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TALES OF MERCANTILE LIFE.-No. I.

THE OLD LEDGER.

"I WILL tell you this, wife," said old David Grainger, to his better half, when one morning at breakfast, he had listened to her without saying a word, as she spoke on a particular subject, the cause of much altercation between them, until he could restrain himself no longer, "I will tell you this, wife—no more of that business-my mind is made up, and since Mary has chosen for herself-let her be, can't you?--let her be."

"You do not think of their miseries, her husband's trials, and broken health, with the heavy affliction of poverty."

"Well, that is not my doing. If the girl would not wait for my consent, but must needs marry without it, she surely can bear the consequences."

"But she can't, David,-I tell you she can't,

"Pooh! pooh! Love-they can live on love."

"It is almost all is left them, for unless they get some permanent and timely assistance, they must starve."

"Not in this country, in free England, they are not allowed to starve. You forget, dame, that we have Poor Laws. "You are a stern man," replied his wife. them ?"

"Will you do nothing for

"Nothing. But as I before said, we must end this bickering, for I do not like such continual seasoning at my meals, and if you know of no other subject to talk about, be silent, since this one must cease."

His wife remained silent, and the merchant shortly after left the house for his office, to attend to his business for the day.

David Grainger's was a time-honoured name. He was the descendant of a family of merchants, who had acquired wealth and character by the strictest honesty, and a system of perseverance and industry, which must invariably lead to such results. His father had a large family, which he had brought up, and saw safely bestowed in the world, fortune crowning their efforts to obtain wealth before he himself had closed his eyes for ever. Some of them had chosen professions; one went to New York, with whom David entered into a partnership, and thus turned a considerable portion of the trade between that city and London into their hands, while his sisters married well, an example he himself soon after followed.

I believe every grade of society has its aristocracy, and as its members increase in wealth and importance in their own sphere, they attempt to make their position a ladder by which to ascend higher in rank and social standing. There is an inclination to creep upwards, a tendency towards imitation, which we are prone to exhibit, and as the means increase with us, so does the passion. It is a truism, that lawyers of

eminence never like to be questioned as to their origin, thinking perhaps that genius is less creditable in the son of a barber, than it is in that of a peer; a disposition on their part, evincing their desire to adapt themselves to the aristocracy of position in which talent and success, not birth, have placed them, and to rub out from their minds any recollection of by-gones, which would only present an irritating and inglorious contrast with the wealth and affluence surrounding them. As it is with lawyers, so it is with others. The merchants who begin life upon the surest capital,-perseverance and half-a-crown,-learn in the full blow of their prosperity to despise poverty, and in the race of life, they back their thousands against coronets, sure to distance some spendthrift scions of aristocracy, and patch up an alliance with families, who despise their origin, but cannot exist without their cash.

David Grainger was shrewd, calculating, worldly, and vastly wealthy. Some people succeed at everything. Fortune crowns their efforts, while she looks with cold face and folded arms upon those of others, and Grainger belonged to the successful few. Nothing he touched, but prospered. As the enemies of Timotheus the Athenian painted him asleep, and Fortune taking towns in a net for him, so might those of Grainger, if they had any inclination to use the brush and palette, have also represented him asleep, and the dame, fickle to others, but constant to him, managing his counting-house, his American concerns, and the transactions on 'Change. Naturally stern in his disposition, his success in life, far from softening the harsh and stoical features in his character, rather enlarged and confirmed them, and he seldom had an ear for misery; but if that misery were the result of conduct opposed to his own wishes or commands, than David Grainger became a man of iron heart-apparently a block of stone without feeling or compassion.

He lived to be severely tried. Advanced in years when he married, he wedded a quiet, matronly woman, and their union seemed to promise no family. Years passed over their heads when a child was born to him— a girl-the merchant prayed for a boy, and heir to his wealth, but a stronger power ruled it otherwise. Mary Grainger grew up in surpassing beauty, whilst at the same time she was gifted with a warm and affectionate heart, quick passions, a predisposition to first likings, and a strong and lively temper. The old man had an affection for his beautiful daughter, deeper and more intense, because it lay buried in his heart, and rarely exhibited itself in open endearments, while her word was law-her slightest wish a command. He never seemed tired heaping favours upon her-dress, equipages, horses, servants,-she wanted for nothing, yet all this indulgence never spoiled her, since never understanding her father's disposition, she feared although she loved him.

His ambition was to see her well settled in life, and as he himself stood one of the Peers in the aristocracy of commerce, he sought for her an alliance with the aristocracy of blood. Yet he was neither precipitate nor rash in his arrangements or choice; he studied calmly and accurately

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the characters of those with whom he sought to associate; convinced that his wealth to prop up some failing family, was what those who desired his alliance, required, he took his time to search and examine amongst them, before he made a selection. His style of living was altered and improved, a seat in parliament purchased-he lived in the pleasant days of borough-mongering-and the society of the men of title was sought by the aspiring merchant. The fame of his daughter's beauty increased his social circle, and before he had well begun the campaign, he had room to choose and offers to reject. But Mary, now eighteen, although dazzled and bewildered by the gay throng who continually crowded round her, had disposed of her affections, and shortly after she eloped with a poor poet.

David Grainger was a Tory in his conduct, and all his feelings and inclinations were in unison with the aristocracy. In 1819, the debates in parliament were for a portion of the year taken up with speeches upon what Sir Francis Burdett-the present bearer of the name— “quantum mutatus ab illo❞—had in his published letter denominated the "Manchester Massacre," and Grainger stood hard by the administration of the day in their defence of that atrocity. He hated Radicals, and did not like Hunt.

