A fast man in business, sooner or later, comes to grief. A young man in New York represented a New England house of great wealth and high standing. He was considered one of the smartest and most promising young men in the city. The balance in the bank, kept by the house, was very large, and the young man used to boast that he could draw his cheque any day for 200,000 dollars, and have it honoured. The New England house used a great deal of paper, and it could command the names of the best capitalists to any extent. He was accustomed to sign notes in blank and leave them with the concern, so much confidence had he in its soundness and integrity. Yet, strange to say, these notes, with those of other wealthy men, with nearly the whole financial business of the house, were in the hands of the young manager in New York. In the meanwhile he took a turn at Harry Hill’s to relieve the pressure of business. Low amusements, and the respectable company he found, suited him. From a spectator he became a dancer. From dancing he took to drinking. He then tried his hand at play, and was cleaned out every night, drinking deeply all the while. He became enamoured of a certain class of women, clothed them in silk, velvets, and jewels, drove them in dashing teams in the Central Park, secured them fine mansions, and paid the expenses of their costly establishments, all the while keeping the confidence of his business associates. In his jaded, wan, and dissipated look, men saw his attention to business. The New England manager of the house was the father of the young man. His reputation was without a stain, and confidence in his integrity was unlimited. In the midst of his business he dropped down dead. This brought things to a crisis, and an exposure immediately followed. The great house was bankrupt, and everybody ruined that had anything to do with it. Those who supposed themselves well off, found themselves quite the reverse. Widows and orphans lost their all. Men suspended business on the right hand and the left. In gambling, drinking, and dissipation, this young fellow had squandered the enormous sum of 1,400,000 dollars. It is an old familiar moral to be learnt from the story of that man’s decline and fall. But to return to money-making. “I find,” said a shrewd merchant, “I make most money when I am least anxious about it.” The distinguished American, James Halford, rose, step by step, up the ladder of fortune till he reached the top. Some twenty years before he had stood at the bottom, and it was curious to hear what the world said. “It is all luck,” cried one. “Nothing but luck. Why, sir, I have managed at times to get up a step or two, but have always fallen down ere long; and now I have given up striving, for luck is against me.” “No, sir,” cried another, “it is not so much luck as scheming; the selfish schemer goes up, while more honest folk remain at the foot.”