usual elegant manner; but, without waiting for a reply, he continued, "you needn't ask me how I am, for I can discern by your looks that you see how I am. I am hungry."

Elegant Tom Dillar hungry!

I was too much shocked by this humiliating confession from a man whom I had known and envied in his happier days, to disguise my feelings. But I put my hand in my pocket to feel for my purse.

"Thank you," said Tom, "it is very generous in you to anticipate my request. It is but a trifle that I need; and I will repay you soon."

I offered him the contents of my purse; but he would not take more than half a dollar. "At least," said I, "allow me to treat you to a supper, since you say you are hungry?"

66

I will agree to that," he replied, "upon the condition that you favor me with your company, and allow me to call for what I want."

Of course, I could not refuse his proposition, and, knowing what his former habits had been, I supposed he would go into some of the splendid restaurants on Broadway, and call for such a supper as he had once been accustomed to indulge in. But, on the contrary, he led me into one of the cross streets, and I followed him down into a very humble underground "Saloon," where he ordered a supper of cold meat and bread, and I could not prevail upon him to indulge in any thing more.

"You know something of my history," said Tom, "how I once lived, and how I lost my property; but how I have lived since, you do not know, and I shall not distress you by telling. Look," said he, and he unbuttoned his threadbare coat, when I saw that he had on neither vest nor shirt. "I am actually reduced to this extreme," said he, and his voice quivered as he spoke, "by trying to live honestly. Up to this very hour, until I met you, I have not stooped to beg; but now I was driven to it. I had nothing left by which I could raise a shilling, and I had not tasted food to-day."

"Good Heavens !" said I, "can this be true? What, Elegant Tom Dillar, with all his accomplishments, his rich acquaintances, his knowledge of the world, and in a city like this, where employment is so readily obtained, reduced to starvation! It cannot be true."

"But it is true," said Tom, "impossible as it may seem to you, and all because I was not brought up to a regular profession. My accomplishments were not of a kind to bring me money in an honorable way, and I made up my mind that if I

could not live honorably, I would prefer not to live at all. I could easily have sold myself to unworthy or disreputable employments, or my former friends would probably have been glad to have had me sing for them, and have rewarded me by permitting me to live on their bounty, but I could not submit to such a position as that. I could never be a jack-pudding of society; and I would not disgrace my father's name by a dishonorable occupation."

As Tom spoke these words, he looked more elegant in his shabby suit than ever he had done in his happier days; and, in spite of his poverty, I could not but still admire his manly spirit and self-reliance. I actually felt poor beside him.

"But," said I, "why will you not allow me to lend you a larger sum than you have taken? You shall be heartily welcome to more."

"Because," replied Tom, "it is all I need. I think I have found a placer, and after this, I shall be rich again."

I wished his expectations might be realized, and, shaking his hand, I gave him my card, and begged he would send to me. if he should need any further assistance.

CHAPTER III.

It was about three months after I parted from Tom in the cheap restaurant, that. as I entered the vestibule of the Astor House, I met him coming out of that hotel. I started back with amazement as I saw him, for Tom was now dressed with greater splendor than I had ever before seen him; not obtrusively made up, but with an air of studied elegance that was new to him. Certainly he never looked better, nor better deserved to be called Elegant Tom Dillar. He appeared a little embarrassed when he first caught my eye, but his old manner soon returned. "I owe you a trifle, I think," said he; "let me pay it." And he pulled out a silk purse which seemed to be full of gold and silver, and reached me a half-dollar.

"That is the principal," said he; "now do me the favor to accept this for interest ; and he took a handsome seal ring from his finger, which he put upon mine. As our initials were the same, I do not know whether he had had it cut for me or not; but, seeing my cipher on the agate, I fancied he had, and did not refuse it. I keep it among my most precious mementoes of past friendships, for Tom Dillar is one of those persons whose acquaintance I regard as a feather in my cap.

CHAPTER IV.

