JACK WITHERS.

Every body liked Jack Withers. He was a handsome, active young fellow of five-and-twenty, of a good family, an orphan, who came into possession of thirty thousand dollars when he came of age. In this age of California gold, when fortunes are made by shovelling dust, and the wonders of Aladdin's treasure house are realized by men of no capital but pickaxes and muscles, thirty thousand dollars does not seem a prodigious sum. Yet our great-grandfathers retired from business on that amount, and were thought, at least, comfortably well off; and even nowadays, thirty thousand dollars, judiciously managed, will keep a man out of the poorhouse, and give him a clean shirt and a leg of mutton for his lifetime. But poor Jack was not a judicious manager, and a tandem team and champagne suppers, with a shooting-box and turf speculations, soon made ducks and drakes of a little fortune. Thus at twenty-five, our friend Jack was minus; or, in the elegant phraseology of the day, "a gentleman at large with pockets to let."

When a man's riches have taken wings and vamosed, when all his old uncles are used up, and he has no prospective legacy to fall back upon, he is generally cut by the acquaintances of his prosperous days. The memory of "what he used to was" is seldom cherished, and the unhappy victim of prodigality discovers to his sorrow, that

Jack, however, was not destined to drink the cup of this bitter experience. He was just as popular and just as much courted without a penny in his pocket, as he was when he possessed the means to be extravagant, when he

The secret of his prodigious popularity was his obliging disposition. His time and talents—and he had plenty of the former, and no lack of the latter—were always at the service of his friends; and though the idlest dog in the world when his own affairs were in question, in the cause of his friends he was the busiest man alive. Thus he fairly won his dinners, his rides, his drives, and his opera tickets—they were trifling commissions on his benevolent transactions.

"Jack," one fellow would say, "my horse is too confoundedly high strung, and only half broke. He threw me yesterday."

"I'll ride him for you, Bill," would be the ready reply; "give me your spurs, and I'll give him a lesson."

And away he would go, without a thought of his neck, to mount a restive rascal that had half killed the rough rider of a cavalry regiment.

"Jack," another would say, "I've got an awkward affair on hand with Lieutenant ——; he fancies I've insulted him, and has thrown out dark hints about coffee and pistols."

"Make yourself perfectly easy, my boy; I'll bring him to reason or fight him myself."

So Jack had his hands full of business. Well, one dreary, desolate afternoon in March, when the barbs of all the vanes in the city were looking pertinaciously eastward, and people were shivering over anthracite grates, Jack Withers "might have been seen," as James would say, seated in the little back parlor of the coffee room in School Street, sipping Mocha with his particular friend Bill Bliffins, who had an especial claim upon his kindness, from the fact that he had already extricated Bill from scrapes innumerable.

Mocha is a great prompter of social and kindly feelings, and prompts, in tête-à-têtes, to that unreserved confidence on one part, and that obliging interest on the other, which unite two congenial and kindred spirits in adamantine bonds.

"Jack," said Bill, smiting the marble table emphatically, "you are my best friend."

"Pooh, pooh! you flatter me," said Jack, blushing like a peony; "I've never done any thing for you."

"Yes, you have, and you know it," persisted Bliffins. "Didn't you fight Lieutenant Jenkins, of the Salamander, when I ought to have fought him myself? Haven't you endorsed my notes when nobody else would back my paper?"

"I'll do it again, my boy," said Jack, with a gush of enthusiastic feeling.

"Ahem! your name on short or long paper isn't exactly what it used to be," said Bill, rather unfeelingly, perhaps.

"True, true," returned Jack, in a more subdued tone; "I haven't got many friends left in the synagogues."

"But what you have done, Jack," continued Bliffins, with enthusiasm, "emboldens me to trespass yet further on your patience."

"With all my heart," said Jack; and there was no reservation implied in the hearty tone in which the words were uttered.

"Then listen to my story, as the postilion of Longjumeau sings. Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear."

"I'll be mute as the codfish in the House of Representatives."

"Well, then," said Bill, in a solemn tone, "I'm dead broke."

"Dead broke?"

"Yes; I'm running on my last hundred."

"Impossible!"

"True, though, for all that. Yet my circumstances are not so desperate, either. There's a vacant clerkship in the secretary of state's office; and the governor has been sounded, and I think he might be disposed to give it to me."

"Go to him at once, then, my dear boy. If he wants any reference, send him to me. I'll endorse your character, as I used to your paper when my name was worth something on 'change. Go to him at once."

"It's easy to say it, Jack; but the fact is, that I have such a confounded hesitating address that I fear I should make an unfavorable impression, and ruin my cause; whereas, if a plausible, voluble fellow like yourself could get his ear and plead for me, my appointment would be certain. Now will you——"

"Call on the governor? With all my heart—consider the thing settled."

"That's not all; you must be my advocate in another quarter. I'm over head and ears in love with Juliet Trevor—Trapp & Trevor—W. I. Goods, wholesale. You know the firm?"

"Like a book."

"I want you to see the girl and the old people; I haven't confidence to propose in person. You can do it for me?"

"With all my heart. I give you joy of the clerkship and the girl—they're yours."

"I'm eternally obliged, Jack."

"Not the least, my boy—always ready to serve my friends. By the way, have you got any money about your clothes? I invited you to take coffee, but I forgot my purse in my other trousers—no change, you know."

"There, get this V changed," said Bliffins, handing him a bank note.

Jack took the note and walked up to the counter.

"Coffee and pie for two, my dear" said he to the attendant. "It's all right—you know me—pay next time—Withers and friend. Come, Bill, I've fixed it."

"But the change!" said Bill.

"Never mind the change—morrow do as well. By, by,—au revoir."

"Remember the governor!"

"All right, my boy."

