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zeal. So compact is the mass squeezing to and through the door, that no one individual can make an impression upon it. The mass absorbs the individual purpose and will of its components, and seems to have a purpose and soul of its own. In this stage of the panic a pale woman approaches, with hectic cheeks and hollow cough, with her pass-book. She sees how impossible to work her way through the crowd, and exclaims in despair:

'What shall I do? What shall I do?

Our former acquaintance, James, opportunely stepped forward and inquired :

'What is the matter, Madam ?'

'Oh! I'm ruined! I'm ruined!' exclaimed she. 'I'm sick. The bank is going to break, and my little money is there all my money. What shall I do?'

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'Give me your pass-book, Madam, and I will get through, and get your money, if possible.'

She gave him her pass-book without hesitation. The bank she had long trusted with her money she was unwilling to trust longer, but she trusts in a moment this man whom she had never seen. James, with a good deal of vigor and adroitness, made his way into the crowd, and was borne forward with it to a point near the door, when he happened to think that if he should get in, it would be useless. He could not expect the money to be paid on his check. But how could he get back? He raised himself so that the crowd almost lifted him from his feet, and by a spring, threw himself horizontally on top of the human mass, and thus rapidly made his way again to the open street. He explained to the woman the difficulty, and told her she must go in herself. He then cautioned her to pay no attention to others, but await her opportunity. Possibly a passage might be made; and if so, she must go in, not waiting to give any attention to what should pass outside. He then ran with eager speed to the middle of a street crossing the one on which the bank stood, and distant one block and a half. There he stood erect, looking steadily up street. Some of the persons in the crowd at the bank were curious to know what he was looking at, and moved toward him. At first they went by twos and threes soon they were followed by dozens, and in a short time the siege of the bank-door was raised, the crowd having dissolved and hurried to see what James was looking at. The woman drew her money just before the hour for closing the bank-doors for the day. They were never opened afterward. In the evening I went over to Nathan's to see Father Green. Nathans himself was quite knocked up with fatigue. He said he had worked his way into the crowd, and to the door or counter of every bank that had been run. Emily was sorry to see him so fatigued, and hoped he had no money in either of those banks. He thanked GOD, not a dollar! not a dime! not a red cent! They had been doing business on false principles. They should handle none of his money. Emily suggested playfully that they were pretty well protected against losing much by deposits in any bank.

'And now, huz,' said she,' what did you worry yourself to death for, by getting into those crowds?'

Nathans was slightly put upon his dignity by this question. He began to say something about its being impossible for women to understand business; but reflecting for the first time that there had not been a shadow of motive beyond the contagion of a general panic, for him to mix with a run upon the banks, he turned his answer into a joke, assuring her that he liked to see what was going on, and to study the business of a run' psychologically.

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The door was suddenly thrust open, without ceremony, and in stalked General Cleaver in a state of excitement. His first words were : 'It beats the devil!'

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What beats the devil?' said I.

'It is like the case in Scripter,' said he, perspiring freely, 'where Mary Magdalen turned seven devils out of a hog, then swept and garnished the animal, and when it was swept and garnished, it was tenfold more the child of sin than ever!'

After delivering these sentiments, he wiped his face with a handkerchief, and addressed himself more especially to me :

Been out of town; come home, found the devil to pay and no pitch hot. Went to your office; gone home; went up the hill, panting like sixty, to your house; not at home; told to come over here. Here I am, soul and body! A little the d-dest muss I was ever in. One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars deposited with B. & B. for a big pork business. All gone to Tophet! On Blodget's paper for fifty thousand; Blodget gone to Tophet also! I was worth two hundred and fifty thousand, but at forced sale the margin will go to Tophet, just exactly nip and tuck- also! I am cleaned out, done for, ruined! Can't you put me into the United States Court, or into Chancery?'

