. . .At the bottom lay an overfed pocket-book, bursting with bank-bills new and old, while another of like dimensions held more value, snugly stowed away in notes and bonds. The leather purse in which I lay had one end for red cents and the other for gold and silver; but with my usual love of bright company, when the old gentleman slipped me in among a parcel of dingy cents I slipped out again, and ran in among the half-eagles. For I was the only new cent the old gentleman had, and as by right I belonged about half to him and half to the bank, the cashier and he had some words as to which should carry me off. I believe the old gentleman chuckled over me half the way home.

“If this part of my story teaches nothing else,” said the red cent with a moralising air as he stared at the ceiling, “it will at least show the folly of going out of one’s proper place. Had I[39] been content to lodge with the red cents, I should but have been set to do. . . Read More