t public
catastrophe broke the seal, the suppressed fountain flowed until the day
of terror passed, and then with resolute will he resealed the fountain,
and became a cold-hearted, selfish man again.

His selfish disregard for the claims of his dependents was shown, one
day, when one of his most successful captains, who had risen from the
humble position of apprentice to the command of a fine ship, asked to be
transferred to another ship. Girard made him no reply, but, turning to
his desk, said to his chief clerk:

"Roberjot, make out Captain Galigar's account immediately."

When this order was obeyed and the account settled, he coolly said to
the faithful officer:

"You are discharged, sir. I do not make the voyage for my captains, but
for myself."

There was no appeal to be made from this unjust, arbitrary decision, and
the man who had served him faithfully seventeen years left his
counting-room to seek another employer.

Discourtesy was also a characteristic of this unlovely and unloving man.
He never considered men's _feelings_, nor sought to give pleasure to
others by means of the small courtesies of life. He had a farm in the
suburbs of the city, and a garden at the back of his town residence. In
both he cultivated beautiful flowers and rare fruits; but never, either
to visitors or neighbors, did he offer gifts of either. Rich though he
was, he sent the surplus to market. He once told a visitor he might
glean strawberries from a bed which had been pretty thoroughly picked
over. Returning from the lower part of the garden, he found the
gentleman picking berries from a full bed. With a look of astonishment,
and a voice of half-suppressed anger, he pointed to the exhausted, bed
and said:

"I gave you permission only to eat from that bed."

Singular meanness! Yet, notwithstanding this narrow disposition, which
ran like veins abnormally distended over nearly all his habits of life,
he could, and did at times, do liberal things. But even in such things
he was capricious and eccentric; as when a highly esteemed Quaker, named
Coates, asked him one day to make a donation to the Pennsylvania
Hospital. He replied:

"Call on me to-morrow morning, Mr. Coates, and if you find me on a right
footing, I will do something."

Mr. Coates called as requested, and found Girard at breakfast.

"Draw up and eat," said Girard.

Coates did so quite readily. The repast ended, he said, "Now we will
proceed to business, Stephen