“My son,” said Mr. Boniface Newt, “you are now about to begin the world.” (Begin? thought Abel.) “You are now coming into my house as a merchant.  In this world we must do the best we can.  It is a great pity that men are not considerate, and all that.  But they are not.  They are selfish.  You must take them as you find them. You, my son, think they are all honest and good.”—­Do I? quoth son, in his soul.—­“It is the bitter task of experience to undeceive youth from its romantic dreams.  As a rule, Abel, men are rascals; that is to say, they pursue their own interests.  How sad!  True; how sad!  Where was I?  Oh! men are scamps—­with some exceptions; but you must go by the rule.  Life is a scrub-race—­melancholy, Abel, but true.  I talk plainly to you, but I do it for your good.  If we were all angels, things would be different.  If this were the Millennium, every thing would doubtless be agreeable to every body.  But it is not—­how very sad!  True, how very sad!  Where was I?  Oh! it’s all devil take the hindmost.  And because your neighbors are dishonest, why should you starve?  You see, Abel?”

It was in Mr. Boniface Newt’s counting-room that he preached this gospel.  A boy entered and announced that Mr. Hadley was outside looking at some cases of dry goods.

“Now, Abel,” said his father, “I’ll return in a moment.”

He stepped out, smiling and rubbing his hands.  Mr. Hadley was stooping over a case of calicoes; Blackstone, Hadley, & Merrimack—­no safer purchasers in the world.  The countenance of Boniface Newt beamed upon the customer as if he saw good notes at six months exuding from every part of his person.

“Good-morning, Mr. Hadley.  Charming morning, Sir—­beautiful day, Sir.  What’s the word this morning, Sir?”

“Nothing, nothing,” returned the customer.  “Pretty print that.  Just what I’ve been looking for” (renewed rubbing of hands on the part of Mr. Newt)—­“very pretty.  If it’s the right width, it’s just the thing.  Let me see—­that’s about seven-eighths.”  He shook his head negatively.  “No, not wide enough.  If that print were a yard wide, I should take all you have.”

“Oh, that’s a yard,” replied Mr. Newt; “certainly a full yard.”  He looked around inquiringly, as if for a yard-stick.

“Where is the yard-stick?” asked Mr. Hadley.

“Timothy!” said Mr. Newt to the boy, with a peculiar look.

The boy disappeared and reappeared with a yard-stick, while Mr. Newt’s face underwent a series of expressions of subdued anger and disgust.

“Now, then,” said Mr. Hadley, laying the yard-stick upon the calicoes; “yes, as I thought, seven-eighths; too narrow—­sorry.”

There were thirty cases of those goods in the loft.  Boniface Newt groaned in soul.  The unconscious small boy, who had not understood the peculiar look, and had brought the yard-stick, stood by.

“Mr. Newt,” said Hadley, stopping at another case, “that is very handsome.”