horse, which he sold for a few hundred dollars, and ended in three months with a fortune of three hundred thousand. A broker contemptuously styled a "lame duck," in Wall Street, and so obscure and unnoticeable that he found no one to do him reverence, gained, in half a

a year, a fortune of several millions, and became the cherished companion of great bankers, the favourite of society, and the leader of fashion. A combination of some dozen stock operators made a profit of two millions of dollars in the course of a few weeks.

There were fortunes lost as well as won. A broker who had suddenly sprung to the highest pinnacle of the street, and controlled the fate of every speculator in it, fell as rapidly as he had risen. His name was once such a power that a company paid him no less than a hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars for the use of it on the list of its board of directors. Speculators bribed him with exorbitant commissions to buy stocks for them, in order that they might rise under the cabalistic influence of his name. That name is now seldom uttered, and only to point a moral.

The immense issue of irredeemable paper money during the war, naturally raised all prices. It was by anticipating the operation of this natural law, that most of the speculators made fortunes at the beginning, by simply purchasing on credit all they could buy. They thus bought low and sold enormously high. At first this was a safe venture, but in the course of the war, with its vicissitudes of good and ill-fortune, there were such fluctuations in the value of the paper currency, and consequently in prices, that all transactions of buying and selling became full of danger. The gold dollar alone fluctuated. in price during the war between 120 and 280! Here was rise and fall, enough to lift the speculator to the highest wave of fortune, or sink him to the lowest depths of poverty.

Speculation in Wall Street, like all other gambling, leads not unfrequently to crime. One of the most remarkable examples of late years is that of Edward Ketchum. He was a partner of the firm of Ketchum, Son, and Company, great bankers, who possessed not only the confidence of individuals and banks, but of states. They frequently held deposits amounting to more than five millions of dollars. To their previous large fortunes they added immense gains by shrewd or lucky dealing in gold and stocks, during the first year of the war. In 1864, however, a financial panic occurred, and Ketchum and Company were supposed to be heavy losers by the sudden decline in the price of the securities they held.

Edward, the son of the elder Ketchum of the firm, and the youngest partner, now made an effort to repair his losses. He was so successful as to have gained in about six months a million of dollars. Encouraged by this, he continued, and enormously extended his operations, which were based upon the expected decline of prices towards the end of the war. His calculations failed, but he managed by his own previous gains and the resources of his father's bankinghouse to sustain his credit.

Young Ketchum now changed his policy, and speculated enormously upon an anticipated rise in prices. He is said to have purchased twenty-five millions' worth of stock, and throughout these immense transactions this youth, who was only twenty-six years of age, never faltered a moment, or exhibited the least evidence of nervous excitement. Credit he had, but a large sum of money was also required. This he had not, but he obtained it by forging cheques on what is called the Gold Bank. He then borrowed money on these, which were given as collateral security, on the special condition that they should not be used in the market. The reason is apparent-Ketchum was fearful of detection.

One

It was by the merest accident the crime was discovered. banker visiting another found him sorting his papers, and seeing among them a gold cheque, noticed that there was a slight error in the spelling of the, signature. This led to inquiry and exposure of the forgery. Edward Ketchum, in the meantime got wind of it, and, without betraying the least emotion, but continuing apparently his business until the close of the day with his usual self-possession, drew from his bank the sum of seventy thousand dollars, packed a carpet-bag, and left his home, but not the city. He merely got his whiskers shaved off, clothed himself in a sombre suit of black, sobered his appearance with a white cravat, turned the corner, and took up his residence in a boarding-house in a neighbouring street. Here he eat his meals and read his daily paper, the main interest of which was his own crime and the hue and cry after him, without exciting the least suspicion of his respectability, until the policeman laid his hand on his shoulder. Tracked and discovered, he was tried, convicted, and condemned to the State prison for four years and a half. This was only one, of the many indictments, which were numerous enough to have given him a striped suit and a cell at the public expense for a lifetime, even were he to live to the age of Methuselah.

Second Thoughts.

BY F. C. BURNAND.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE STORY OF A GOOD FELLOW CONTINUED.

"I WOULD marry if I could," Maurice Passmore argued with himself. You see a self-deceiver may feel perfectly certain that the course of conduct which he is pursuing is wrong, but in his special case excusable.

The foolish girl was proud of what she deemed her conquest, and whatever scruples she might have had on the score of traditional respectability, soon vanished before such reasoning as was employed by her impassioned lover. Thus it came about that Miss Annie wrote home to say that she had obtained a better engagement at a new inn, in another county. This was, it appeared to her, a kind untruth that would save them any pain; and the deception need only be kept up for a short time, until, in fact, Richard and herself were comfortably settled in a college living. "No man or woman is altogether bad at once."

