I was down there last fall, and who should I see but Thomas Rigby, of Windsor.  He knew me the minit he laid eyes upon me, for I had sold him a clock the summer afore.  (I got paid for it, though, for I see’d he had too many irons in the fire not to get some on ’em burnt; and besides, I knew every fall and spring the wind set in for the lines, from Windsor, very strong—­a regular trade wind—­a sort of monshune, that blows all one way, for a long time without shiftin.) Well, I felt proper sorry for him, for he was a very clever man, and looked cut up dreadfully, and amazin down in the mouth.  Why, says I, possible! is that you, Mr. Rigby? why, as I am alive! if that aint my old friend—­why how do you do?  Hearty, I thank you, said he, how be you?  Reasonable well, I give you thanks, says I; but what on airth brought you here?  Why, says he, Mr. Slick, I couldn’t well avoid it; times are uncommon dull over the bay; there’s nothin stirrin there this year, and never will I’m thinkin.  No mortal soul can live in Nova Scotia.  I do believe that our country was made of a Saturday night, arter all the rest of the Universe was finished.  One half of it has got all the ballast of Noah’s ark thrown out there; and the other half is eat up by Bankers, Lawyers, and other great folks.  All our money goes to pay salaries, and a poor man has no chance at all.  Well, says I, are you done up stock and fluke—­a total wrack?  No, says he, I have two hundred pounds left yet to the good, but my farm, stock and utensils, them young blood horses, and the bran new vessel I was a buildin, are all gone to pot, swept as clean as a thrashin floor, that’s a fact; Shark & Co. took all.  Well, says I, do you know the reason of all that misfortin?  Oh, says he, any fool can tell that; bad times to be sure—­every thing has turned agin the country, the banks have it all their own way, and much good may it do ’em.  Well, says I, what’s the reason the banks don’t eat us up too, for I guess they are as hungry as yourn be, and no way particular about their food neither; considerable sharp set—­cut like razors, you may depend.  I’ll tell you, says I, how you get that are slide, that sent you heels over head—­“You had too many irons in the fire.”  You hadn’t ought to have taken hold of ship buildin at all, you knowed nothin about it; you should have stuck to your farm, and your farm would have stuck to you.  Now go back, afore you spend your money, go up to Douglas, and you’ll buy as good a farm for two hundred pounds as what you lost, and see to that, and to that only, and you’ll grow rich.  As for Banks, they can’t hurt a country no great, I guess, except by breakin, and I conceit there’s no fear of yourn breakin; and as for lawyers, and them kind o’ heavy coaches, give ’em half the road, and if they run agin you, take the law of ’em.  Undivided, unremittin attention paid to one thing, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, will ensure success; but you know the old sayin about “Too many irons.”