grave,' ever echoing as he passed-their only, and yet how fearful a saluta tion! He sold his commission, lodged the price, with other property, for the benefit of his son and family, and entering the order, for years endeavoured by prayers, penitence, and the severest mortification, to atone for and wash out the traces of his guilty life. Latterly a calm of penitence and resignation, had settled on his spirit, and though he did not abate in the least the rigour of his austerities, he began to feel a glow of peace warming and healing a bosom too long the abode of every fierce and irregular passion. He took advantage of it, and came out once more into the world, to look upon the happiness of the objects whom he had once striven so basely to injure, but whom he now regarded with all the love his iron nature was capable of feeling. "He would repeat," he said, "the visit once more before his death." He lingered with them a few days, and then silently and secretly took his departure, when it was discovered that he never slept upon a bed, and practised various other acts of mortification, as if still within the precincts of his convent. As if by some tacit consent, no one of the family or household took notice of the mode and manner of his leaving. His promise of returning to visit his relatives in America was never fulfilled. He was believed to be dead, as no tidings were ever after heard of him; but when and where he was laid to rest, remained a mystery, which no inquiries of his son and daughter-in-law ever availed to solve. If the superior of his convent were aware of it, he was bound by solemn injunctions not to disclose it. Neither from him nor from any other source did any tidings of the penitent father ever after reach his forgiving and dutiful son. "His remedies are but patches placed on a threadbare and rent coat." O'CONNELL to BENTHAM. John Bull had once but little sense Their task it was to buy his clothes, A suit of clothes they bought for him, Much out at elbows grew the Jad, But still no care his guardians had Far better would it be, they thought, One set brought ends of orange cloth, 'Till helpless John, between them both, And bands of tailors too they brought, And many a cunning speech was made, By those who feared to lose their trade, But John, as every year he rose Then did his guardians stroke him down, Till simple John at length believed But now, 'tis said, that soon he'll try In modern shops his wardrobe buy, Then must the motley clothes be laid That all posterity may view The ins and outs and slopings, The patchwork of such varied hue, The last few tailors then they'll deem A sort of antiquarians, T'explain to them those things that seem With common sense at variance. May heav'n preserve our worthy John, TO CORRESPONDENTS. All communications for the EDITOR of the DUBLIN MONTHLY MAGAZINE must be addressed to the care of Mr. MACHEN, 8, D'OLIER-STREET. Advertisements and Books for Review to be forwarded to the same. We cannot undertake to return short pieces, either prose or poetry. Contributions intended for insertion in the succeeding number must be forwarded on or before the first Saturday in the month. It is requested that persons sending to the publishers for MSS. will state in full the title of the paper required, and the name or initials affixed to it; as several mistakes have occurred for want of this precaution. Will H. D. R. be so good as to send us a memorandum of the pieces to which he alludes, as having appeared in our journal? We may possibly be in error as to their number and extent. "Farewell to Alma Mater" has merit as a school essay; but it is altogether unsuited to our pages. Considering the author's youth, we deem the effort creditable to him. The present is the FIRST NUMBER of our FOURTH YEAR. will like it. We hope our readers Webb and Chapman, Printers. 160, Great Brunswick street. TALES OF MERCANTILE LIFE.-No. IV. THE PRIVATE DISCOUNTER. IT has been stated by high authority, that much of the misery of the manufacturing population in England, and many of the failures that occurred there during the termination of last year, and the commencement of this one, were owing to over-trading. Men of small capital, and men of no capital at all, have contrived to carry on for a few years an apparently flourishing business, until they got credit to some very considerable amount, and then-smash! they enter the Bankrupt or Insolvents' Court, and their estates, after disposing of their plate, furniture, and perhaps carriages, may pay a shilling in the pound, or the creditors are lucky if they do not lose more than the original debt. There is some truth in this statement, but to what extent it may be correctly applied I will not now stop to determine, although I need not hesitate to confess, that this class of men is the chief feeder of that maw-worm of commercial life—the Private Discounter. Usury is subject to uncertain definitions, depending more upon the whims of its explainers than upon any fixed interpretation of its meaning. Some say, and perhaps they are right, "that taking more than five per cent., directly or indirectly, is usury," while others would prohibit the traffic in money altogether, and political economists would just place it on a footing with other commercial transactions, and abolish all restrictive laws concerning it. As long as commerce exists there must be a trade in money, and its holders, like the retainers of other stock, will accommodate its price to the probable solvency or insolvency of their customers,-doubling or trebling the discount according to the risk they run, and helping every man who employs them to ruin himself on the shortest notice. They are a positive evil, yet they will and must endure. Necessity, spendthrift prodigality, passions, idleness, speculation, have originated and will support them; but the man who finds he cannot go on without their assistance, should close his concern at once, for in their society his substance will become "small by degrees and beautifully less." Perhaps the men who follow this trade had once, like other mortals, some of the common sympathies of our kind, but how long do they retain them? Their gold seems to impart to their hearts its, metallic hardness. It blunts the kindly feelings of youth, it sears the affections of more advanced years, and old age, hobbling on its crutch, clinging to life with its hand on the very coffin lid, claims the extra per-centage -unmoved by the difficulties or distresses of the borrower, almost gloating over them. The traffic has become its passion. There are few characters in life who witness more human misery than 1842.-NOVEMBER. 3 D |