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General Cleaver was a man, who, in seeking help, never cared to shut the door, or to know who was present. But the conversation was of a character so entirely personal to himself, that other persons soon left us to our consultations. Unfortunately, not much could be done for him. For all present purposes he was ruined; but if he would hold on to his legal rights, and not part with them under influence of panic, he might regain a portion-how large, or how small, of course no one could tell. The question arose as to what course should be pursued concerning his indorsements: to let his property go at once to pay them, or to go through a protracted contest, hoping for some relief? General Cleaver settled that question quite promptly. When he put his name on a piece of paper, it said Cleaver, and it meant Cleaver. He might be as poor as Job's turkey; it would be nothing new; he was used to it but his name had always been Cleaver, and it always should be. When that name was called, he would stand up to it or die. He was the man it referred to. We agreed that the holders of his indorsement should have his property at once, at fair prices; and since they could do no better than to take it, they must allow something near its value.

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'Day after to-morrow,' says Cleaver, we move back into the little rooms we used to occupy, if we can rent them, or some others like them. We will go to rooms in the fourth story, if necessary; but no creditor shall ever say I turned a corner to dodge him.'

It seemed to me that Cleaver never was so grand and rich before. I had known him when poor and hopeful, and when rich and conscious of power. There had always been something staunch and genial that I liked. But now he shone in my eyes with a kind of radiance; and I think he saw what was going on with me, for he seemed conscious of my regard. When ready to leave me, he pulled out his wallet, and proposed to pay a fee. I put it off, by saying it would do some other time.

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Are you willing to trust me?' said he.

I told him I would trust him now more cheerfully than before his loss then I only believed him to be honest; now I knew him to be So. The course he was taking would buckle his friends to him with iron grapnels.

'But,' said he, ' an honest man may die; and then what becomes of those who trust him, if he leaves no property?'

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Fortunately,' said I, ' an honest man may die, and die poor; but what better investment can a living man have than in the affections of an honest man who has passed over Jordan? Now, General, I want nothing more said about fees. Perhaps I shall ask you for fees some day. It is the way legal doctors get their living. They are not consulted until the patient is sick, and then must be paid or starve. Therefore, I shall keep an account, and when I need it I will present my bill. But say no more about it. You did not use to ask me for my bill so promptly. You took it for granted I would present it when I wanted the money. With me your credit is as good as ever it was.'

We shook hands in parting very cordially. I watched his figure receding in the dim star-light, and among the deep shades, until it became, at no great distance, a shapeless spectre. In this condition it seemed to remain, and at length became more distinct. The General reäppeared, and beckoned me toward him.

'They say,' said Cleaver, 'as how women always put all their meaning into a postscript. This new state of affairs makes me womanish. The thing most in my mind I did n't say at all. I wanted to, but it sort of choked me. How is this 'ere row to affect Adeline? Won't it take the shine off? Won't she have to come down a peg or two?'

There it is again!' said I. 'Animal magnetism, spiritualism, I hardly know what; but I was thinking of the same subject.'

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'One thing,' said Cleaver, I know. She shall not be the daughter of a sneak. I shall face the music.'

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'It will be a trial to Adeline, no doubt,' said I. 'But I rather think may do her good. She has good health and beauty, and she has acquired polished manners. With her wealth, manners, and beauty, there was danger of her being flattered and spoiled a little spoiled. This will try her heart and her discretion. She will think and feel more, and be more of a woman. I give my legal opinion,' said I laughing, that Adeline will stand the test, and that she will carry herself through it triumphantly. You know, General, that there is such a thing as rising superior to circumstances. Other people are apt to judge us by our own standards. If we magnify our wealth and belittle ourselves, they do the same; on the other hand, if we respect

ourselves more than our money, other people respect us, without reference to our property.'

The General, after considerable conversation, said he thought he would have a good serious talk with Adeline, and tell her how she ought to meet her change of circumstances.

Suppose, General,' said I, 'you defer your talk for a week or two. It may happen that Adeline will be equal to the situation; and if so, perhaps you ought not to deprive yourself of the happiness of giving her credit for it.'

'Good!' said the General. 'I'm up to that. I wonder I did n't think of it. Adeline has got a good deal of her mother in her. She is almost Maggie over again. I'll bet you a barrel of pork, if you dare, that she goes through it like a lark.'

