ed him to come home to dinner, In two days, he was at my door
again. At breakfast-time was this second appearance. He was in a cab
(of course he was in a cab, they always are, these unfortunate, these
courageous men). To deny myself was absurd. My friend could see me over
the parlor blinds, surrounded by my family, and cheerfully partaking of
the morning meal. Might he have a word with me? and can you imagine its
purport? By the most provoking delay, his uncle the admiral not being
able to come to town till Friday--would I cash him a cheque? I need not
say it would be paid on Saturday without fail. I tell you that man went
away with money in his pocket, and I regret to add that his gallant
relative has not COME TO TOWN YET!

Laying down the pen, and sinking back in my chair, here, perhaps, I fall
into a five minutes' reverie, and think of one, two, three, half a dozen
cases in which I have been content to accept that sham promissory coin
in return for sterling money advanced. Not a reader, whatever his age,
but could tell a like story. I vow and believe there are men of fifty,
who will dine well today, who have not paid their school debts yet, and
who have not taken up their long-protested promises to pay. Tom, Dick,
Harry, my boys, I owe you no grudge, and rather relish that wince with
which you will read these meek lines and say, "He means me." Poor Jack
in Hades! Do you remember a certain pecuniary transaction, and a little
sum of money you borrowed "until the meeting of Parliament?" Parliament
met often in your lifetime: Parliament has met since: but I think I
should scarce be more surprised if your ghost glided into the room now,
and laid down the amount of our little account, than I should have been
if you had paid me in your lifetime with the actual acceptances of the
Bank of England. You asked to borrow, but you never intended to pay. I
would as soon have believed that a promissory note of Sir John Falstaff
(accepted by Messrs. Bardolph and Nym, and payable in Aldgate,) would
be as sure to find payment, as that note of the departed--nay,
lamented--Jack Thriftless.

He who borrows, meaning to pay, is quite a different person from the
individual here described. Many--most, I hope--took Jack's promise for
what it was worth--and quite well knew that when he said, "Lend me,"
he meant "Give me" twenty pounds. "Give me change for this half-crown,"
said Jack; "I know it's a pewter piece;" and you gave him the change in