e said, "I was a beggar--I am a
gentleman--thanks to this--"

Here he leaned on my shoulder heavily a moment, and then fell back. We
raised him, loosened his neckcloth--

"Fainted!" said the ladies--

"Drunk!" said the gentlemen--

He was _dead_!

A FASHIONABLE FORGER.

I am an attorney and a bill-discounter. As it is my vocation to lend
money at high interest to extravagant people, my connection principally
lies among "fools," sometimes among rogues "of quality." Mine is a
pursuit which a prejudiced world either holds in sovereign contempt, or
visits with envy, hatred, and all uncharitableness; but to my mind, there
are many callings, with finer names, that are no better. It gives me two
things which I love--money and power; but I cannot deny that it brings
with it a bad name. The case lies between character and money, and
involves a matter of taste. Some people like character; I prefer money.
If I am hated and despised, I chuckle over the "per contra." I find it
pleasant for members of a proud aristocracy to condescend from their high
estate to fawn, feign, flatter; to affect even mirthful familiarity in
order to gain my good-will. I am no Shylock. No client can accuse me of
desiring either his flesh or his blood. Sentimental vengeance is no item
in my stock in trade. Gold and bank-notes satisfy my "rage;" or, if need
be, a good mortgage. Far from seeking revenge, the worst defaulter I ever
had dealings with cannot deny that I am always willing to accept a good
post-obit.

I say again, I am daily brought in contact with all ranks of society,
from the poverty-stricken patentee to the peer; and I am no more
surprised at receiving an application from a duchess than from a pet
opera-dancer. In my ante room wait, at this moment, a crowd of
borrowers. Among the men, (beardless folly and mustachioed craft are most
prominent,) there is a handsome young fellow, with an elaborate cane and
wonderfully vacant countenance, who is anticipating in feeble follies, an
estate that has been in the possession of his ancestors since the reign
of Henry the Eighth--there is a hairy, high-nosed, broken-down
nondescript, in appearance something between a horse-dealer and a
pugilist. He is an old Etonian. Five years ago he drove his four-in-hand;
he is now waiting to beg a sovereign, having been just discharged from
the Insolvent Court, for the second time. Among the women, a pretty
actress, who, a few years since, looked forw