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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
TWILIGHT SONG.
By Mrs. C. \V r . Dlßose.
Twilight eoftly stcalcth—stealcth o’er the earth ;
Stars arc peeping in (he sky—
Breezes sing (heir lullaby—
In the west the shadows lie—
sleeping silently !
Soft the dew now falleth —falleth dn the ground ;
N’"W in lily-bells reposing—
Now on violet boos soft dozing,
While the flowers their cups are closing—
Closiug quietly.
Now the breeze is rising—vising ir. the sky;
Scattering wide the bright dew dreqs—
Hustling in the tall tree-tops—
Leaving fragrance where it stops—
Stops invisibly!
Night’s dark mantle crecpeth—creepoth o’er the
land,
While the evening <h*w deacendeth,
And the breeze its odors blendetli—
\\ hile the plough-boy homeward wendeth,
Whistling carelessly.
Dewy mists are rising—rising from the earth ;
And the pale red m .on is ( limbing
In the sky, when stars are shining—
While the clouds their silver lining
Turn out 1m pefullv.
ITn k! the dove is singing—singing to his mate ;
While unto his song replying—
On the breeze her soft notes dying—
Still his mate keeps answer sighing—
Sighing mournfully !
Silence calmly failedU — -falleth o’er the soul;
Man unto his rest is going.
While the river, darkly flowing,
Murmurs onward* still unknowing
Where shall be its goal.
Night is gently closing—closing round the v orld;
In their leaves the flowers are sleeping,
While above them dews are weeping,
And the stars their watch arc keeping—
Keeping tenderly.
TranquiHa , Sept., 1849.
LILLIE LELFORD.
BY METTA VICTORIA FULLER.
Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh,
So musical and sweet;
Her foot, is like a fairy’s foot,
So dainty and so fleet,
Her smile is fitful sunshine,
Her hand is dimpled snow,
Her lip is very rosebud,
In sweotness and in glow.
[Mrs. Osgood.
“Hush! Did you hear that burst of
laughter and Let us peep in this rose-wreath
ed window, and see from whose merry
heart came those gushing and musical
notes. She must be beautiful!”
“ Who, Leslie V’
“ Why, the one who created the laugh—
some fair, innocent young creature, with a
spirit like sparkling waters, and a face all
dimples and brightness.”
“ Ah, brother ! in love with a laugh ! I
shall tell Miss Merrill; she never conde
scends to even smile.”
“ Please forget Miss Merrill, till I catch
a nearer glimpse of the light form which
just glided past the window. Come, come,”
whispered lie, a moment afterward, as he
carefully parted the twining roses from the
shadowed casement, “ saw you ever a be
ing so beautiful V’
“ She is, indeed, very, very lovely,” an.
swered Ada Ilerwood, as she obeyed her
brother and peeped through the window.
A young girl, of sixteen summers, with
a profusion of shining brown curls, a form
of exquisite gracefulness, and a face of
soft and yet brilliant loveliness, was lean
ing carelessly against the high back of an
antique arm-chair. One bare and beauti
ful arm was thrown aver the richly-carved
and polished ebony frame-work, and one
tiny foot was unconsciously beating a
merry tunc on a protruding rocker. She
was alone, and appeared to be lost in pleas
ant thoughts, for a mischievous smile stole
gradually out from the deepening dimples
of her carmine cheek, and played around
her blight and half-parted lips, whilst the
dreamy light in her soft eyes, grew eloquent
with sparkling merriment. At length, she
started from her reverie, and throwing her
self among the cushions of the high arm
chair, again burst forth in a thrilling, music
al, irrepressible peal of laughter, which
rung through the little parlor, more sweet
than the warble of woodland birds, or the
; gush of a merry rivulet. She ceased not
till the glittering tears stood like gems on
the long silken lashes, beneath which her
violet eyes shone out like shadowed tva
i ters and when those gay and girlish tones
| no longer gushed out upon the ears of the
I listeners, she bounded from her scat, and
crossing the apartment, to an open piano,
run her fingers lightly over the keys, sing
ing :
It is wicked, I know, to laugh at Lim so—
Hut u>k me not to marry him—dear!
