tly you would think
and feel from what you do now. Nay, more; let the debt be owed to those
who are worth their thousands and tens of a thousands, and who are in
the enjoyment of every luxury and comfort they could desire, while you
go on paying them what you owe, by over-exertion and the denial to
yourself and family of all those little luxuries and recreations which
both so much need, and then say how deeply dyed would be that
dishonesty which would cause you, in a moment of darker and deeper
discouragement than usual, to throw the crushing weight from your
shoulders, and resolve to bear it no longer? You must leave a man some
hope in life if you would keep him active and industrious in his
sphere."

Mr. Petron said nothing in reply to this; but he looked sober. His
friend soon after left.

The merchant, as the reader may infer from his own acknowledgment, was
one of those men whose tendency to regard only their own interests has
become so confirmed a habit, that they can see nothing beyond the
narrow circle of self. Upon debtors he had never looked with a particle
of sympathy; and had, in all cases, exacted his own as rigidly as if
his debtor had not been a creature of human wants and feelings. What
had just been said, however, awakened a new thought in his mind; and,
as he reflected upon the subject, he saw that there was some reason in
what had been said, and felt half ashamed of his allusion to the
interest of the tailor's fifty-dollar debt.

Not long after, a person came into his store, and from some cause
mentioned the name of Moale.

"He's an honest man--that I am ready to say of him," remarked Mr.
Petron.

"Honest, but very poor," was replied.

"He's doing well now, I believe," said the merchant.

"He's managing to keep soul and body together, and hardly that."

"He's paying off his old debts."

"I know he is; but I blame him for injuring his health and wronging his
family, in order to pay a few hundred dollars to men a thousand times
better off in the world than he is. He brought me twenty dollars on an
old debt yesterday, but I wouldn't touch it. His misfortunes had long
ago cancelled the obligation in my eyes. God forbid! that with enough
to spare, I should take the bread out of the mouths of a poor man's
children."

"Is he so very poor?" asked Mr. Petron, surprised and rebuked at what
he heard.

"He has a family of six children to feed, clothe, and educate; and he
has it to do by his unassi