he
braided branches of the cherry trees, gave a parting look at the white caps
of the sea, and turned his eyes to the city in the dim distance--the great
city-ocean, with no one to point out to him its sunken reefs, its
quicksands, and maelstroms.

Next to Bell's grave he placed a simple tablet to the memory of his father.

"This sod does not enfold him," said Mortimer to himself; "but it will be
pleasant for me to think, when I am far away, that their names are near
together."

So he left them in the quiet church-yard at Ivyton--left them sleeping
among the thick musk-roses, in the warm sunshine; and the same berylline
moss was creeping over the two mounds. One head-stone said "LITTLE BELL,"
and the other:

SACRED
TO THE MEMORY
OF
OUR FATHER,
LOST AT SEA,
18--.

IV.

_The Almighty Dollar._

WASHINGTON IRVING.

_The age is dull and mean. Men creep,
Not walk; with blood too pale and tame
To pay the debt they owe to shame;
Buy cheap, sell dear; eat, drink, and sleep
Down-pillowed, deaf to moaning want;
Pay tithes for soul-insurance; keep
Six days to Mammon, one to Cant._

J. G. WHITTIER.

_Every one is as God made him, and oftentimes
A great deal worse._

MIGUEL DE CERVANTES.

IV.

A FEW SPECIMENS OF HUMANITY.

_Down Town--Messrs. Flint & Snarle--Tim, the Office Boy, and the pale
Book-Keeper--The Escritoire--The Purloined Package--Mr. Flint goes
Home--Midnight--Miss Daisy Snarle--The Poor Author._

In one of those thousand and one vein-like streets which cross and recross
the mercantile heart of Gotham, is situated a red brick edifice, which,
like the beggar who solicits your charity in the Park, has seen better
days.

In the time of our Knickerbocker sires, it was an aristocratic dwelling
fronting on a fashionable street, and "Jeems," in green livery, opened the
hall door. The street was a quiet, orderly street in those days--a certain
air of conscious respectability hung about it. Sometimes a private
cabriolet rolled augustly along; and of summer evenings the city beaux,
with extraordinary shoe-buckles, might have been seen promenading the
grass-fringed sidewalks. To-day it is a miasmatic, miserable, muddy
thoroughfare. Your ears are startled by the "Extray 'rival of the 'Rabia,"
and the omnibuses dash through the little confined stre