The reappearance of Elegant Tom Dillar in what is called society, was a topic of

universal conversation in fashionable circles, and once more invitations began to pour in upon him, so that he might, if he had had the capacity, have eaten three dinners daily at the very best houses in town, and have danced in the most brilliant company that New-York could afford, nearly every night. But a great change was perceptible in Tom's manner. He was the same Elegant Tom Dillar he had ever been; faultless in his manner, refined in his conversation, incredible in dress, and handsomer, if possible, than before his retirement. "But he is so subdued in his style," was the remark of every body. He never danced, and when he was pressed to sing, he always evaded the request by pleading a slight hoarseness. There used to be a slight dash of frivolity in Tom's conversation and conduct, and he would abandon himself to all kinds of merriment; but now he was rather grave, quiet, and dignified, and several ambitious young men made most melancholy attempts to form themselves upon his style. Another of his changes was, that he wore his hair cut very short, and his fine classical head was improved by it. In fact, Tom's new style was infinitely more interesting, becoming, and distingué than his old. Certain pious ladies got their heads together, and, after discussing the matter, came to the conclusion that Tom Dillar was preparing himself for the ministry. This suspicion even gave a new interest to him, and he became more than ever an object of observation. But this theory was soon exploded; for, if Tom were engaged in so pious an occupation, under whose auspices was he studying? On hearing the report, Tom smiled sarcastically, and raised his eyebrows as people do when they are both surprised and amused, but did not deny it. But, if he was not studying for the ministry, what was he doing, and how did he live? Where did he get his money? for it was known that Tom paid as he went, and not a soul of his acquaintance could accuse him of borrowing.

These questions began to grow extremely interesting and puzzling, for the manner in which Tom had been cleaned out by his speculation in Pottawattamy Coal Stock, by his friend, Pete Van Slicer, was as notorious as his subsequent poverty, and retirement from the world. All sorts of expedients were resorted to for the purpose of discovering the secret of Tom's income; but the mystery baffled the keenest investigation, and the consequence was, that the wildest conceivable stories were told about him, and he was regarded with looks of suspicion, and treated with cold disdain by certain ladies who had marriageable daugh

ters. The excitement at last reached its calenture when it was discovered that Julia Laurens, daughter of the celebrated and wealthy physician of that name, and granddaughter of old Ormolu the auctioneer, one of the most beautiful and fascinating girls in society, had actually fallen in love with Tom, and that he had been forbidden her father's house because he refused to tell how he gained his in

come.

The report of this interesting circumstance invested the mystery of Tom's prosperity with a romantic interest, and the excitement became absolutely furious. It was impossible to enter a house without hearing the subject discussed, and even merchants talked about it on 'Change. The different theories which were broached were highly instructive, inasmuch as they revealed the many different methods by which a man may contrive to live without labor; but it so happened, that not one of them came within a thousand miles of the truth. Tom had, in fact, discovered a placer, as he termed it, which he alone knew how to work; and most discreetly did he keep his secret, until, in a luckless moment, the merest accident revealed it.

The women, poor simple-minded creatures, knowing but little of the world, had their own innocent surmises about Tom, the most plausible of which was, that he had entered into a league with the some other ladies, who had a less practical acquaintance with human possibilities, believed that he got his money by writing poems for the magazines; while others said that he gambled. But Tom's regular habits and his placidity of temper were adverse to the last supposition. The men, of course, gave shrewder guesses; and one party maintained, with some plausibility, that Tom Dillar was employed as a Russian spy. The difficulty in this case was that he never received any foreign letters, was notoriously ignorant of political movements, and never mingled in any society where he would be likely to pick up any information that would interest the Emperor of Russia. Another party maintained that he speculated in stocks; but that theory was easily knocked in the head: Tom had not been in Wall-street since his speculation in the Pottawattamy Coal Stock. Some ill-natured people hinted that he was employed in circulating counterfeit money; but he was closely watched, and was never known to pass off a bad bill. He was accused of picking pockets, of buying lottery tickets, and other disreputable practices; but the strict integrity of Tom's conduct, and his perfect frankness on all subjects concerning himself, except that impenetrable mystery of