W hy ! he s fifty, at least, and so oddly drest,
And his qneuo and his coat arc so queer!
It’s distressing—beigbo !—to hai eto say no
To a quiet old gentleman, too :
I never could se \ how he came to love me ;
I thought he’d forgot how to woo—to woo—
I thought he’d forgot how to woo.
II Some sober old bachelor has been pro
; posing, and that is what makes her so mer
! ry. I hope she does not treat the young
ones so,’’ and Leslie Herwood sighed.
Ada was about rallying her brother on
the sudden gravity of his handsome face,
which the soft moonlight made provoking
ly visible to her quick eyes, but at that
moment the giddy creature within came ,
gliding towards the window, still merrily j
caroling in a peculiarly sweet but unculti
vated voice, her improvisatneed song, ar.d \
the two were compelled to make a hasty
retreat.
“ Well, Leslie, have you concluded to
make this quiet, beautiful village oursum
| mer residence ?” asked Ada, as they con
| tinued their walk through the pleasant and
i tree-shadowed street.
“ Provided you promise to procure me
an acquaintance with that bewitching
: young creature of the silvery laugh. Ido ;
so love to hear a free, wild musical, unre
strained burst of laughter.”
“No doubt of it, Lei,” replied Ada, with
her bright eyes sparkling mischievously.
But 1 am delighted that you think of re-
maining, for our friends, the Harveys, wish
us to very much, and have made arrange
ments for a little party. You will have
an opportunity of making the heartsof the
pretty little village girls thrill, when pre
sented to the dark, proud eyes, shining
ringlets and faultless mustache of the
princely Leslie Herwood! But take care
that you do not get served like the quiet
old gentleman, by the lovely girl we peep- ‘
ed in at.”
“ Don't rattle on at such an eloquent rate,
if you are released from the bondage of a
formal city. No danger of my ’’
But the sentence remains even yet unfin
ished, for at that moment they met their
friends, who took them home with them,
to discuss the subject of the party.
The next evening came, and with it a
gay and smiling throng of village lads and
lassies, gathered within the neat and taste
ful pallors of the Harveys. Many a bl ight
eyed and dimpledtcheeked maiden, with an
eye more brilliant and a cheek more dimp
ling and rosy, was presented to the stately
and elegant Mr. Herwood, but his restless
glance found not the face it sought, anti
the music tones of the beautiful unknown
met not his ear. At length the buzz of
many greetings and welcomings, and
words of admiration, reached him from the
adjoining apartment, and in a moment, the
one be had so impatiently awaited, glided
into the room, smiling and blushing, and
saying gay things in reply to the flattery
addressed to her. She did not, for a mo
ment, observe Leslie, and he had full leisure
to gratify his wonder and admiration at her
exceeding grace and loveliness. A dress
of snowy muslin fell in drooping folds
around her form, which was of the most
exquisite roundness and symmetry. Her
beautiful arms gleamed xvliitely beneath a
fall of shadowy luce, looped up with white
roses, and her polished and dimpling shoul- j
ders seemed laughing at the tresses which
kissed them. A wreath of lillies seemed j
designed to confine her redundant brown j
curls, but they were not used to restraint,
and bad stolen in graceful confusion upon >
her slender neck and waist. Notwith-j
standing her laughing gayety, there was an j
expression of spiritual purity upon her:
white brow, and evet and anon a soft i
shadow in her deep violet eyfls. She was
just making some careless repartee to the
remark of some gay gallant, when her
glance caught the earnest and admiring
gaze of the proud stranger. The drooping
fringes swept down quickly over her crim-
| soning cheek, and then those large, eloquent
| eyes were raised to his with a timid, inquir
ing look. That blush and glance-—how
i should he understand them 1 The thrill of
a long silent chord in his heart answered
him. Advancing with a bright smile, he
i held out his hand.