Her parents were pleased to hear of their daughter's well-doing, and sent her some stuff for a gown and a little money. From this new inn, in a few weeks, there came another letter, informing her dear father and mother that she was gone as companion to a lady, who was to give her an excellent salary. The old couple congratulated themselves upon their younger child's progress in life.

"There, mother," said the country farmer to his wife, "I knew I was right in giving 'em their schooling."

"Yes, John," returned Mrs. Dendril; "but you shouldn't have taken 'em away so soon."

"What a chance she's got now," says the father, from experience avoiding the subject just started.

"Aye, indeed. Ech, she might marry any 'un a'most. Don't you think--"

"Well, mother, what?"

"Don't ye think we might send the lady a hamper o' things? All people like hampers sent to 'em, and p'raps it'll make her kinder to Annie."

"All people like hampers sent to 'em." Herein Mrs. Dendril stated the natural grounds of bribery and corruption.

So a hamper was packed and well filled. There was ham, and fruits, and jams, and a fat fowl, and fresh butter, and a small box of new-laid eggs in sawdust, and a foundation of rosy-cheeked apples at the bottom of the large basket that would have set up a large family in pies, puddings, and tarts for a fortnight at the least.

It was directed to Mrs. Mortimer, 19, Little Putland Street, London. In due time a short polite note, in rather a stiff, formal lady's handwriting, conveyed Mrs. Mortimer's thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Dendril, Besant's Farm, Shropshire.

Who was Mrs. Mortimer?

I have not mentioned a Mrs. Mortimer before.

True. Listen, for the story of Maurice Passmore stops at one point.

That, since the creation of Adam and Eve in this subsequently much-peopled world, a Mistress Mortimer has existed, I can of my own knowledge conscientiously affirm. That some Mistress Mortimer did at one time or another receive from any Mister or Mistress Dendril conjointly a goodly hamper is, I am ready to admit, a proposition containing in itself little of the improbable, and nothing, as it seems to me, of the impossible. But that any lady-or, I will put it in a more genuine form to avoid the imputation of quibbling-that any female, surnamed Mortimer feasted upon, or even tasted, much less returned thanks for, the contents of this particular hamper, packed up and forwarded by these particular Dendrils, I do herein and hereby most solemnly deny.

To strengthen which denial, I hold myself ready to use such legal phrases as "nevertheless," "notwithstanding," "whereas," "the said Dendril," or, "the above-mentioned Mortimer," or any or all of them, as may seem necessary to the reader as a guarantee of my good faith. Who, then, was Mrs. Mortimer ?

In some most exceptionally strong cases, prevarication has been held by certain Doctissimi of the schools to be not only allowable, but even praiseworthy. Now I, for my part

Who, sir, was Mrs. Mortimer?

I was going to say, if you will allow me, that, in a few peculiar cases, such as are matters of life and death, where the naked truth

would bring destruction upon that person or those persons concerning

whom it was told, prevarication is allowable. The causes of death are many and various. Some (not to multiply instances at a time when you are clamouring to know

Who was Mrs. Mortimer ?)

-precisely so-some, I say, have died of a broken heart, directly cracked by evil tidings; others have been withered by the blast of a slander. These instances are capable of proof.

Thus, you may understand how that, in certain cases, injury to some one may arise from giving a direct answer to a direct question. Concerning, therefore, the present inquiry

Who was —

-Mrs. Mortimer? I will add this much to my foregoing hints, and the impatient may from them draw their own conclusions:-When a hamper addressed to Mrs. Mortimer arrived at 19, Little Putland Street, it was, without any hesitation on the part of the landlady or servants, handed over to the female occupant of the drawing-floor, who asked the male occupant to cut the string, with which request he, being provided with a knife, did straightway comply. Now the knife, though blunt, applied to string was as marvellously sharp; and so it chanced that, slipping from the cord, it came in a beautifully straight line, meeting the fore-finger of the sinister hand placed at right angles to it, which, in a vain attempt to produce itself, it mathematically cut. The young lady, horrified at the sight of blood, shed too, as it may be said, in her behalf, rushed at the suffering finger, and made as though she would bind it with her pocket-handkerchief. The gentleman, strange to say, refused the kind offer, and awkwardly wound about the finger his own handkerchief. Then, leaving the servant to continue the unlading, the pair ascended to the drawing-room. The unpacking had taken place in the passage below.

"What an idiot you are, Annie," says the gentleman, politely. "Why on earth do you flourish that handkerchief before the landlady and the maid? Didn't you know that it's marked A. D. ?"

"Well, dear, there's A. D. here too!" cries the lady, jestingly, pointing to a date in an open historical book which the gentleman had been reading.

Ann

"What nonsense you talk!" cries he, "that means Anno Domini." "Well, Maurice," she replies, still laughing, and this means

"Bah!"

"Please 'm the 'amper is hopened, and 'ere's a letter atop," says the servant, holding the envelope in the corner of her apron, 'twixt finger and thumb.

"A letter!" says the gentleman, stretching out his hand.