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Cominic Patch 28 years old, by profession a tailor, or as he called himself his door-sign "Maitre Taileur," was a nice clever little man. He understood his business, dressed alwaysafter the latest fashion and posssessed also a "Tailor's pride," as wicked tongues named it, but he called it "Self-possession" in short he was a tailor as well as you find him in books. Work he had more, than enough; about wife he did not need to complain, for he had none and yet Mr. Patch was not satisfied. The why he would perhaps have not been able to answer himself; but it was, so and on that we have to count.

Mr. Patch imagined since years already, that he was much too fine for a tailor. He thought, he was made for a traveling agent, handsome, galant, eloquent. These attributes he really possessed, for otherwise he would not always have been voted for, as speaker at singing and theater clubs and at Carneval societies. Formerly, about three years ago, he had believed yet in his future as book-keeper. But, since he had become a tailor-master, he had given up that thought, because at that time he saw into it, that he wrote a miserable "scratch." He himself could make out yet all, the strokes and bars that he put down. But when he had written out his first bills, his customers declared in symphathetic harmony, that they were unable to read his cryptograph, for the key of it was wanting to them. At that time he engaged a young merchant to keep his books for him and take care of his other writings. This young man came every Sunday morning to Mr. Patch's shop to keep books or to write letter and make out bills, just as it was needed.

The business went on splendidly. Mr. Patch could have been satisfied; but he was not, for he wanted to be a traveling agent. As a man of sound principles he had also subscribed for the "General Announcer," because in there were to be found the most announcements, also the offering of positions in the commercial. line And perhaps no reader studied these announcements so carefully, as Dominic Patch did. There were often wanted: Route traveling men, Traveling men with branch knowledge, Young men for Office and traveling, Agents with first class reference. But so far nothing suitable had been announced for our hero, because no one was looking for a tailor, that wanted to become a traveling agent.

All at once however the long hoped for luck seemed to appear for Mr. Patch. One day the following announcement, printed in big fat letters made a great show in a most conspicuous place of the "General Announcer:"

"For the sale of groceries and cigars is wanted an agent by one of the first Hamburger Houses.

Ask Offer u. C 1243 the Expedition."

So quickly as he did after the reading of this announcement had Mr. Patch in the 14 years, that he squatted with crossed legs on his table never yet come down from it. Yes, that was just the thing! No Office work, no routine, no reference nothing was required, why! there everybody could become an agent! Again and again did his eyes look for the announcement; more and more his resolution was strenghtened. “I'll send in my offer!" At last he went to his work again; but when after a quarter of an hour, he noticed how under his otherwise skillful hands, one leg of a pair of pantaloons had united its self with the half of a coat sleeve of the same material, it was over with the work. A promenade should quiet his excited nerves. Mr. Patch dressed up and walked out to the promenade. The wording of the announcement he had already imprinted upon his memory. It had become the foundation upon which Dominic Patch was erecting the most magnificent air castles; buildings as they were perhaps, never before put up on such a weak foundation. Suddenly however, the work of his lively imagination falls all at once together. Frightened, with thick drops of perspiration on his fore head he suddenly stands still. There before his mind stood like a "Scare crow" his miserable writing! Would this then be pushed as a bolt before the gate of his dreamed Paradise for him? No, no, that must not be, rather would he make a confident of his book-keeper, Mr. Korfer, and ask him to write the offer for him. A hundred boxes on the ears and two hundred writing tasks did he wish now, that his father and teacher had given him during his school days besides those, which he had received, before they let him go with such "Henscratching." But that remained a pious wish rescue was only to be found with Mr. Korfer,

It was Friday, when this just, now pictured incident took place. Until Sunday therefore, poor Patch had to have patience; no wishing did him any good there. He went home and for two nights and one day his future greatness, consisting now only of dreams and imaginary pictures, was well lived through and then it was Sunday.

With the usual punctuality Mr. Korfer entered Dominic Patch's sitting room. A sympathizing question of the writer about Mr. Patch's health, brought the latter quickly to the desired theme "Oh! thank you, I feel passably well,” answered he, "only that since the last few days severe cramps in my stomach trouble me." "Cramps

went therefore to Mr. Korfer, who had to write down his declaration of readiness.

was before him? Indignantly he turned around and made those little raga-muffins an eloquent speech; but they shouted all the more. Fortunately, they, spying the Polic from afar, dispersed, and Mr. Patch reached a more remote part of the city in safety.

