unfortunate family, was prostrated in the commercial crash of 1837, and his depressed and spotless soul fled for refuge to the bosom of his God. Morris Ketchum was his early business associate and friend, and has educated his children, procured them lucrative clerkships, afforded them facilities to visit nearly every nation, for health and general culture, established them in houses of commerce, and has clung to them, in sun and storm, like Pythias to Damon, and like Washington to his country. At this period of my eventful career, I taught colored and Irish servants, and those of all countries, in their kitchens in the evening, and sometimes by daylight. Some paid me one shilling a lesson, and some two, according to their wages and generosity. I taught the servants of the Reverend Doctor Wainright, the Reverend Doctor Orville Dewey, Daniel Lord, James T. Brady, Mr. Bowen, of Brooklyn, (of the firm of Bowen & McNamee, of New York,) and the servants of other distinguished citizens. I obtained scholars by going from door to door, in the basement, and asking the servants if they would like to learn to spell, read, write, and cipher. My health had been miserable since I left Columbian College, and I often expected to fall dead in the street, or suddenly expire in the presence of my pupils. For a long period after young Jesup died, I was very gloomy, and became utterly helpless and bed-ridden, and called oftener on my father for money than I desired, to pay for board and medical attendance. I got better, and crawled out into the open air, and went in pursuit of scholars in a snow storm. I began at the Battery, and applied at every door, until I came to No. 70 Greenwich street, when I was asked to come in and warm myself, by a daughter of the lady of the house, who kept boarders. After a long conversation, by a cheerful fire, I was engaged to teach the daughter in the English branches, for my breakfast and tea, and a very small dark room as a place of lodging, which I could not conveniently occupy without a candle in the day time. Humble as were to be my accommodations, my feelings were extremely buoyant, and my ghastly form trembled with delight at my unexpected resurrection from the depths of indigence and despair. Mr. Ditchett, (subsequently a very efficient Captain of the Fourth Ward Police, and a brave fireman, and an honest man,) had just married the eldest daughter, whose sister was to be my pupil. I was kindly treated, and remained until the first of May, when I went to Dey street, and afterwards to the Graham House, at No. 63 Barclay street, where I saw the lean Horace Greeley, one of the founders of the Graham System. The boarders were mostly skeletons, and several were limping about the house, like frogs or lizzards or grasshoppers, and among the limpers, was Horace Greeley, who had what the Grahamites called a boiling crisis, or crisis of boils, which was the result of youthful indiscretion, shower bathing, and