IO LIBERTY AND A LIVING. 



veyed the scene with a pleased air, and asked 

 me whether I smelt any thing except the natu- 

 ral 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 wondered 

 whether he still paid his daily visits to that 

 horrible place. From what I know of his do- 

 ings I am pretty sure that he did. " He died 

 in harness, like a true American," said his fel- 

 low 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 rail- 

 road station. Probably he had made hundreds 

 of dollars that day, while I had made what ? 

 Had he paid too much for his money ? 



I have another neighbor, by no means a rich 

 man, and by no means looked up to in the 

 community, in fact, scarcely known, except to 

 the few who meet him out fishing, or who buy 

 crabs and oysters from him. He is a jolly old 



