A youthful heir never experienced a more glorious burst of delight on the morning of his twenty-first birthday, than did Peter Dalton feel as he sauntered down the principal street of Baden. It was with a step almost elastic, and his head high, that he went along; not humbly returning the “Good-day” of the bowing shopkeeper, but condescendingly calling his worthy creditors--for such nearly all of them were--by their Christian names, he gave them to believe that he was still, as ever, their kind and generous patron. There was scarcely a shop or a stall he did not linger beside for a minute or two. Everywhere there was something not only which he liked, but actually needed. Never did wants accumulate so rapidly! With a comprehensive grasp they extended to every branch of trade and merchandise,--ranging from jewelry to gin, and taking in all, from fur slippers to sausages. His first visit was to Abel Kraus, the banker and moneylender,--a little den, which often before he had entered with a craven heart and a sinking spirit; for Abel was a shrewd old Israelite, and seemed to read the very schedule of a man's debts, in the wrinkles around his mouth. Dalton now unbarred the half door and stalked in, as if he would carry the place by storm. The man of money was munching his breakfast of hard eggs and black bread,--the regulation full diet of misers in all Germany,--when Peter cavalierly touched his hat and sat down. Not a word did Abel speak. No courtesies about the season or the weather, the funds or the money-market, were worth bestowing on so poor a client; and so he ate on, scarcely deigning even a glance towards him. “When you 've done with the garlic, old boy, I 've some work for you,” said Dalton, crossing his arms pretentiously. “But what if I do not accept your work? What if I tell you that we shall have no more dealings together? The two last bills--” “They'll be paid, Abel,--they'll be paid. Don't put yourself in a passion. Times is improving,--Ireland 's looking up, man.” “I think she is,” muttered the Jew, insolently; “she is looking up like the beggar that asks for alms yonder.” “Tear and ages!” cried Dalton, with a stroke of his fist upon the table that made every wooden bowl of gold and silver coin jump and ring again,--“tear and ages! take care what you say! By the soul in my body, if you say a syllable against the old country, I 'll smash every stick in the place, and your own bones, besides! Ye miserable ould heathen! that has n't a thought above sweating a guinea,--how dare you do it?” “Why do you come into my counting-house to insult me, saar? Why you come where no one ask you?”