“ Lillie Leifordl Is it possible 1”
“Quite possible. Mr. Herwood; none :
; other than little Lillie Lelford, whom you
l so gallantly rescued from a home amid
! the mermaids, on the borders of the At*
i lantic.”
i “Ah! I suppose you would have been
very glad to have reigned queen of the
revels in coral palaces: but I prophesied
that to reign the fair sovereign of one warm
I heart would better gratify your taste. Was
I right V and he drew her hand through his
arm and led her out upon the vine-treliised
j and star-lighted portico.
After that evening, thS shadow of Lillie
Lelford’s eye grew deeper and dreamier,
and the laugh seldom came from her quiet
; lip; and when it did, her tones were so
j low and sweet, and half sad, it w as like the
tinkling of silver bells rung at a fairy’s
funeral. Then there was such a soft sub
dued light, slumbering ali over her beauti
j tul features: and it even seemed as if the
i rich golden-brown curls fell over hershoul-1
, ders in less wild and careless redundancy
than was their wont. Lillie was no longer
a child—her young heart had thrilled to
i the music of words of love, and its strings
I now vibrated to the touch of deep, hoi),!
inexpressible feeling, till even her fair
; foot pressed the earth with a more thought
ful step.
The summer fled by, and Leslie Herwood
and his sister Ada were compelled to return
: to their city home.
“Do not weep Lillie,” he said, as he
bade farewell to his betrothed, “ the months j
! will soon flee by, and by Christinas ycu
must be ready to return with me to my
home as my bride. Ada wishes to write
to you, and you must answer her letters.
,Do not weep—we will soon be hap]))*,” j
and the sorrowing girl was left to wait!
! patiently for the time when she should see
him again.
Tlirown once more among the life and
gayety of the city, fora time Leslie scatCe
! ly thought of any one but his distant love:
but by-and-by her sensitive heart was pain
’ ed, receiving shorter and colder and less
; frequent letters. Christmas came, and the
unhappy girl sat in her lonely chamber
i with a throbbing brow and a bosom tortur
ed to agony. No word—no lover!
Where was Leslie Herwood ! At the j
feet of his old love, Clara Merrill. Strange
; that he could forget the young, pure and
bewitchingly beautiful Lillie, for that cold, j
j disdainful, but brilliant creature, with her
| scornful eyes and smileless lips. Oh! it
was such a change, and men love variety ! j
So while one young heart was silently !
breaking, another was feeding its fountain
of vanity from the love-vows offered by j
the proud, the envied, the handsome Leslie
Ilerwood. Clara Merrill did not love him. i
hut she was a belle, and it flattered self, to
secure in her chains the one, so many less
fortunate ladies were sighing for.
The winter was nearly spent, when a
new star appeared amid thegalaxyof fash
ion and beauty. Great was the commotion
among the upper-ten thousand ; and at the
opera, the hall, the private circle, every
where was ringing the name of the beauty ,
and heiress, Miss Manley. Leslie Herwood
i procured a presentation to her—what was
it caused his heart to thrill when her eyes
met his, and made him for the time forget
even Clara Merrill 1 She was very beau
tiful ; could that be the charm ? He gazed
and gazed upon her queenly and graceful
form, her classically formed head, with its
heavy braids of rich, brown hair folded !
around it; her exquisitely sculptured fea
tures; her gleaming brow and large, proud
eyes ; her clear, pale cheek mi l lovely lip
—he listened eagerly to every tone of her
low, musical voice, till he was convinced
that it was one of his boyhood’s dreams,
grown to perfection and gifted with life and (
breath. Clara Merrill's power was over.
Days and weeks passed by, and he was
ever lingering by the side of Miss Manley.
There was something mysterious and in
comprehensible about her which he could
not account for. She ever treated him with
the same unvarying coldness; she was ever
proud and dignified ; and yet he dared to
love—to worship her, mad'y and devoted- i
ly. She was so peerless, so unequalled ‘
and yet every tone and look thrilled his
heart like the foigotten music of old. She
was very intimate with Ada, who often
threw out mysterious hints which he could ;
not understand. One day he found them
in Ada's boudoir. There was a soft light (
in the eye and a warm glow on the cheek
of Miss Manley which was indescribably
beautiful. On some light pretence, Ada
! left them alone. Leslie was embarrassed,
and he asked her to sing. She hesitated,
1 colored and began :
A young heart is pining—forsaken—alone ;
Tiie gladn *ss has fled f. om a once merry tone ;
An eye has grown dim, and a ohoek ha* grown
; p ile:
fchc was loved, was forgotten—and—
j She attempted to finish, but her voice
trembled, and she burst into tears. Leslie's
heart beat faster, and he felt it was the mo
ment to decide his destiny. In an agony
of mingled hope and fear, he poured forth
a wild and hurried confession of his love.
