Little thought I, when I joined in the laugh against "The Capitalist," that I ought rather to have followed it to its grave, in black crape and weepers,--unfeeling wretch that I was! But, like a poet, O "Capitalist"! thou Overt not discovered and appreciated and prized and mourned till thou Overt dead and buried, and the bill came in for thy monument. The first term of my college life was just expiring when I received a letter from my mother, so agitated, so alarming,--at first reading so unintelligible,--that I could only see that some great misfortune had befallen us; and I stopped short and dropped on my knees to pray for the life and health of those whom that misfortune more specially seemed to menace; and then, towards the end of the last blurred sentence, read twice, thrice, over,--I could cry, "Thank Heaven, thank Heaven! it is only, then, money after all!"