And a Poor Rich One n 



toir into great steam vats, in which it was 

 melted. My neighbor assured me that such 

 was the care taken with everything that he 

 himself never missed making a morning visit 

 there. Standing in half an inch of fatty mud 

 and water, he surveyed the scene with a pleased 

 air, and asked me whether I smelt anything 

 except the natural odors of a rendering-house. 

 Many times since then, when fortunate 

 enough to steal away from business for a few 

 days, and able to sail about in my boat and 

 teach the children how to fish, I have thought 

 of my highly respected neighbor, and won- 

 dered whether he still paid his daily visits to 

 that horrible place. From what I know of his 

 doings I am pretty sure that he did. "He 

 died in harness, like a true American," said 

 his fellow bank directors. Very often, as I 

 trudged home from the river in the bright 

 September and October evenings, my little 

 ones strong with a whole day's water sport, 

 and all of us full of the day's joy, my rich 

 neighbor would be driven quickly by on his 

 way from the railroad station. Probably he 

 had made hundreds of dollars that day, while 



