of human faces met them on that deck, sufficient to sicken one for ever of the old world pauperism! Here they were unrecommended, and not one man in America could say whether on that deck might not stand

rope ?

“ Proper self-respect, indeed! A gentleman dressed to meet the President, if he happens to step out where his coachman is, must be as polite as possible, or the fellow takes it in dudg

Or you find a fellow reeking with perspiration at a ploughtail, you must shake hands






some of the most hardened villains, whose names would yet be so notorious as to be the charm which should turn the multiplying sheets of some police gazette into gold. One can't help shuddering to select a servant from such a mass of strangers.

Mr. R. at first found no man to answer his ideas at all, but at last fixed his attention on one standing by the shipside.

“ There is my man," he forthwith said to his friend. “ I want him and will have him. He wont want to eat with you, and be mad if you do not call him Mister.

Surely, Mr. R., you cannot mean him," replied the friend, pointing to the man. Why, I tell you he is a savage, if there ever was one. I would not trust myself with him for all the gold in Peru." “Fudge, fudge,” replied Mr. R. “He is the

See what an athletic fellow he is, and yet how obsequious his demeanor. Come, let us find an interpreter and secure him.” The

person who was thus unconsciously the subject of these remarks, merits a description, for he was one of a thousand. He was a man of ordinary stature, but evidently very strong. As he stood before the friends, he seemed humble as a Franciscan begging a morsel of food. He had a slight stoop in the shoulders, which, to an ordinary observer, would seem to be a good set-off to his obsequious demeanor. But Mr. R.'s friend thought that stoop resembled much the crouching posture of a tiger when about to spring on its prey. The face and head were such that Lavater would have shuddered, and Fowler have hurried away, casting glapces over his shoulder to assure himself that the man was not after him. His thick lips and pug nose would have done credit to a bull-dog, whilst a modern physiologist would have asseverated that the man who had such teeth, such a mouth, and such a savage expression, must have been dieted on raw meat, and drank blood all his life. The forehead was low, and retreated in such rapid grade that--to speak phrenologically--no place was left for the organs of benevolence, conscientiousness, and veneration. The organ of firmness seemed a tumor on the head, bolstered up roundly by cautiousness and secretiveness. The intellectual organs were small, but the back part of the head enormous. was dull, but Lavater would have detected in it a malignant expression. This singular head was

covered with a profusion of straight, wiry hair. Had the thousands of foreigners who landed that year, been examined closely, probably not one of them could have been selected whose countenance ought to have excited so much fear. And yet Mr. Ralston selected this man, as though guided by a fate. He had crossed the orbit of his malignant star.

No remonstrances of the friend availed, and in a short time Mr. R. had hired the man.

Time hurried on, and La Bouche, the servant, was so obsequious and so attentive that his master felt no little pride in his own shrewdness in choosing him out of hundreds, and that in the face of remonstrances. Had he been a little while behind the curtain of events, he might have trembled. He would have seen this man, in the occasional absence of the family, carefully examining all apartments of the house, and as, by chance, he happened on some jewel or money, his dull eye would gleam with pleasure. As Mr. R. would draw out his gold lever in the presence of La Bouche, a close observer might have observed the greedy gaze of avarice, looking like a serpent from his eyes. But no one saw it, and even Mr. R.'s daughters, who were at first as much shocked at his savage face as was the friend I have spoken of, at last learned to think he was a faithful man, and gave up their prejudices. Not an article was stolen, and he seemed the safest of men.

In the mean time he had secured enough of broken English to ask for brandy at a tavernbar, and occasionally drank, but not to intoxication. Many thought him a strange man, but no one could allege any thing against him.

I have noticed that the grosser crimes are usually associated with the use of intoxicating drinks. However strong may be the desire of revenge, or the greed of gold, or however long men may have brooded over a guilty determination to take life, not one in a hundred can do it until the power of alcohol has been freely invoked. One draught is not enough. It must be repeated again and again, before conscience can be drowsed, and animal passion phrenzied sufficiently for the deed of blood.

On a certain evening, not many months after the addition of La Bouche to Mr. Ralston's family, he might have been seen on his way to a tavern not far distant. His head was sunk on his breast as he slowly walked along. Had he been a Wall street broker,

The eye

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