I FEAR City people are very mercenary in their views and habits. It is natural that they should be so; they come into the City to make money, and that is all they are thinking of while they are there. They do not all succeed in their attempt, I know. Some are idle and , and do not deserve to win in the battle of life. They are failures from their birth, and go mooning about like the Micawber, expecting something to turn up, till death comes and puts an end to their expectations. Some men are unlucky, and lose by every adventure; others are born lucky, and, from no merit of their own, everything they touch turns to gold. The other day a poor costermonger was run-over in the street and killed, and it was found that he was worth several hundreds of pounds. It would be interesting to know how a costermonger could have made all that money by the sale of apples, oranges, and greens. A few weeks since I heard a judge tell an audience, consisting of school-boys, that in his own person he was an illustration of the fact that, in this happy England, any one, however of rank and wealth and connections he might be, would rise to the position to which his worth entitled him; and he ended with the recommendation of the wise man of old, “In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths.” Only a month since I heard of the death of a Jew, who had commenced with selling pencils in the street, and had died worth a million of money. How was it done? Ah! that’s the question. It is not done, as a rule, by the speculators; nor is it done by the who forget that honesty is the best policy. Many of the men who have succeeded, it has been remarked, have generally achieved success by the application of some very simple principle which they have established as the general rule of their .
Ricardo said that he had made his money by observing that, in general, people greatly exaggerated the importance of events. If, therefore, , as he dealt, in stocks, there was reason for a small advance, he bought, because he was certain that an advance would enable him to realise; and when stocks were falling he sold, in the conviction that alarm and panic would produce a decline not warranted by circumstances.
Let us take another case—that of Rothschild, the third son of the Frankfort banker, who came to England with £2,000, which he soon turned into £60.000. “My success,” he said to Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, “all turned on one : I said, I can do what another man can. Another advantage I had, I was an off-hand man. I made a bargain at once. When I was settled in London, the East India Company had £800,000 worth of gold to sell. I went to the sale and bought it all. I knew the Duke of Wellington must have it. I had bought a great many of his bills at a discount. The government sent for me, and said they must have it. When they had got it, they did not know how to get it to Portugal. I undertook all that, and I sent it through France; and that was the best business I ever did.” Another rule of his was never to have anything to do with unlucky men. “I have seen,” said he, “many clever men—very clever men—who had not shoes to their feet. I never act with them. Their advice sounds very well, but fate is against them; they cannot get on themselves; and if they cannot do good to themselves, how can they do good to me?” His advice to Sir Thomas’s son was sound: “Stick to your business, young man; stick to your , and you may be the great of London. Be a brewer and a banker, and a merchant and a manufacturer, and you will soon be in the Gazette.” How true this is, any one who has the slightest acquaintance with City life can at once understand. The advice should be printed in gold in every counting-house in London. If it were, and were acted on as well, we should hear of fewer commercial failures.
Let me give another of the Rothschilds. It is related of Nathan de Meyer, that on one occasion he gave a lady the following piece of advice. Seated at the dinner-table, she informed him she had an only son, whom she was anxious to see placed well in business, and begged him to give her a hint on the subject. For a long time the baron hesitated; and at length, when urged by the lady, half good-naturedly and half worried, he turned round and said—“Well, madam, I will tell you. Selling lucifer-matches is a very good business if you have plenty of it.”
In his “Autobiographical Recollections,” Sir John Bowring thus speaks of the Morrison, the of the great commercial house in Street:—“Morrison told me that he owed all his prosperity to the discovery that the great art of mercantile traffic was to find out sellers, rather than buyers; that if you bought cheap and satisfied yourself with only a fair profit, buyers—the best sort of buyers, those who have money to buy—would come of themselves. He said he found houses engaged, with a most expensive , sending travellers about in all directions to seek orders and to effect sales; while he employed travellers to buy instead of to sell; and if they bought well, there was no fear of his effecting sales. So, uniting this theory with another, that small profits and quick returns are more profitable in the long run than long credits with great gains, he established one of the largest and most concerns that has ever existed in London, and was entitled to a name which I have often heard to him, ‘the Napoleon of Shopkeepers.’” Mr. James Morrison, the founder of the Fore Street , certainly deserves further record. He was a native of Hants, and born of parents. Early transplanted to the at the end of the last century, the country youth first set foot in London, unaided in search of fortune. His first employment was a very menial one in a warehouse, and him a bare maintenance; but his industry and trustworthiness soon secured him a in the Fore Street business of the late Mr. Todd, whose daughter he married. So far it may be said that his rise was accidental; but his constant rise was no accident. His enormous wealth was the result of his own natural sagacity, , and integrity. During the long course of his devotion to trade and commerce, Mr. Morrison’s mind never stood still. Every social change in business, in demand and supply, he keenly discerned, and acted on. Thus his great business at once became the first of its class. After the close of the great wars, and the consequent rapid increase of population and wealth, Mr. Morrison was one of the first English traders who reversed his system of management by an entire departure from the old of the highest prices. His new principle was the substitution of the lowest scale of profit, and more rapid circulation of capital, and the success of the experiment speedily created his trade pre-eminence. “Small profits and quick returns” was his motto, and other houses quickly followed in his wake; but the genius which originated the movement, notwithstanding active competition, maintained its . The result was, that, in middle age, Mr. Morrison found himself in possession of an enormous fortune. At the time of his death, his English property was said to be of the value of three or four millions; and, besides, he was of large investments in the United States. He was a lover of art, an advanced politician and M.P., and, to the last almost, a man of study and thought.