He dared not look in her face, but he im
plored her to pity him to speak and end his
suspense. A low sob was the only reply.
He raised his eyes to her face; tears were
standing on her downcast lashes, and her
cheek was burning crimson. They told
him lie was accepted, and he caught her
small soft hand in a delirium of delight and
pressed it to his lips. It was withdrawn,
and her large eyes were lifted half proudly,
half mournfully to his, and her tones were
low but firm, as she said—
“ Perhaps, under other circumstances,
Mr. Herwood, I might be induced to accept
the hand you have so generously offered
I me. But I have a young friend, surely
you remember her, Lillie Lelford; and for
her happiness and your own, 1 must remind
you of your duty. Think not that I could
cvci* consider you blameless or worthy of
love, with the knowledge embittering my
existence, that an innocent young being
was sinking into the grave because her a£*r
feclions had beea gained and then throwrt
away by one whom I called my husband.
Dream not, then, that I shall ever listen to
vows which l havq reason to believe false
or unenduring ; but if I have any influence
over your feelings, prove it by returning
to her you have so heartlessly forsaken.”
She arose, and lef. him to the burning
thoughts of shame and ~,ui!t and despair
which agitated his bosom. A thousand
conflicting emotions troubled his heart, as
he tossed that night oil his restless couch,
and when he came with heavy eyes anl
aching head to the breakfast table, Ada in
formed him that Miss Manley had left the
city that morning.
For a week he roved restlessly about the
city, plunged into every kind of amusement,
and striving to forget his late refusal by
renewing his attentions to Miss Merrill;
but that lady was no longer even interesting
—the name, ‘ Lillie Lelford,’ was forever
ringing in his memory. So one pleasant
spring morning, Ada was surprised and
delighted by the proposition of her brother,
to return for a short time, to the residence
of their friends, the Harveys. They were
soon borne, I y car and carriage, back to the
little village where they had spent the pre
ceding summer so delightfully. As ihey
passed again through its quiet streets, a
‘thousand olden memories’ gushed over The
heart strings of Leslie, and a strange fear
stilled his pulses as he passed by the silent
cottage of Lillie. What if she had forgot
ten him—what if she were dead ?
Scarcely were the greetings of friends
over, when Leslie bogged Ada to call on
Lillie, and tell her of his arrival, his re
pentance, and plead with her to receive him
favorably. Ada consented to his wishes,
and half an hour afterwards, he followed
her. How his heart thrilled as he stood
again on the vine-wreathed piazza, and
looked into the little hall. A white muslin
sun-bonnet lay on the carpet, which he
knew to be Lillie's. He approached the
parlor door and raised his hand to knock,
but his courage failed him. The voice of
Ada reassured him, and he tapped lightly
on the polished oak panel. The door was
opened and he stood in the room. A fair
form was before him, and as his eyes rest
ed on that face, he gazed in mute bewilder
ment.
“Miss Lillie Manley Lelford,” said the
gay voice of Ada. Leslie comprehended
all. Lillie held out her hand, and her
smiles and tears told him he was for
given.
“ Strange that I never recognized you,”
he said, as they sat together bn the sofa,
where they had so often sat before.
“Time and sorrow and entire change in
dress and manner, made the difference.—
But I should have been too proud to have
won you back in that manner, had it not
been through the persuasion of dear, good,
kind Ada.”
