On receiving an affirmative answer, he said, "I hope you will pardon the liberty I take. I am Mr. N., of New York. I am here looking up land; have made some good investments, and wish to look around a little more. I have some money with me, and am really afraid of being robbed. You are the only guest at this house that has a room to himself. Would you not, as a great favor, permit me to share your room with you to-night? Last night I lodged with eight of the roughest customers I ever saw. I slept but little; but once I was startled from a doze, and looking up, saw a big whiskered fellow fumbling about my clothes. He protested it was by mistake, but I don't believe it; and," said he, his voice sinking to a whisper, "there's the very chap, as I live!" pointing to my morning acquaintance, who was just entering the bar-room. "A desperado, no doubt," he continued, much agitated. On inquiring, I found Mr. N. was a wealthy merchant from New York—a speculator in land. The host at length reluctantly consented that Mr. N. should room with me. The speculator, on entering my apartment, examined the lock to the door and added another fastening. He then seemed to breathe freely. His joy at the change was almost childish. Depositing his valuables at the foot of 'my' bed, as if he thought somehow they would be safer there, he soon fell into a peaceful sleep, from which he awoke in the morning, to renew his protestations of gratitude at what he deemed his escape from threatening peril. "But," said I, "I am a stranger to you; how is it that you felt so safe with me?" He replied, "I heard you asking for a meeting. I inferred that you were a religious man. From your appearance, I judged you to be a minister." "But I meet many who sneer at Christians and Christian ministers." "Sir!" he answered, with emphasis, "it's my business to FIND OUT WHO TO TRUST. Let infidels say what they will, the stoutest of them, if they had been in my place, would gladly have found refuge with a religious man." Late in the forenoon, hearing loud voices in the bar-room, I glanced in. The altercation was between the landlord and the man with whom I had walked the morning previous. "I will not pay so much. Give me back that dollar. It's every cent I've got. I was sick at St. Paul, and have spent every cent I had. I can't get work. I'm so weak nobody will hire me. Give me back the money, I say." "I'll show you what I'll give you!" said the landlord, with a dreadful oath, "if you are not off mighty quick." "But," said the other, in pleading tones, "I'm sick, I'm poor, I'm hungry—'hungry as a dog!' Have I eaten a crumb at your table? I've slept in your bed only one night,—last night I lay on the floor here, that you know. And what am I to do if you take the last penny from me?"