children or young women!"

* * * * *

"What a noble-hearted man Mr. Sylvester is! Mr. Turner in speaking of
him the other night, declared there is no one in his congregation who in
a quiet way does so much for the poor. 'He is especially interested in
young men,' said he, 'and will leave his own affairs at any time to aid
or advise them.' I knew Mr. Sylvester was kind, but Mr. Turner's
enthusiasm was uncommon. He evidently admires Mr. Sylvester as much as
every one else loves him. And he is not alone in this. Almost every day
I hear some remark made of a nature complimentary to my benefactor's
character or ability. Even Mr. Stuyvesant who so seldom appears to
notice us girls, once interrupted a conversation between Cicely and
myself to inquire if Mr. Sylvester was quite well. 'I thought he looked
pale to-day,' remarked he, in his dry but not unkindly way, and then
added, 'He must not get sick; he is too valuable to us.' This was a
great deal for Mr. Stuyvesant to say, and it caused a visible
gratification to Mr. Sylvester when I related it to him in the evening.
'I had rather satisfy that man than any other I know,' declared he. 'He
is of the stern old-fashioned sort, and it is an honor to any one to
merit his approval. I did not tell him that I had also heard Mr.
Stuyvesant observe in a conversation with some business friend of his,
that Edward Sylvester was the only speculator he knew in whom he felt
implicit confidence. Somehow it always gives me an uncomfortable feeling
to hear Mr. Sylvester alluded to as a speculator. Besides since he has
entered the Bank, he has I am told, entirely restricted himself to what
are called legitimate operations."

* * * * *

"Mr. Sylvester came home with a dreadful look on his face to-day. We
were standing in the hall at the time the door opened, and he went by us
without a nod, almost as if he did not see us. Even Ona was startled and
stood gazing after him with an anxiety such as I had never observed in
her before, while I was conscious of that sick feeling I have sometimes
experienced when he came upon me suddenly from his small room above, or
paused in the midst of the gayest talk, to ask me some question that was
wholly irrelevant and most frequently sad.

"'He has met with some heavy loss,' murmured his wife, glancing down the
handsome parlors with a look such as a mother might bestow upon the face
of a sick chi