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“MUST I give up every thing?” asked Mr. Hardy of his lawyer, with whom he was holding a consultation as to the mode and manner of getting clear of certain responsibilities in the shape of debt.

“Yes, every thing, or commit perjury. The oath you have taken is very comprehensive. If you keep back as much as ten dollars, you will swear falsely.”

“Bad–bad. I have about seven thousand dollars, and I owe twenty thousand. To divide this among my creditors, gives them but a small sum apiece, while it strips me of every thing. Is there no way, Mr. Dockett, by which I can retain this money, and yet not take a false oath? You gentlemen of the bar can usually find some loop-hole in the law out of which to help your clients. I know of several who have gone through the debtors’ mill, and yet not come forth penniless; and some of them, I know, would not be guilty of false swearing.”

“Oh yes, the thing is done every day.”

“Ah, well, how is it done?”

“The process is very simple. Take your seven thousand dollars, and make it a present to some friend, in whom you can confide. Then you will be worth nothing, and go before the insolvent commissioners and swear until you are black and blue, without perjuring yourself.”

“Humph! is that the way it is done?” said Mr. Hardy.

“The very way.”

“But suppose the friend should decline handing it back?”

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders as he replied, “You must take care whom you trust in an affair of this kind. At worst, however, you would be just as well off, assuming that your friend should hold on to what you gave him, as you would be if you abandoned all to your creditors.”

“True, if I abandon all, there is no hope of, even getting back a dollar. It is the same as if I had thrown every thing into the sea.”

“Precisely.”

“While, in adopting the plan you propose, the chances for getting back my own again are eight to ten in my favour.”

“Or, you might almost say, ten to ten. No friend into whose hands you confided the little remnant of your property would be so base as to withhold it from you.”

“I will do it,” said Mr. Hardy, as he parted with the lawyer.

One day, a few weeks after this interview took place, the client of Mr. Dockett came hurriedly into his office, and, drawing him aside, said, as he slipped a small package into his hand, “Here is something for you. You remember our conversation a short time ago?”

“Oh, very well.”

“You understand me, Mr. Dockett?”

“Oh, perfectly! all right; when do you go before the commissioners?”

“To-morrow.”

“Ah?”

“Yes–good morning. I will see you again as soon as all is over.”

“Very well–good morning.”

On the next day, Mr. Hardy met before the commissioners, and took a solemn oath that he had truly and honestly given up into the hands of his assignee every dollar of his property, for the benefit of his creditors, and that he did not now possess any thing beyond what the law permitted him to retain. Upon this, the insolvent commissioners gave him a full release from the claims that were held against him, and Mr. Hardy was able to say, as far as the law was concerned, “I owe no man any thing.”

Mr. Dockett, the lawyer, was sitting in his office on the day after his client had shuffled off his coil of debt, his mind intent upon some legal mystery, when the latter individual came in with a light step and cheerful air.

“Good morning, Mr. Hardy,” said the lawyer, smiling blandly.

“Good morning,” returned the client.

“How are things progressing?” inquired the lawyer.

“All right,” returned Hardy, rubbing his hands. “I am at last a free man. The cursed manacle of debt has been stricken off–I feel like a new being.”