the source of his income, put every ungenerous suspicion to rest. He was watched when he went from a party, or the opera, and was always found to go directly to his lodgings, and there, too, would he be sound in the morning. Julia Laurens's father had employed a police officer to dodge Tom's footsteps, and discover what his haunts were; but the man could learn nothing more than was already known. There was one rather striking peculiarity, however, about Tom's movements, which might lead to the discovery of the mystery. Nobody had seen him, except on Sunday nights, between the hours of seven and ten. Every place of amusement in the city was ransacked in vain, during these hours, but no sign of Tom Dillar could any where be found, and he continued to be a subject of talk in society, where he was still well received in spite of all the evil things that were surmised about him.

Julia Laurens was a spirited girl, and she loved Tom the better, perhaps, because he was the object of so much unjust suspicion; and her father, the doctor, was charmed by Tom's intelligence, his gentlemanly manners, his fine taste, and his amiability; and most happy would he have been to acknowledge him as his son-inlaw, but for the mysterious silence which he observed in respect to his income. But, as Tom was resolute in his silence, the father of Julia was inexorable, and there was nothing left for them but a clandestine marriage. The lady hinted at her willingness, but Tom told her, dearly as he loved her, he would not be guilty of a dishonorable act to obtain her. He would wait a little longer, and perhaps her father would relent.

To fully appreciate Tom's noble conduct, it should be known that Julia, in addition to her expectations from her father's property, which was already large, and rapidly increasing, had property of her own, valued at fifty thousand dollars, which had been bequeathed her by an aunt. All this Tom might have had, and the woman he loved besides, but for his high-minded sense of honor.

CHAPTER V.

Doctor Laurens, Julia's father, was a most passionate lover of music, and you were always sure of seeing him in his box at the opera, in his bright-buttoned coat, with lorgnette in hand, listening to the prima donna as though she were a patient, and he anticipated a fee at the close of the performance. He was so catholic in his tastes that he could enjoy one kind of music as well as another, and, when there

was no opera, and his patients would permit it, he would go to hear the Ethiopian Minstrels, and sit through the entire performance. In fact, the banjo was one of the Doctor's weaknesses, and there were some people, who were uncharitable enough to say that negro minstrelsy was much better adapted to his musical taste, than the Italian opera. But that was mere scandal, of course, for the Doctor had been in Europe, and had brought back with him, like many other gentlemen who go abroad, a taste for music and the fine arts, which he did not carry with him.

There was one member of the Ethiopian band, where the Doctor was in the habit of going, who had completely fascinated him, which was not much to be wondered at, for he had fascinated every body else who heard him; and when he appeared, there was sure to be an overflowing house. The name of this incomparable singer was Higgins, and his talents, as a banjo player, as a dancer, and a personator of the negro character, particularly as the negro dandy, were equal to his splendid abilities as a singer. The Doctor never failed to drop into the Ethiopian opera, as it was called, whenever this public favorite appeared, which was nearly every night, and seeing his name up on the bills for a benefit, the Doctor resolved to go. On reaching the hall he found the house so crowded, that he could not even get his nose inside, but the door-keeper recognized him, and wishing to gratify so distinguished a patron of the establishment, offered to show him round by a private entrance, so that he would be near the stage, and might retire at his leisure.

