"This time, the presentment was the interior of a shop, around which were shelves full of boxes containing all sorts of delicious little gaiters, ties, slippers, bootees and kid pumps, whilst the same kind of articles hung suspended from various hooks and pegs on the wall. On a bench in one corner of this shop, busily working upon a dainty pink satin gaiter-boot, was a narrow young man of pensive countenance, weak eyes, pink nose and an intellectual head of hair, in a workman's paper cap manufactured from an admirable weekly journal of romance.
"As the deeply-affected banker gazed upon this figure, he sorrowfully murmured: 'Ah! that is the deep-voiced youth who last week desired of me five hundred dollars to insure the publication of his new novel of Fashionable Life, which was destined to instantly sweep Dickens, Victor Hugo, Thackeray, and other demoralizing writers from the field of literature.'
"'Yes!' said Mr. Pepper's Ghost, severely; 'and your miserly refusal to aid struggling genius with your miserable wealth has driven a giant intellect into the ladies' shoemaking business. In which,' added the spectre, 'I am bound to say, that he is doing tolerably well.'
"The guilty old banker buried his face in his trembling hands; and when he looked up again, the vision had changed, and he saw before him the inside of a soldier's tent on the banks of the Rapidan, with two gentle Zouaves arraying themselves in their new uniforms, which had just arrived. Owing to some trifling mental aberration, accompanied by hiccups, which often attacks the members of an army confined to damp localities, these two troops had somehow mistaken their jackets for their pants, and were struggling with Herculean strength to thrust their dainty nether limbs into the sleeves of the first-named garments. After an animated struggle of about a quarter of an hour, something was heard to tear; whereupon, one of the Zouaves tore his fractured jacket from his limbs, and dashed it furiously to the ground, hurling imprecations upon all hard-hearted wretches who coined money by making clothing out of rotten rags for the glorious defenders of their homes and firesides.
"'Old boy,' thundered Mr. Pepper's Ghost, reproachfully, 'did you not have an interest with your brother, the —— street tailor, in that Government contract for uniforms?'
"'I did,' replied the mournful banker.
"'Then behold,' said the spirit, 'how you have earned the eternal hate of your country's gallant volunteers, and will be handed down to future scorn and infamy as a member of the 'Shoddy Aristocracy.' 'And now, continued Mr. Pepper's Ghost, 'that I have shown you these illustrations of your wickedness as a rich man, how do you feel?'
"'Well,' responded old Pursimmons, 'to tell the truth, I feel greatly bored and very sleepy.'
"'And you wont bestow all your wealth upon the next poor widow with six small children?'
"'Not exactly.'