In the old homesteads--poverty and despair. In the
cities--wasting cares and sinking hearts. More than ever before, all
the vile classes of society rioted and held sway. The forestallers and
engrossers drove a busy trade. They seemed to feel that their "time was
short"--that the night was coming, in which not even rascals could
work! Supplies were hoarded, and doled out at famine prices to the
famine-stricken community; not supplies of luxuries, but of the
commonest necessaries of life. The portly extortioner did not invite
custom, either. Once he had bowed and smirked behind his counter when a
purchaser entered. Now, he turned his back coldly, went on reading his
newspaper, scarce replied to the words addressed to him, and threw his
goods on the counter with the air of one reluctantly conferring a
favor. Foreboding had entered even the hearts of the forestaller and
extortioner. They had sold their souls for gain, and that gain was
turning to dross. As at the wave of a magician's wand, their crisp new
"Confederate notes" had become rags. The biter was bit. His gains were
to count for nothing. Extortioner and victim were soon to be stripped
equally naked--the cold blast of ruin was to freeze both alike. Thus,
all things hastened toward the inevitable catastrophe. Brave hearts did
not shrink, but they saw ruin striding on.
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