It was May-day, and the bells of the
little village rang merrily. The snowy
muslin curtains, in a certain parlor, were
looped back by wreaths of pale roses, and
the fragrant breeze, as it stole into the
apartment, fluttered the white robes ot the
bride. Orange flowers were twined among
i iier shining curls, and a pale tose-bu 1
nestled on her bosom. The shadow had
passed away from her clear, soft eye, and
her dewy lip quivered with unutterable
feeling, while a smile beamed ever and
| anon for a moment on her young cheek,
j and then fled back among its dimples as if
| afraid to appear. She was very, very
j beautiful, and the deep, proud eyes of the
! bridegroom rested on her blushing face with
a look of holy tenderness, too deep for
words. And Ada, who had brought all
this about, was wild and merry as a bird,
as she kissed her sister's cheek, and called
i her Mas. Heuwood!
____________________
& I J ii 7,
-
—-
HINTS TO MERCHANTS.
[From “ Success in Life,” by Mrs. Tuthill.]
KNOWLEDGE.
“ It is not ‘how imicb’ a man may know, but
to ‘what end and purpose’ be knows it, that con
stitutes the value. There may be a man who lia* j
a perfectly well-constituted and disciplined mind,
and who yet does not know one letter of the al-1
phabet; and so may there be men who*e minds ;
are unstable and Rood for nothing, although they \
have * gone through’ all the courses of education
at all the schools and college.”— JMudie.
“ O books ! ye m >numents of mind, concrete wis
dom of the wisest,
Swot t solaces of daily life, proofs and results of
immortality,
Gentle comrades, kind advisers; friends, comforts,
treasures.”— Tapper.
Your aim is to he a good merchant. A
noble aim, if you attain the end by noble
means.
The Americans have frequently been
taunted with the opprobrious accusation,
that motto is, “Get money—honestly
if you can, hut at any rate get money;' 7 as
though the love of money were peculiar to j
this country!
Gold is everywhere worshipped; it is
as truly an idol now, as it was when the
Israelites prostrated themselves befoie it as 1
a golden calf, or the Greeks as a golden
Jupiter.
“ The appetite for gold, unslumbering,” ‘
continues from age to age, and too often
becomes 44 a ravenous, all-devouring bun- 1
ger”
“And many in hot pursuit have hasted to the!
goal of wealth,
But have lust, as they ran, those apples of go] 1, 1
the mind and the power to enjoy it.”
The object of the merchant is, most as- ’
BUredly to acquire money; but he need not ;
make it the sole end and aim of his whole
mortal existence. He may become rich,
and yet enjoy himself rationally while en
gaged in the pursuit.
We would therefore consider a good ed
ucation, a thoroughly good training for the
specitic object in view, as essential to the
merchant, who, in his own phraseology,
would rank as A .Vo. 1.
The distinguished merchant, Thomas
Eddy, of New York, to be sure, said of I
himself, “All the learning l acquired, was
reading, writing, and arithmetic as far as
vulgar fractions. As to grammar, I could
repeat some of the definitions by rote, but
was totally ignorant of its principles.’’
This, however, was when Thomas Ed
dy was only thirteen years old. Os his
knowledge of arithmetic, he certainly made j
excellent practical use, and his grammati- j
cal knowledge undoubtedly had increased,
when he afterwaids corresponded with
such men, across the Atlantic, as Roscoe, j
Colquhoun, Jeremy Bentham, and Lindley
Murray, the very patriarch of grammarians. ’
No doubt Thomas would have been glad
if he had, in early life, instead of merely
learning by rote the definitions of English
grammar, acquired facility in speaking and ,
writing the language grammatically.
This every merchant should be able to
do. 11 is own strong mother tongue lie
ought to manage with clearness and pre
cision.
He is to come in contact with men in all
the conditions and li grades” of human
life. He may be required to use the re
fined phraseology of the drawing-room, the
energetic elegance of the senate chamber,
and the nautical terms of the sea-captain.
His intercourse with society will give him
an opportunity to hear it spoken with flu
ency and spirit; his intercourse with books,
English and American, to learn to use it
with clearness and precision. He. as well
as the lawyer, is to employ language to in
fluence men's minds, and sway them to his
own purposes.
That wicked wit, Dean Swift, says, that
in the arithmetic of the custom house, two
and two do not make four. The arithme
tic of the merchant should never vary
two and two make four to the buyer—two
and two to the seller.
