This was the last of my operations; and thus the savings of several years disappeared like dew on a summer’s morning. Nor is that the worst feature of this unfortunate business; for the excitement of speculation, the handling of large sums of money, the high-wrought expectation of realising large profits in a short time, have totally unfitted me for the labors by which I accumulated what money I have lost. How can I go to work again on a mere salary, two-thirds of which I must spend in support of my family, the remainder being a petty sum only, which any lucky broker would make on a clear morning at a single throw? I am ready to die through pure vexation; but I’ll not leave the ground yet. I know a friend who will lend me five hundred dollars, and by hypothecating the stock I shall buy, I can borrow of Jack Little five thousand. Yes, I must have one more chance—_one_ more—and then, if fortune favors me, as she always does the brave, (so the Latin grammar declares,) I shall soon be on my feet again; but if she should continue to frown, and disappoint my hopes, I will abandon speculation forever—perhaps. * * * * * [Illustration: Salvator Rosa, pinx. A.L. Dick, sc. JACOB’S DREAM. GEN. XXVIII, _10, 11, 12_.] * * * * * JACOB’S DREAM. WITH AN ENGRAVING. The Patriarch slept—and dreaming there appeared, In the deep watches of the silent night, A ladder, high from earth to heaven upreared, Steadfast and firm, to his astonished sight: And seraph angels thronged that thoroughfare, Descending from the glorious realms above, And thence returning, their bright robes to wear In the pure presence of the God of love. The Patriarch listened—and his Maker’s voice Broke with soft music on his raptured ear. Quelling his fears and bidding him rejoice In the abundance of a Father’s care. Wide as the earth shall Israel’s power extend, Countless as ocean’s sands his issue be, While all the nations to his rule shall bend, And in his seed a rich salvation see. The Patriarch from his wondrous dream awoke, And knew that the Almighty Lord was there— And where the Maker to the creature spoke, Built him an altar sanctified with prayer. So, when the Lord with tender care imparts Unnumbered blessings to us, let us raise, Like Israel’s Patriarch, in believing hearts, Altars of love and thankfulness and praise. * * * * * LOLAH LALANDE. A PACKAGE FROM MY OLD WRITING-DESK. BY ENNA DUVAL.