That was soon done and still quicker was the letter delivered at the Post-Office! On his way home he bought an oil cloth and a strap; now the agent only needed his samples yet, and the business could begin. In the following days Mr. Patch memorized different addresses with which he wanted to introduce himself to the customers. He thought of many contradictions for the occurring difficulties and entirely initiated himself in his new profession, when the package of samples reached him. That same night yet all the little bags and boxes were neatly packed into the oil cloth. The next morning bright and early did Dominic Patch begin this long wished for journey. III.

When he stepped out into the street he wanted to enter one of the next grocery-stores; but he remembered, that the grocer was an acquaintance of his. That was disagreable, for he would have to give a long explanation and reason on the account of the change in his profession and that seemed too much for him. The same thought caused him to go out of the way of several acquaintances that he met on the street.

For what long explanations; for all he knew, they might even ridicule the traveling tailor.

He looked therefore, for a more remote part

But also there where he did not need to fear the meeting of acquaintances, it was hard for him to enter a store. At last he took heart and went into the first best retail store.

Behind the counter stood a robust looking woman, who stared at him with a questioning look.

"My name is Patch, representative of the House Kamp & Co. in Hamburg. I take the liberty to ask if you are in need of Coffee, Tea, Rice, Sa

of the city; after he once had success, said he to himself, the scoffers could come and he would soon give them the "bounce." While he was thus reflecting on the future glory of his new profession, he strutted along as proud as a peacock. He just wanted to turn a corner, when a gang of wild little urchins spied him. Boldly and saucily they followed several blocks hooting at him and singing:

Meck, meck tailor dude; Where are you going in such a good mode? Are you going to get you a wife, Because you are tired of your lonely life You had better go home and make the clothes, For your beautiful, lovely future Rose. Poor Dominic Patch, was that really the beginning of the dreamed of glorious carreer, that

go, Spices or Cigars?" Stammering, did this so well memorized sentence come from Mr. Patch's lips. The person addressed opened eyes and mouth widely. To fill out the painfull pause, that ensued our agent pulled at his package strap. At last did the store-keeper find words.

"So you are such a scamp such an agent as they say, that induce people to give them orders. They show good samples and send bad ware, and afterwards, if the people do not want to pay for such thrash, they send the Police after them." "No, no," she gesticulated with both hands. "you had better make yourself thin and get out of here, if you know what is good for you.

"With such rogues such raga-muffins, such pick-pockets and vagabonds, honest people don't bother. Go get out of here," pressed the woman coming forth from behind the counter. And she accompanied her speech with a gesture, which caused poor frightened Patch to close his half opened bundle quickly and with hat under his arm he hurridly left the store.

At some distance of the house, which was inhabited by the unkind store-keeper Mr. Patch halted. He was like crushed after this first salutation in his new profession. "Poor Patch," he sighed audibly. "That was a decided blunder into such a den he would never, never go again," that was his firm resolution. It needed the walking through several streets, before poor Patch had subdued his excitement so much, that he could think of a new trial.

Two large mirrors behind, which were stapled, large bags of coffee, boxes with all kinds of fruit and also the blue clad sugar loaves, invited him to a further step into his new profession. A heroic act of his will, brought him into the store where he asked one of the clerks for the proprietor.

"Whom may I announce?" "Patch of the House Kamp & Co. in Hamburg," was the prompt reply. "Then there will scarcely be any use that you trouble yourself, for we buy from first hand only" answered the young man.

"Oh, if you please! I can make some very favorable offers in Coffee, Tea etc.." defended Mr. Patch astonished about his ready answers. The Chief of the house most likely heard the last part of the discourse, for he opened the door between the store and the Office and invited with a short "Please" our agent to come in.

"Patch of the House Kamp & Co.in Hamburg" he introduced himself in the Office and began to unpack. Good average Santo at 180 mark he offerd. A humorous laughter was the merchant's answer.

Mr. Patch turned alternately red and pale, about what did that gentle man laugh so unmercifully? That would soon become clear to poor Patch for the merchant brought forth a bank paper and pointing to the bank news he said: "No Sir, Santo is noted 145 mark; we have nothing to

do

with the noting of last week." A harty laugh followed these words in which two young men, that were working at large desks joined him.

Patch was beaten, he tied up his bundle murmuring some incoherent words and ran rather, than walked out of the store.

How that wormed our hero! Every body he imagined was able to read it of his forehead, that he had just, now been terribly mortified. He hastened on; the thoughts ran confusedly around in his head. Only the call of a gentle man, that met him.