The debate had continued long, and the ministers had determined on a division, which took place at midnight. The Ministry were successful, having carried their point by a large majority, when, as Grainger was talking with some of the members, a note was put into his hand. He opened it, and in a few moments scanned its contents, then rushed quickly through the throng and sprung into his cab.

"Where, sir?"

"Home, and no delay."

The merchant's few words, delivered in a stern angry tone, made the driver start.

"Eloped," muttered Grainger to himself, as he fell back in the cab, still holding the note in his hand-" Eloped with a poor pennyless scoundrel; and this, after all my care and anxiety on her account-after the proposals in her favour! May" he checked himself" No; she is my child."

He surrendered himself up to his thoughts of disappointment and vexation, until the cab stopped at his own door; he then walked steadily and calmly into the hall, evincing little emotion in his demeanour, while the servants cowered before him, and were relieved when he entered the room in which his wife sat alone and in tears.

"Here I am," said Grainger to his wife, " in answer to your note; now tell me how this has occurred."

"Mary left this to spend the evening with Mr. Henly, where she met George Roberts"

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Mrs. Grainger was terrified at her husband's manner-" She had de

1842-AUGUST.

2 R

sired the carriage to return at eleven, and when it went for her, Mrs. Henly told the man that Mary had gone home at seven o'clock, four hours before

"Well?"

"I became alarmed at this news, and suspecting, I could not know what, received this letter, upon the receipt of which, I instantly wrote to you."

Grainger read the letter. It contained expressions of unutterable affection towards him, and also stated, that knowing his intentions with regard to her establishment in life, and how foolish it would have been to ask his permission for the act she had committed, she dared to do it without his sanction. There were many demands on his compassion, and hopes for forgiveness expressed in the letter; but Grainger only looked out for the pith of the business, as he determined on instant pursuit.

"They must have gone the North road," he said, as he finished reading, and he ordered four horses and a chaise, "Any how I will try it." "Do you mean to pursue," asked his wife.

"To be sure I do, dame, since I will let no scurvy worm out of Grubstreet run away with my daughter, without at least an attempt to regain her. He takes her on the hopes that I can forgive, and patch up the business with some thousands; but the man is mistaken, for, 'fore God, coin of mine-"

"David, David, see the chaise is coming round."

"Do not interrupt me, since I may as well speak what I have determined on, as keep it secret-coin of mine, were both of us to live to the end of the world, shall never cross that scoundrel's palm, if he marry her—”

"But Mary-David-she's your daughter."

"I won't forget it, dame; she shall have a guinea for a mourning ring; further legacy than that-never.”

The angry merchant stalked out of the room, and threw himself into the chaise to gallop in fruitless pursuit after the fugitives.

A change came over David Grainger. He returned from the pursuit of his daughter and her lover, unsuccessful.. They had been married, and Mary, in all the bloom of youth, convinced in herself that her father could not refuse his forgiveness to her, wrote to him, supplicating pardon for herself and her dear George. Her letter was never opened. She wrote again and again, but still her father put the letter unopened in the fire, and all the entreaties of his wife for permission to read what her daughter said, were in vain-Grainger would not hearken to her. He altered his mode of living-sold his splendid house and its furnituregave up his seat in parliament, and retired to a more humble dwelling, while he plunged into business with his usual energy and good fortune. Three years passed on thus. The conversation I have mentioned in the commencement of my tale, was but a repetition of similar attempts

on his wife's part to bring about a reconciliation between him and his daughter, but nothing could soften him-he had been disappointed in his hopes and views, and he could never bend to forgiveness, while at the same time he prevented his wife from doing any thing for their child. A system of comparative parsimony had been adopted in his dwelling he bought every thing himself, even his wife's clothes; and not content with thus preventing her from giving assistance, he set a spy over her in the person of his nephew. His brother in New York had some business in London, which required for its execution a confidential agent, and believing his son qualified for its performance, he sent him over with letters and credentials to his uncle.

Gayer Grainger was cool, crafty, and insinuating, and played his game so well, that his uncle asked him to remain in London and enter into partnership with him, a proposition he did not hesitate a moment in acceding to. He had previously known all the circumstances of Mary's marriage, but he never alluded to it, until his uncle once, in a fit of confidence, stated to him his intention never to assist his daughter while he lived; and Gayer thought that if he could prevail upon him to observe the same conduct towards her on making his will, there might be a chance of himself being placed in her stead, as heir to old Grainger's vast wealth. Actuated by these motives, he became a spy upon his aunt, and did all he could to prevent any thing like an union between the parties, convinced that by it his own interests must suffer.

Poor Mary led a sad and miserable life. Her husband, proud like most poets, would not stoop to more entreaties, and all his wife's after letters were written without his knowledge. His health could not bear up against want, and failures in the career of life he had chosen. His poems were unpublished—his efforts to obtain relief without success— no money to fee physicians, and Mary, thus burthened with a sick husband, and her cares increased by attendance upon her children, became almost distracted. Yet she never repined at the choice she had made, however much she might suffer from its consequences. The wild thoughtless beauty, the pet of all who knew her, nursed in the lap of luxury and indolence, had become a woman,-had become tried in the fire of sufferings, of want, and of poverty; and with high mind and exemplary patience did she endure all, happy if for the moment she could relieve the miseries of those depending upon her.

It was a cold chilling night in December, the snow lay some inches thick upon the streets, and the wayfarers, who were exposed to its bitter violence, trudged on with numbed feet and frost-bitten noses to their several homes. On many a goodly hearth the warm, cheery, sea-coal fire blazed and crackled, the inmates sat snug and cosey round it, mirth and pleasure banished care and cold; yet on some fell the privations consequent upon cold and poverty, and amongst these last was Mary Roberts.

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