to pay off any thing; and then, instead of being able to reduce the amount a thousand dollars a year, he will have to let six hundred go for the annual interest on the original debt.  Four years would have to elapse before, under this system, he would get his debt down to where it was when he was broken up in business.  Thus, at the end of eight years’ hard struggling, he would not, really, have advanced a step out of his difficulties.  A debt of ten thousand dollars would still be hanging over him.  And if, persevering to the end, he should go on paying the interest regularly and reducing the principal, some twenty-five years of his life would be spent in getting free from debt, when little over half that time would have been required, if his creditors had, acting from the commonest dictates of humanity, voluntarily released the interest.”

“That is a new view of the case, I must confess—­at least new to me,” said Mr. Petron.

“It is the humane view of the case.  But, looking to interest alone, it is the best view for every creditor to take.  Many a man who, with a little effort, might have cancelled, in time, the principal of a debt unfortunately standing against him, becomes disheartened at seeing it daily growing larger through the accumulation of interest, and gives up in despair.  The desire to be free from debt spurs many a man into effort.  But make the difficulties in his way so large as to appear insurmountable, and he will fold his hands in helpless inactivity.  Thousands of dollars are lost every year in consequence of creditors grasping after too much, and breaking down the hope and energy of the debtors.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Mr. Petron;—­“that view of the case never presented itself to my mind.  I don’t suppose, however, the interest on fifty dollars would have broken down Moale.”

“There is no telling.  It is the last pound, you know, that breaks the camel’s back.  Five years have passed since his day of misfortune.  Fifteen dollars for interest are therefore due.  I have my doubts if he could have paid you sixty-five dollars now.  Indeed, I am sure he could not.  And the thought of that as a new debt, for which he had received no benefit whatever, would, it is more than probable, have produced a discouraged state of mind, and made him resolve not to pay you any thing at all.”

“But that wouldn’t have been honest,” said the merchant.

“Perhaps not, strictly speaking.  To be dishonest is from a set purpose to defraud; to take from another what belongs to him; or to withhold from another, when ability exists to pay, what is justly his due.  You would hardly have placed Moale in either of these positions, if, from the pressure of the circumstances surrounding him as a poor man and in debt, he had failed to be as active, industrious, and prudent as he would otherwise have been.  We are all apt to require too much of the poor debtor, and to have too little sympathy with him.  Let