"Where to then my dear? Why you are running as if some one was behind you with a whip." brought the agent back to himself again. "Only don't let him notice any thing," was his first thought. "I just had an unpleasant scene with a customer,

about three months ago I delivered a suit of clothes to that fellow and now, when I come for the money, the suit should n't fit him," he lied to his acquaintance. Lying was otherwise not Mr. Patch's habit, but what all would he not have done so as not to be known as a groceries' canvassing tailor.

Luckily had the friend not noticed anything. He proposed to Mr. Patch to wash down his anger with a tumbler of beer in a near by saloon. A proposal which poor Patch so much more readily accepted, since he felt the need of rest for a little while, after the hardships of his first journey. might have chatted away

An hour the two

in the resturant, when the friend of Mr. Patch reminded of the time for departure, and took leave of him on the street with a hearty hand shake. The combined tailor-agent was again alone with his sample package and first experince. What should he do now? All what still lived in him of the tailor revolted against a repetition of that kind of scenes unworthy of a free tradesman. He who was just about stormed at with orders, who could scarcely work half of that what was wished of him, should go begging from door to door to get an order for entire strangers in Hamburg. Then the agent came again: "All beginning is hard; you are two experiences. richer now; who would let himself be frightened

once more.

In the next moment he stood, bowing politely before the young lady. "Have I the honor to salute the proprietress of this business?" "Yes, I am joint-proprietress" was the simple reply.

"Then allow me: My name is Patch representative of Kamp & Co. in Hamburg, wanted to see if you have any need of Coffee, Tea, Spices etc."

"I am very sorry, we have no need yet, since we only opened yesterday we have a plentiful assortment.'

"But you might look at my samples, that does not cost any thing and is not binding," was Ms. Patch's ready reply.

And thereby he unpacked and spread out his samples before the young lady not saving compliments and praising his ware as exellent, prima, insuperable.

In his eagerness Mr, Patch had not noticed that in the frame of a into an adjoining room leading door there appeared an other lady, who remained standing there, looking surprised and scrutizing the busy agent so long, until he became aware of it. With a bow, that had to give rise to a just doubt of the existance of a back bone and with "A humble servant your honor" saluted Mr. Patch the lady.

Coming nearer that latter asked:"With whom

have I the honor?"

"Patch of the House

edly rummaging among his things: "Ah! yes, I remember I had the honor."

But you were then introduced to me as tailor-master?" Asked the lady who perhaps scented something mysterious.

Mr. Patch was shocked, looked confusedly, at the on account of her slyness, smiling beauty and stammered, like before something about cramps of the stomach, better existence, bad business and the like. Packed at the same time his bundles and turned with a very crushed sounding: "Excuse the disturbance, good bye Ladies," to the door.

He was terribly excited. Therefore he did not notice, that a girl, who was wiping up the floor had just placed a pail of dirty water before the door. He stumbled a frightened scream from within; but there he lay already

the agent, under him the contents of the pail, forming a dirty puddle.

Although he jumped up with ape like agility, it did not hinder it, that his shirt bosom and cravat, coat, vest, but above all the pretty light, blue pants showed plain signs of the fall. Instinctively did the unfortunate man turn into the next alley,cleaned there his clothes as well, as he could and hurried home avoiding frequented Streets.

But before he reached his haven of refuge the saucy little band, that had hooted at him in the morning, was, as it seemed waiting for him again. They gave a yell like an Indian war-woop and following him they sang: "Tailor, tailor, tailor!

Where did you leave your valor?
It seems yon took a dirty

bath,

To wash away some indignant wrath.

Or did you try to catch

a fish,

To make yourself a savory dish?

You'd better go home and clean your clothes Why! you are dirty way

up to your nose!" Poor, poor Patch! that was more, than he could stand. He took his heels and ran all the rest of the way, of course followed by the malicious little band. Well at last he reached his home.

Here he sank down exhausted on a chair. There on the table stood his dinner yet, cold and stiff in the fat, for noon was long past. He had no desire for food and drink; he needed rest to wear off the feeling of shame, that he had for himself.

Dressed he lay down on his bed and Morpheus was kind enough to spend him his grace. But in spite of this there was no rest. In a dream he sow how he was robbed of his sample box and brought before a man, who gave him a bank paper in which could be read in giant letters "Good average Santo 145 mark." This man compelled him to dance with a lady who gave him the title of Tailor master, so that it got too close for him.

Then came screaming a woman, who accused him of theft and fraud and wanted his death. Lastly came the wild little band of urchins and sang his funeral kneel. Ice cold it ran over poor Mr. Patch. He awoke, rubbed his eyes, perceived his situation and sighed audibly:

"Cobbler stick to your Last!"