But though this fire was a most calamitous event to my neighbours, there was in it a mercy towards me as great even as the marvellous preservation of my property.

Mr. Hoskins, as I have mentioned, was in New York, seeing a cargo made up for Lisbon, and once or twice, before the fire broke out, he had proposed to me to send a venture by the same ship, or to go on shares with him. To acknowledge the truth, I was coming round to be so inclined, saying to myself, “faint heart never won fair lady.”

The chief cause of my hesitation was owing to a doubt I had of the propriety of stepping out of the line of my own business—for it was one of the solid advices of my father, never to leave a trade so long as it would bide with me. The confusion caused by the fire settled the question; for although I could not complain of any loss, the insurance company having at once made good my damage, I was yet for several days in a state of great confusion, and could think of nothing but of my missing articles, and how I should get my store again in order. Sooth to say, I was disturbed and fykie, and could lay my mind to no sort of consideration.

“I guess,” said Mr. Hoskins, one evening, when he came to drink tea with us; “I guess the Squire ha’n't a got ‘livered of ‘at ere fire fright.”

In the way of jocularity I did not object to being called Squire by him, for it was his way; but the fire was connected in my mind with so many awful things, that I could not endure to hear it lightly spoken of, so I replied,—

“You know, Mr. Hoskins, that I have no right to be called Squire, and, therefore, it would oblige me if ye would not use to me such a decoration.”