“News from Uncle Adam!” cried my brother Martin, as the maid, one morning, placed upon the breakfast-table a letter, bearing a foreign postmark; and the words are still fresh in my memory, for that epistle influenced the fates of my father, brother, and myself. It was addressed to our parent, in reply to one he had sent to Batavia, some twelve months before. “My dear brother Claud,” it ran, “I have received yours, containing the sad intelligence of the death of your poor wife, and the almost simultaneous loss of your fortune, through the failure of that rogue of a banker. I will not, however, waste time in words of condolence, but at once proceed to business. Well, _you_ are poor--_I_ am ri…
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