A singular circumstance happened some years ago. I was told it by a timber merchant who was on the spot.
A respectable nobleman died, leaving a scapegrace son to inherit his title, estates, and wealth.
It was then that the Jews came down like vultures on the heir. They had lent him money on post-obits; and there was not enough to satisfy them. Accordingly the mandate went forth for the cutting-down and sale of the magnificent timber in the park—trees of centuries' growth.
The day of the sale arrived, and timber merchants had gathered from far and near, and the auctioneer was about to begin the sale of the trees—standing in their majesty. "By heaven!" said the dealer to me, "it made my heart ache to see them—the trees themselves looked like nobles—I say it made my heart ache, though I hoped to profit by them too."
Well, just as the sale began a telegraphic messenger came galloping up with an orange envelope.