"And Juliet!"

"Make yourself easy."

So they parted. The next day, Jack sent in his card to the governor at the Adams House, and followed the pasteboard before the message could be returned. The governor received his visitor with his usual urbanity.

"Good quarters, governor!" said Jack, looking round him as he dropped into a rocking chair, and tapped his boot with his walking stick. "Chief magistrate of the commonwealth—well lodged—people pay—all right."

The governor was much amused at the coolness of his guest, and waited patiently to learn his business. He was not kept long in suspense.

"Governor," said Jack, "I come to solicit your favor not on my behalf, but in the cause of friendship—sacred friendship—holy bond of two congenial hearts, &c.—but you know all that. My friend, sir, William Bliffins—unfortunate young man—reduced in circumstances—good family—good blood—grandfather in the revolution—soil of Bunker Hill irrigated with the blood of Bliffins—but you know all that—run through his fortune—on the town—not a penny—hard case."

"Do you solicit charity, sir, for your friend?"

"Not exactly—official favor—vacant clerkship—secretary's office—make him comfortable—but you know all that."

"Really, sir, you run on at such a rate——"

"Way I've got—few leading points all you want—time precious—money (old saw)—Bliffins—clerkship—don't you take?"

"I think I recollect the name, now. But I must inquire into the character of the applicant. How did he lose his fortune?"

"Unbounded benevolence—heart like an ox—bigger—endorsing notes for friends—founding hospitals for indigent Africans—temperance movement—philanthropy expensive—but you know all that."

"The office in question requires a good penman. Can your friend write well?"

"Splendid hand—copperplate—currente calamo—shine in your eyes."

"Have you a specimen of his penmanship?"

"Cords at home—some in pocket. Here you have it! no, that's my washerwoman's bill. Ah, here it is!" and Jack pulled out a crumpled note, and placed it before the governor.

The governor scanned the document curiously, and with great difficulty deciphered the following words, which he read silently:—

"Dear Jack,—Fashion has been beaten, and I lost on the mare. I shall back Tom Hyer to the extent of my pile. He is training finely. Bricks has a couple of Santa Anna's game cocks for me, on board the Raritan, at Lewis's wharf. Can you run down and get 'em from the steward? Yrs, &c."

The governor smiled as he handed back the note, but made no remark.

"Where can I communicate with you, sir?" he asked.

"Dog and Thistle, Blackstone Street. I'll write my address."

So Jack wrote his address card, (by the way, he wrote a splendid hand,) and took his leave of the governor.

From the Adams House he posted to Louisburg Square, where the Trevors were living in great style. Slightly acquainted with Miss Trevor, he found no difficulty in being admitted to her presence. After rattling over a few commonplace topics, he came to the object of his mission.

"Have you seen Bliffins lately?"

"Not very," replied the fair one, languidly.

"Dying, ma'am, dying."

"Is it possible? What's the matter, sir?"

"Love—desperation—patience on a monument couldn't sit there forever—heart ache—only one thing to save him."

"Indeed! and what is that?"

"He loves you, madam, passionately, devotedly, enormously—Petrarch, Abelard, lukewarm lovers in comparison. Throws himself at your feet—save him!—marry him quick! or you'll lose him!—say yes."

"Sir, my father will communicate with you," said the lady, rising to terminate the interview.

"Dog and Thistle, Blackstone Street," said Jack, and bowed himself away.

The next day Jack and Bill were again seated together in a small room at the Dog and Thistle, waiting the result of the obliging operations of the former. In a few moments a waiter brought in a note, superscribed John Withers, Esq. Jack tore it open, and read as follows:—

"Sir,—In answer to your application yesterday, I am sorry to return you an unfavorable reply; but the chirography of the person you recommended, to say nothing of other considerations, unfits him for the vacancy in question. Having made inquiries with regard to yourself, and finding that you are in circumstances which might render employment acceptable, while your conduct proves that you have sincerely repented of the follies of your early years, I have concluded to request your acceptance of the office yourself. If you accept the offer, please report yourself to-morrow.

"Yours, respectfully, —— ——,

"Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"You're an impostor!" shouted Bliffins. "Is this your friendship?"

"I can't help it," said Jack, ruefully. "I'm innocent—I did the best I could for you."

"How did he know any thing about my penmanship?"

"I showed him this note," said the unhappy Jack, producing the document.

"That note? You've ruined me! Do you know what it was about?"

"I'd forgotten."

"Why, it was all about horseracing, pugilism, and cock fighting, you jackass!"

"Letter for Mr. Bliffins!" said the waiter, entering with another epistle. Bliffins read it aloud.

"Mr. William Bliffins.

"Sir: In answer to application of your friend, yesterday, for daughter's hand, have to reply for daughter, and say that the honor is respectfully declined. Had you obtained the office you applied for, might have treated with you. Daughter requests me to say that she could not have done so in any case.

"Your ob't servant,

J. Trevor."

"P.S. Please hand the enclosed to Mr. Withers."

The "enclosed" was an invitation to a grand ball given by the Trevors on the ensuing night.

After overwhelming his friend with anathemas, Bliffins rushed wildly from the Dog and Thistle, and enlisted in the second dragoons.

Jack Withers, who had never before looked out for number one, now became so "obliging" as to take care of that neglected personage. He became a praiseworthy clerk, and a steady man of business. He went to the ball and polked himself into the good graces of Miss Juliet Trevor. The old gentleman and lady smiled upon their loves, and in due time he was united to the object of his affections, securing thereby a handsome and amiable wife, and an independent fortune, which she insisted on settling upon her husband on the wedding day. There is no fear of Jack's relapsing into his old habits of extravagance; and while he is still as popular as ever, he never neglects his own affairs for those of other people.