A good merchant should have a thorough
knowledge of Arithmetic anil Book-keeping:
Attentive l>e. and I'll impart
Wt.at constitutes the accountant's art.
This rule is clear: uliat I receive,
1 debtor make to what I give.
I debit Stock with all my debts,
And credit it f r my effects.
Tile goods 1 buy, I debtor inakn
To him from whom those goods I take ;
Unless in ready cash I pay—
Then credit what I paid away.
For wlmt I lose or make, ’tis plain
I debit Loss and credit Gain.
1 The debtor’s place is iny left han 1,
Creditor on my right must stand.
If to these axioms you'll attend.
Book-keeping soon you'll eoinprch ;nd ;
And double-entry you will find
Elucidated to your mind.”
Although this waif from an old newspa- j
per is entitled “The Poetry of Book-keep
ing,” we confess there is more common j
sense than poetry in the rough lines, and
in fact poetry may be the book-keeper's j
amusement, but it is not very nearly re-1
} latcd to his occupation. To be ready with |
figures 1, 2 and 3, is of vastly more conse- j
j quence to him than to be intimately ac- i
! quainted with figures of speech.
“ Merchants,” says Roger North, “are
infinitely curious in the fairness, regularity
and justice of their books , which they es
i teem as authentic registers, concerning not
J only themselves, but all other persons
they have had dealings With, or may de
rive interest thereupon ; and to such books
1 appeals are commonly made, for they arc,
j “f ought to be, the truth, whole truth, and
. nothing but the truth, of all that is done ;
j and disposed in a method, videlicet by
waste, journal and ledger, the most e.vqui- j
site for repertory and use that the wit of :
’ man, with utmost application, has been
willing to frame.”
“Appeals,” as North says, “are made to
hooks, even by the law, if a man can prove
that his books are kept with exact correct- i
ness.” These correct books are the mer-!
chant’s patent scales, by which a hair’s!
weight of gain or loss may be detected.
The lawyer and the author consider :
themselves as having a special license to
write illegibly. No matter how cramped
and crabbed their chirography, they ex
claim, “ Well, who expects us to write
copy-hand TANARUS” A fault, indeed, it is; and
many a client of the one, and type-setter
for the other, has bitterly condemned the
foolish notion, or tile carelessness, which
has occasioned to them ro much trouble
and perplexity.
But the merchant—his hand-writing
should be clear and elegant. Ilis books
must be kept “ ship-shape and Bristol
fashion”—no blots—no erasures; he prides
himself upon their beautiful appearance.
Besides a thorough knowledge of arith
metic, the higher branches of mathematics
will claim his attention ; algebra and geom
etry are almost indispensable. If he can
add to these some knowledge of surveying
and navigation, they will be useful acqui
sitions.
The merchant may thus be able to test
the correctness of the log-books of the sea
captains who sail in his service.
Moreover, mathematics so steady and
discipline the mind, and give such power
to the faculty of attention, that every young
merchant would surely desire to avail him
self of means so likely to ensure success.
An accurate, extensive knowledge of
Geography, will prove invaluable to the
merchant. Not the superficial smattering
of the school-boy alone, should content
him. In his commercial relations with
other countries, he must not only under
stand what are the climate and productions
of far-distant regions, in order that he may
depend upon profitable return-cargoes, but
he must be familiar with the social and poi
litical condition of different nations, their
tastes, manners and customs, that his ships
may be freighted with those very articles
which will minister to their wants—else
he may send furs to Liberia, and ice to
Norway.
Look at a list of articles imported into
China: Bichede-mer, betel-nut, Malay
i camphor, nutmegs, elephant’s teeth, shark’s 1
1 fins, pepper, rice, Japan-wood, cubebs, gam-
S boge, tortoise-shell, inangrove-hark, bees’- j
wax, birds’ nests, cloves, ebony, fish maws, .
