Cinder Path Tales

MY FIRST, FOR MONEY 3 business men, very naturally, declined to trust aman without references whoadmitted that hispast wasnot clear; and from school- teaching I was prohibited by a lamentable weakness in both mathematics and the lan­ guages. Indeed, Ithen realized for the first time that there weremore important schools than that of the " cinder-path," and some­ thing more was needed to get on in the world than ahighly cultivated pair of legs. As my money disappearedmy ideas mod­ erated. I moved to less andless pretentious quarters, until an attic-room with a sickly fire became luxuries I was likely soon to miss. As if it were yesterday do I remember the raw March morning, when, having spent a few cents out of my only remaining dollar, I set out to make alast desperate effort for employment other than that of the horny- handed son of toil. At noon I stood on the corner of Washington street and Cornhill, utterly at a loss what to do. My overcoatwas in pawn, and an east wind, such as Boston only knows, was freezing my very marrow. The streets were full of half-melted snowand ice, and my feet were wet and cold. As I stood there withmuch of the feeling and something of the attitude of a lost dog, I suddenly recognized a man to whom I had