The New York World notices the death of a millionaire
named Mitchell Hart, whose life suggests some curious speculations. He was a pawnbroker, and for nearly half a century worked 'eighteen hours a day in his little shop, taking down the shutters, receiving goods, signing duplicates, and making entries. His .gains were wisely invested, and he grew worth millions of dollars, but still slept in his wretched tenement, and till within twelve months of his death never missed attending to his business. The Globe says he was a sordid person. Very good ; but if so, why is a labourer or a servant who works fifty years in one place and one occupation worthy of a medal? Be- cause he did not succeed? May there not be men whose business in the world, when they have found work to do which they can do well, is to go on doing it, and not abandon it for higher work, which, as they probably know, they would do ill ? Mr. Hart's real impulse was probably habit; but allowing that pawribroking -is a beneficial trade, we do not see that he was wrong. Our fathers would have said that he was right, holding it to be a sort -of duty with every man to die in harness. We have abandoned that theory, or rather hold it true only when the harness is of the aristocratic kind.
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