a lady or gentleman, and this was the propitious fruit of his recollection and exercise of the politeness I had imparted. Mr. Fearing also said that although he could get the boys of affluent parents for nothing, (who deemed the knowledge of business they would acquire as a compensation for their services,) yet he was so pleased with my young friend, that he would give sufficient means to support him, if he proved industrious, and displayed the talents he thought he discovered in him. I left, and the boy went on the following day as a clerk of this extensive firm, who soon informed me that their anticipations were realised as to the capacity of the boy,—that he was as quick as a flash, in all his movements, and was more valuable to them than any boy they ever had. Mr. Fearing made him presents of apparel, and paid his board, and gave him pocket money, and treated him like his own son. He soon got into the habit of attending balls, and places of amusement. Money was missed, and although traced to him, yet Mr. Fearing kindly forgave him. More soon disappeared, and was fastened upon him, and he was discharged, amid the tears of Mr. Fearing, who fondly loved him. He alternately boarded in Fulton and John streets, and borrowed an elegant pair of tight dancing pantaloons of a fellow boarder and companion, named Robert M. Strebeigh, who is now the first book-keeper, and one of the proprietors of the _New York Tribune_, and a near relative of Mr. McElrath. He wore the pants to a ball, and stained them, and burst them, and never returned them, which sorely troubled poor Strebeigh for a long time, and I often have a laugh with Strebeigh at this remote day about those pants, but he can never smile when I allude to the loss of his fancy ball pantaloons. Some months later, he was arrested for stealing clothing, and had an accomplice, who escaped. He was arrested at the Battery, while getting into an omnibus, and strove to bribe the officer with money. I went to the Tombs to see him, and wrote to his aunt, who came to the city. She was (and is) an actress of uncommon talent, and enacted the leading characters of Shakespeare. I had often seen her elicit tears from a vast assemblage, with her affected pathos. But now I beheld her unaffected sorrow, and heard her piercing cries for the deliverance of her nephew from his dreary and degraded confinement. And her strong, clear, and musical voice, and large, dark, penetrating eyes, and uplifted arms, and dishevelled hair, and rapid pace too and fro, and furious gesticulation, and frenzied glances, harrowed my feelings beyond endurance, and I had to shield myself as far as possible from her pitiful and overwhelming presence. I went to the Tombs, and saw the boy, and told him his aunt had arrived, and he desired to see her. I returned and told her his request, and she exclaimed: “I know he wants to see his beloved aunt—the dear, dear boy, with no father, nor mother, and his kind old grandmother also