The General went off, whistling a cheerful tune, and this time did

not return.

room.

All interruptions on account of business having ceased, we recurred to the condition of our sick friend, the Florentine. The doctor, who had often cautioned us against giving any cause for excitement on her part, had at last told us that she had remained so long in her present condition, that she had better be roused from it. No new or fatal symptom had intervened; but she could not much longer endure the slow exhaustion of disease. To continue in the same condition was to shut out all chance of recovery. She might now be removed to another New scenes might be presented to her; and if means could be found to rally all that remained of the forces of life to a final struggle, the time had come when this was less dangerous than her prolonged monotony of prostration. Sometimes since her sickness she had repeated: 'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.' She had declared herself to be a believer, but that she had not been baptized. Sometimes when apparently sleeping she would whisper: He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.' Your mother and Emily had avoided the topic, and endeavored to lead her mind from it, as a topic of probable excitement. A scene of baptism might be more than her slender hold upon life could sustain. But she continued to repeat: He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.' Now that the doctor had given permission, it was determined no longer to postpone the desired rite. None of us at Ellas-land thought of any clergyman for that occasion but Father Green. The particular reasons known to him and me, why his presence should be felt in that sick-room, were not known to your mother or Emily; but they had been accustomed to his presence, and wished no other. When Father Green and Emily and I arrived, we found your mother had raised the sick woman upon bolsters almost to a sitting posture. She had put upon her a fresh white gown, and had placed a white flower in her hand. She explained to us, in another room, that the Florentine had seemed happy at the approaching solemnity, but her brain was perhaps a little wandering. She talked of her bird singing, and of the companion bird near her. No moon that night looked into the windows of the sick-room; but the curtains were drawn, and from the bed-side could be seen through a raised window dark outlines of foliage traced against a clear sky. The candles threw a dim

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and flickering light. We felt, if we did not look, like spectres. The sick woman alone seemed to breathe the life of a new and profound emotion; but it seemed to me like the sorrowful joy of flowers blooming upon a grave. For a moment Father Green was pale as if he too were about to enter the gates of death. Something like a tremor passed through his large frame, but he mastered it. He repeated the passage so often repeated by the sick woman : He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved.' He then explained in a few quiet and solemn words the privileges of the baptismal rite, and, in doing so, likened it to a wedding with Christ. It was a union of true love, without reserve; and if entered upon with a trusting, meek, and faithful spirit, unsealed for us exhaustless fountains of rest and peace. He then repeated a hymn, which we four endeavored to sing :

'WHEN I can trust my all with GOD,

In trial's fearful hour,

Bow all resigned beneath His rod,
And bless His sparing power,
A joy springs up amid distress,
A fountain in the wilderness.

'Oh! to be brought to JESUS' feet,
Though trials fix me there,

Is still a privilege most sweet,

For HE will hear my prayer:

Though sighs and tears its language be,
The LORD is near to answer me.'

The singing was surely not good. It had a dim, funereal sound, which we could not overcome. Father Green was obviously not quite satisfied. It was for him, more than any of us, to take care that the effects should not be depressing. I fancied that he never exhibited more wholeness and self-command than now. He immediately pronounced a single stanza of another hymn, in a strain so different, that we sung it cheerfully. His faith seemed already to be crowned with assurance of fulfillment:

'FATHER of mercies, GoD of love!

Then hear THINE humble suppliant's cry;

Bend from THY lofty seat above,

THY throne of glorious majesty:

One pardoning word can make me whole,
And soothe the anguish of my soul.'

With tenderness he laid his moistened fingers upon her forehead 'And now, HARRIET, I baptize thee in the name of the FATHER, SON, and HOLY GHOST !'

He knelt by the bed-side, with one hand delicately soothing the forehead of the sick woman, and prayed. Her eyes became riveted upon his upturned face. A faint auroral light alternately beamed and faded upon her features: it settled into a gleam of fixed intelligence: her wan, emaciated arms were with difficulty and much trembling lifted : they fell upon his broad shoulders, as with a low, moaning sound of recognition, she fell upon his neck, and rested there.

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