The following pages contain the story which Mr. H., a 60-year-old man, related to the author. It is his life story, and the author met him by chance while the author was passing through Boston Common, which lies between his home and his office. While he was telling it, a gentle wind arose; the miniature sloops drifted feebly about the ocean; the wretched owners flew from point to point, as the deceptive breeze promised to waft the barks to either shore; the early robins trilled now and then from the newly fringed elms; and the old young man leaned on the rail in the sunshine, little dreaming that two gossips were discussing his affairs within twenty yards of him.