The Doctor was delighted, and put something handsome into the hand of the doorkeeper, as an acknowledgment for the favor. He got a comfortable seat near the stage, and waited with impatience for the appearance of the incomparable Higgins. The sham darkey was in splendid voice, and filled the audience with ecstatic pleasure by his happy imitations of Dandy Jim. But his most brilliant performance was in the plantation break-down, in which he ravished the spectator by his unparalleled heeling and toeing. In the midst of the performance, when the frenzy of the spectators was at its height, a boy in the gallery threw a piece of orange-peel on the stage, and Higgins, by an unlucky step put his foot upon it, and fell with a tremendous crash. The audience at first thought it a part of the dance, and applauded tremendously, but it was soon discovered that the poor man had met with a serious accident. He was taken up by his companions and borne off the stage; directly after, the

leader of the band came on, and asked if there was a surgeon in the house, as Mr. Higgins was badly hurt by his fall. Doctor Laurens was but too happy to have an opportunity of rendering any professional assistance to so distinguished an artist as Higgins; so he stepped promptly forward and offered his services. The artist had struck his head, but was only stunned. The Doctor, however, did as all doctors do on such occasions, whipped out his lancet and bled the patient, while one of his companions, with a bowl of water and a sponge wiped the burnt cork from the face of the unconscious minstrel.

Higgins presently opened his eyes, and stared wildly about him, while the Doctor shrieked out,

"Good gracious, it is Elegant Tom Dillar!"

Tom was bewildered by the sudden change of the scene, and faint and sick from the loss of the blood which Doctor Laurens had been letting out of his veins; but, bewildered and weak as he was, the sound of the Doctor's voice, and the sight of his astonished countenance, brought Tom to his senses. He knew at once that his secret was discovered, and comprehended in a moment the consequences that must follow its revelation to society.

"Doctor," said he, faintly, "it is no use to dissemble further. You know my secret; let me request you to keep it to yourself."

"O! my dear fellow," said the Doctor, "you are perfectly safe in my hands; don't be uneasy. For the credit of my own family, at least, I shall not be likely to proclaim to society that a gentleman who has visited at my house, is a member of a troupe of Ethiopian minstrels. I wish you a good evening, sir."

It very oddly happened that, before midnight, all the members of the Manhattan Club, to which the Doctor belonged, knew that Elegant Tom Dillar had retrieved his fortunes by joining the Ethiopian minstrels, and the news was spread

all through society before the next day at

noon.

Tom received a package early in the morning from Julia, inclosing all the billets-doux and trinkets he had sent her, and requesting a return of all she had ever sent him. The note was as devoid of feeling or sentiment as a lawyer's dunning letter; and Tom wrote one in reply, which was quite as cold and business-like.

"Well," said I to Tom, on meeting him a few days after his accident, which would very likely have proved fatal to him but for his woolly wig; "Do you intend to give up society or the minstrels?"

แ

Society!" exclaimed Elegant Tom Dillar, with a sarcastic curve of his finely chiselled lip; "Society be

I will not repeat the very coarse expression he used; for, since his new associations, he had grown rather rude and low in his language.

"What should an honest man care for society?" said he. "When I was an idler, living on the property which my father's industry had procured me, society petted me and cherished me. When I lost my property, society turned a cold shoulder to me, but petted the villain who had robbed me of it. When by an honest exercise of the only accomplishments I had been taught, I was enabled to appear like a gentleman, society again received me with open arms, although it imagined I was a gambler or a pickpocket; but, when it was found that my money was honestly obtained-that I wronged no one, nor owed any one-society rejects me again, and the girl who was willing to marry me as a swindler, turns her back upon me as an honest man."

I am afraid that Tom was misanthropical; for, as he soon after became possessed of a considerable fortune by the death of a relative, he quitted the minstrels and went to Paris, where, I have heard, he still lives in great splendor, and is famous for his dinners, to which none of his countrymen are ever invited.

dark blue sky, as if we, too, had felt the inspiriting, gladdening sun's kiss, and had gazed, with our own eyes, upon the strange, bewitching splendor of the South. And now that you have refreshed yourselves for a moment by the contemplation of this picture, turn your eyes towards an old, negligently dressed man, who sits before the door of the house, and gazes, lost in thought, into the distance. An orange-tree strews, now and then, a few fragrant blossoms over him, but he doesn't notice it; roses coquettishly kiss his forehead; gayly-colored butterflies flutter sportively about him-to no purpose; the signs of life and stir make no impression upon him;-and still there was passion and sensibility in his dark, noblycut features, and the burning Italian eyes contrasted strangely with the northern snows on his head.

