I shall always acknowledge him boldly to
my dying day. I have a tenderness for
his memory, though he violated a sacred
trust, and died for it on the gallows. Don't
look shocked, Mr. Wendell. I will tell you,
and our other friends here, if they will let
me, why I feel that tenderness, which looks
so strange and so discreditable in your eyes.
It is rather a curious anecdote, sir; and has
an interest, I think, for all observers of human
nature, quite apart from its connection with
the unhappy man of whom we have been
talking. You young gentlemen," continued
Mr. Trowbridge, addressing himself to us
juniors, "have heard of Fauntleroy, though
he sinned and suffered, and shocked all
England, long before your time?"

We answered that we had certainly heard
of him, as one of the famous criminals of his
day. We knew that he had been a partner
in a great London banking-house; that he
had not led a very virtuous life; that he had
possessed himself, by forgery, of trust-moneys
which he was doubly bound to respect; and
that he had been hanged for his offence, in
the year eighteen hundred and twenty-four,
when the gallows was still set up for other
crimes than murder, and when Jack Ketch
was in fashion as one of the hard-working
reformers of the age.

"Very good," said Mr. Trowbridge. "You
both of you know quite enough of Fauntleroy
to be interested in what I am going to tell
you. When the bottles have been round the
table, I will start with my story."

The bottles went round—claret for the
degenerate youngsters; port for the sterling,
steady-headed, middle-aged gentlemen. Mr.
Trowbridge sipped his wine—meditated a
little—sipped again—and started with the
promised anecdote, in these terms:

What I am going to tell you, gentlemen,
happened when I was a very young man, and
when I was just setting up in business on
my own account. My father had been well
acquainted for many years with Mr. Fauntleroy,
of the famous London banking-firm of
Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy, and Graham.
Thinking it might be of some future service
to me to make my position known to a great
man in the commercial world, my father
mentioned to his highly-respected friend that
I was about to start in business for myself,
in a very small way, and with very little
money. Mr. Fauntleroy received the
intimation with a kind appearance of interest;
and said that he would have his eye on me.
I expected from this that he would wait to
see if I could keep on my legs at starting;
and that, if he found I succeeded pretty well,
he would then help me forward if it lay in
his power. As events turned out, he proved
to be a far better friend than that; and he
soon showed me that I had very much
underrated the hearty and generous interest which
he had felt in my welfare from the first.

While I was still fighting with the first
difficulties of setting up my office, and
recommending myself to my connection, and so
forth, I got a message from Mr. Fauntleroy,
telling me to call on him, at the banking-
house, the first time I was passing that way.
As you may easily imagine, I contrived to
be passing that way on a particularly early
occasion; and, on presenting myself at the
bank, I was shown at once into Mr.
Fauntleroy's private room.

He was as pleasant a man to speak to as
ever I met with—bright and gay and
companionable in his manner—with a sort of
easy, hearty, jovial bluntness about him that
attracted everybody. The clerks all liked
him—and that is something to say of a
partner in a banking-house, I can tell you!

"Well, young Trowbridge," says he, giving
his papers on the table a brisk push away
from him, "so you are going to set up in
business for yourself, are you? I have a
great regard for your father, and a great wish
to see you succeed. Have you started yet?
—No? Just on the point of beginning—eh?
Very good. You will have your difficulties,
my friend—and I mean to smooth one of
them away for you at the outset. A word of
advice for your private ear.—Bank with us."

"You are very kind, sir," I answered, "and
I should ask nothing better than to profit by
your suggestion—if I could. But my
expenses are heavy at starting, and when they
are all paid, I am afraid I shall have very
little left to put by for the first year. I doubt
if I shall be able to muster much more than
three hundred pounds of surplus cash in the
world, after paying what I must pay, before
I set up my office. And I should be ashamed
to trouble your house, sir, to open an account
for such a trifle as that."

"Stuff and nonsense!" says Mr.
Fauntleroy. "Are you a banker? What business
have you to offer an opinion on the matter?
Do as I tell you—leave it to me—bank with
us—and draw for what you like. Stop! I
haven't done yet. When you open the
account, speak to the head cashier. Perhaps
you may find he has got something to
tell you. There! there! go away—don't
interrupt me—good-bye—God bless you!"

That was his way—Ah, poor fellow! that
was his way!

I went to the head cashier the next morning,
when I opened my little modicum of an
account. He had received orders to pay my
drafts without reference to my balance. My
cheques, when I had overdrawn, were to be
privately shown to Mr. Fauntleroy. Do
many young men who start in business find
their prosperous superiors ready to help them
in that way?

Well, I got on—got on very fairly and
steadily; being careful not to venture out of
my depth, and not to forget that small
beginnings may lead in time to great ends. A
prospect of one of those great ends—great, I