! gambir, rattans, sandal-wood, tin, dragon’s
blood, mother-of-pearl shells, gold, eagle
i wood.” What an assorted cargo would
that be for Ireland during a famine, or even i
lor the United Stales at any time!—
A well-known merchant in Boston, who
b'undered into a large fortune, inquired of
Some person, what would be A profitable
: “venture” for the West Indies. The re
, ply was, “Warming-pails.” Accordingly
j the eager merchant purchased a large t;uaii-’
tity for that market, where the heat is so
intense that they cannot bear to look at a
i fire, and forthwith dispatched them. And
; strange to sav, it proved a profitable spec
ulation! the West Indians buying them for
j molasses-ladles and skimmers.
Soma English merchants, several years
since, made almost as bad a mistake—
worse in the result. Knowing that pastu*
rage was exceedingly rich in some parts of
! South America, they sent out some of the
finest milch-cows to that country, and eve
rything belonging to and daily-, for the pur
pose of making butter. They built their
dairy-house—they were supplied with the
best possible churns ; the pasturage was
very grateful to the cows, and the blitter
was at length made— “beautifuT’ butter,
which would have gained a prize side by
side with Orange County butter. But alas!
for the sequel. The natives had no taste
for butter! They preferred following the
custom of their forefathers, ami eating oil
on their bread—rancid oil; so the sjiicula*
I tors neither buttered the bread of the na
tives, nor their own. If the wheat crop
j fail at home, the knowing merchant will
I not send his vessels to the West Indies sos
‘ breadstuff, when the Vistula at Dantzic*
1 will serve his purpose far better.
He will not send cotton to Egypt, for
his maxim will be, “ Buy in the cheapest
market, and sell in the dearest.”
To spare himself the “want-wit sods
ness,” of which Antonio speaks, in the
Merchant of Venice, he ought to know of
the periodical winds and storms which
sweep over continents and oceans. This
knowledge would relieve him, in part, from
the trouble of
‘ ‘ Plucking the grass to know where sets the wind;
Prying in maps for ports and piers and roads.’ 1
Salanio says to’his friend, the merchant!
“ and should not see the sandy hour-glass ron,
But I should think of .-hallows and of flats.
Should I go to church
And see the ludy edifice of at me.
And not bcth.nk me -- tra ight of dangerous rocks t
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ;
Unrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this
And now worth nothing V’
The prudent Antonio replies;
“ My ventures are not in one bottom trusted)
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year.”
A young merchant heard it mentioned
that a ship was in jeopardy.
“Jeopardy,” said he, “what port is
that?” and then, as if half ashamed to
have asked a question which everybody
ought to know, he quickly added, “Oh, I
know : it is somewhere near Gibraltar.”
This, however, is not a worse mistake
than that of the lawyer; who, thinking
quarantine was an island, said to a witness
in court, who mentioned that at a certain
time he was in quarantine, “Where is
Quarantine situated?” interrupted the law
yer. Geography, most assuredly, is not to
be despised.
Modern languages are of great use to
the merchant. Latin and Greek are not of
as much consequence to him as French
and Spanish. These two he ought, by all
means, to speak and write fluently. Por J
tuguese, Italian, and German, he can add,
if he have time and opportunity. His in
tercourse with foreign countries may bting
them all into requisition.
lie should know something of the laws
of his country—especially mercantile law:
This knowledge may save the merchant
many a fat fee, which would otherwise
have gladdened the lawyer's pocket, and
prevent losses of various kinds.
An anecdote is told of an English judge,
as follows ; In a case of mercantile law,
which related to some Russia dudes, his
Honor was very much puzzled to know
how Russia ducks could be damaged by
sea-water!
Mercantile law, relating as it does to in*
surance, brokerage, bills of exchange, in
solvency, bankruptcy, and partnership,
should be well understood by a thorough
ly educated merchant.
•An English merchant mentions that he saw t
Dantzic heap* of wheat fivg or gii feet deep, and
of considerable breadth, extending for sever
miles along the Vistula. It was preserved fr m
the effects of the weather by a covering of mat
ting, or sail-cloth. Several thousand*of p r on.
are constantly employed in turning this inline, so
quantity of grain, upon which, meantime, t y
subsist, boiling it in water from the river. This
astonishing superabundance of produoe has been
brought trotm Gallicia and Poland to its p- eneut
situation, tftr the purposo of truing exported to
I foreign countries.