It was the Maestro, Alessandro Scarlatti. A harp was leaning upon his chair, in front of which, with an indescribably earnest mien and inimitable dignity, was a large black cat. He was occupying himself with flourishing the tip of his tail, which, as well as his left ear, was of a dazzling whiteness, gently over the chords, which singular experiment, very naturally, brought forth all manner of strange sounds. It was his habit, in fact, since his lord and master never took his musical studies amiss, to abandon himself, every morning, with utter recklessness, to his genius, accompanying the movement of his tail with the most absurd gestures; and sometimes, in the overflow of his feelings, he sang one of those ancient melancholy strains of his forefathers, which, as has been asserted, have power to soften the hardest stone, and drive the calmest of men to madness. All this caused not the least disturbance to Master Scarlatti; on the contrary, he laughed like a good-natured devil, whenever the cat fell into his musical ecstasies. In the evening, however, the cat always sat in a corner of his beloved master's room, with an expression like that of a sentimental privy counsellor, and then it was the Master who played the harp; and that must have been gloriously worth listening to; for all the little birds who sang among the orangetrees and myrtles came flying to the open window, to hear it, and the roses crowded in their little heads, one after the other, in such haste and impatience, that many a tender bud lost its young life.

The Master, on these occasions, looked like that wonderful old bard Ossian, only not so shattered by pain and grief. What wonder if these magic tones caused the sensitive soul of the cat, who was still mourning, withal, for the death of

a beloved bride, to melt, and his green eyes to overflow, like the King of Thule's! Whenever Scarlatti perceived this, he took up his faithful four-legged companion into his lap, and stroked, caressed, and kissed him, until he had recovered his mad, romping humor. On the whole, the cat led a perfectly charming life with his gentle master, to whom he was all in allfriend, wife, and child, whom he never left by day or by night. When the old Master was engaged in composing something, Ponto sat quietly upon his left shoulder, and brushed his forehead softly with his famous white-tipped tail. Sometimes Scarlatti would get impatient and vexed, when an idea was not clear, when his hand got wearied, or the malicious ink spread out upon the paper in a shapeless blotch; at such times, upon a sudden angry shrug of his master's shoulders, the cat would spring down from his lofty seat, into the middle of the room. He never took offence at this rough treatment, but continued placidly affectionate, like a sensible wife with a scolding husband, and always stole quietly back, after a few minutes of grievous banishment, and mounted again, with a comfortable purr, upon the forsaken throne. For this, too, he got a thousand caressing words, when his master, at length, thrust pen and paper, and other things, aside, which put him into a state of boundless ecstasy.

All this was very nice and comfortable, if it had not been for the Sunday, the only dark day that Ponto experienced; for, every Sunday, a jovial, mad fellow, was in the habit of beating up Master Scarlatti's quarters, and staying with him until the still night had enveloped the earth, exhausted by the day's heat and brightness, in her mantle of stars. The young Sunday guest was a favorite scholar of the Master's, who had come a long distance, from Germany, and was named Hasse; this the cat had remarked, as well as his red and white complexion, and his brown locks. Now there could not possibly be, in the whole wide world, a bolder, jollier fellow, than this same young German, who tormented and insulted the venerable Ponto in every imaginable way;-now he would fasten a little bell to his tail, now put baby-shoes on his feet, now crown him with a wreath of roses, or strew orange-blossoms over him, whose strong scent the cat's nasal organs could by no means tolerate, and against which he struggled with incessant convulsive sneezing. To cap the climax, the young German possessed a little frolicking dog, of whom even Ponto, his sworn enemy, had to confess, that he was