I had no suspicion until three months afterwards that the story could point a moral in relation to myself. At the close of a casual interview, after the recovery of my health, he said: "Mr. Swain, perhaps it is convenient for you to pay for that suit of clothes now." "What suit, Captain?" "The suit you purchased some time since." I replied, "I never bought anything of you in my life but one bandanna handkerchief, and I paid for that when I got it." He turned to his book and showed me an account for a full suit of black, dated September 10. "On that day, Captain, I was sick in bed, and my life despaired of by my physicians." "Oh! I remember it was F---- got the clothes." He was sent for, and in reply to my inquiry whether he ever got a suit of clothes for me, replied he did. "Had you any order from me to do so?" "No, sir; but you were expected to die every hour, I knew you had no burial suit, and thought it my duty, as your tailor, to provide one." "Where are the clothes?" "When I found you were getting well I sold them." "What right had you to consider yourself my tailor?" "I made a pair of pantaloons for you last spring." At the close of the dialogue the Captain remarked: "I claim nothing from you, Mr. Swain." The tailor left the store under the decided impression that his best interests would be served by a prompt settlement of the account. Had I died, a punctual but not opulent father, would have paid the bill upon presentation without inquiry. The late William Boylan, the first editor of _The Raleigh Minerva_, and the immediate successor of Colonel Polk as President of the State Bank, was a gentleman sedate and grave in manner to a degree that to a stranger might have been taken for austerity. Traveling from Raleigh to Pittsborough about 1800, he and Mr. Peace, on reaching the election ground at Brassfields, found a multitude assembled engaged in dancing and other rural sports, in the free-and-easy manner characteristic of the time and place. Mr. Peace was comparatively at home. Mr. Boylan stood aloof until a rowdy approached and invited him to enter the ring with the dancers. On his declining, a dozen came forward, prepared to coerce the submission of the proud aristocrat. In an instant Mr. Peace, with great solemnity, beckoned the leader of the band aside, and whispered: "My friend, be careful how you act. Bless your life, that is Mr. Boylan, the man who made the almanac, and can foretell eclipses and thunder-storms." The reference to the almanac-maker secured at once the most deferential respect for the distinguished visitor.