B., for all he bragged so of his Dutch
parentage, came from Albany, and was nobody's son at all. He had made
his money by land speculation, or by privateering (which was uncommonly
like piracy), and by the Guinea trade. His son had married--if marriage
it could be called, which was very doubtful--an assigned servant, and
had been cut off by his father, and had taken to bad courses, and had
died, luckily for himself, in his own bed.

"Mr. Draper has told you bad tales about me," said the placid old
gentleman to George. "Very likely we are all sinners, and some evil may
be truly said of all of us, with a great deal more that is untrue. Did
he tell you that my son was unhappy with me? I told you so too. Did he
bring you wicked stories about my family? He liked it so well that he
wanted to marry my Lyddy to his brother. Heaven bless her! I have had a
many offers for her. And you are the young gentleman I should have chose
for her, and I like you none the worse because you prefer somebody else;
though what you can see in your Miss, as compared to my Lyddy, begging
your honour's pardon, I am at a loss to understand."

"There is no accounting for tastes, my good sir," said Mr. George, with
his most superb air.

"No, sir; 'tis a wonder of nature, and daily happens. When I kept store
to Albany, there was one of your tiptop gentry there that might have
married my dear daughter that was alive then, and with a pretty piece
of money, whereby--for her father and I had quarrelled--Miss Lyddy would
have been a pauper, you see: and in place of my beautiful Bella, my
gentleman chooses a little homely creature, no prettier than your Miss,
and without a dollar to her fortune. The more fool he, saving your
presence, Mr. George."

"Pray don't save my presence, my good sir," says George, laughing. "I
suppose the gentleman's word was given to the other lady, and he had
seen her first, and hence was indifferent to your charming daughter."

"I suppose when a young fellow gives his word to perform a cursed piece
of folly, he always sticks to it, my dear sir, begging your pardon. But
Lord, Lord, what am I speaking of? I am aspeaking of twenty year ago. I
was well-to-do then, but I may say Heaven has blessed my store, and I am
three times as well off now. Ask my agents how much they will give for
Joseph Van den Bosch's bill at six months on New York--or at sight may
be for forty thousand pound? I warrant they will discount the paper."

"Happ