In our own day, as much as in earlier times, the same rule applies to City life. The linendrapers, it seems to me, are, as a rule, the most successful. Since fig-leaves went out of fashion, the ladies—God bless them!—have always supported the linendrapers and the silk-mercers. The founder of the great house of Shoolbred & Co., in Tottenham-court Road, was originally educated at the Working School—then in the City Road, but now at Haverstock Hill. The will of the late Mr. , whose shop was near the Elephant and Castle, was proved a little while since under a million. He was only about sixty years old when he died, and commenced business some thirty years ago in a little shop, being his own shopman. Mr. Meeking, whose in Holborn are a series of palaces, rose, I am told, from very small beginnings. A writer in a newspaper says—“Not long ago I was at a meeting where there were six men, of whom the poorest, who could scarcely write, was worth £100,000; and the richest, who never read a book of information through in his life, was making £50,000 a-year. They had all begun as working-men except one, who is an M.P., and he had commenced life as a shopman, and had made £10,000 a-year. Such are the chances for money-makers in England, where credit is easy. But then money-making is an art—like poetry, a born gift.” So says the writer: I differ from him. A tradesman who lives within his income, and who sells that for which there is a yearly increasing demand, such as beef or shoes, or butter and cheese, however stupid he may be, however his ignorance, cannot but . He has only to shut his eyes and open his mouth, and take what Heaven will send him. With trade ability, good health, and , a man cannot help making a fortune. People fail because they want to have their cake and eat it at the same time; because they like to discount their good fortune; because they prefer to enjoy from day to day rather than to accumulate capital; and, lastly, because when they have money, in their eagerness to make more, they go into some rotten company and lose all.
Once upon a time I was at a grand party at the house of a West-end and M.P. As I left I said to a friend, “How did Mr. — make his money?” “Why,” was the reply, “by borrowing ten shillings.” On the strength of that recipe the writer of this article borrowed twenty; but, ! the experiment in his case did not answer.
But to return to money-making men. “The Fludyers had begun their career,” wrote Sir Samuel Romilly, “in very narrow circumstances; but by extraordinary activity, enterprise, and good fortune, they had acquired wealth, and were every day increasing it by the profits of a most extensive commerce. Sir Samuel was an alderman of the City of London, and a member of parliament. He had been created a baronet, and had served the office of Lord Mayor, in a year very in the history of City honours, for it was that in which the king, upon his marriage, made a visit to the corporation and dined in Guildhall. Notwithstanding, however, the great at which fortune had placed these opulent relatives beyond my father, they always maintained a very friendly with him, and , perhaps sincerely, a great desire to serve him. Sir Samuel, too, was my godfather.” He died of apoplexy, and Sir Thomas did not long survive him.
But instances of money-making men in the City are as as blackberries, and I merely refer to a few of them. We all have heard of Sir Peter Laurie, who had such a wonderful way of putting down suicide, and other evils. He came to London in early life, and worked, it is said, as a journeyman saddler at a house in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross, with the late Sir Richard Birnie.
The late Mr. Thomas Tegg, who, at one time, was one of the largest booksellers in the kingdom, acquired his fortune through the force and energy of his character as a man of business. When he first came to London, he called on Mr. Newman, a bookseller in Leadenhall Street, to ask for employment. “What can you do, young man?” “Anything you please, sir; I shall be willing to make myself generally useful.” “Then,” said Mr. Newman, “go and see if you can tie up that parcel,” pointing to a quantity of books, in a loose state, which were lying on the floor. “That,” said Mr. Tegg at a public meeting, “was the first employment I was ever engaged in as a bookseller.” And thus he made his money.
Sir John Pirie, who, in 1841, was elected Lord Mayor, on returning thanks in the Guildhall for the honour done him, said—“I little thought, forty years ago, when I came to the City of London a poor lad from the banks of the Tweed, that I should ever arrive at such a distinction.”
Gentlemen learned in the law are occasionally money-making men. One of these was John Campden Neild, M.A., barrister-at-law. He was the son of a wealthy gold and silversmith in St. James’s Street, and who bequeathed a large property to his miserly son, which he, in turn, enlarged, and bequeathed to her . It appeared that, since his father’s death in 1814, he had allowed his money to accumulate, and had scarcely allowed himself the common necessaries of life. He usually dressed in a blue coat with metal buttons, which he prohibited being brushed, as it would take off the nap and its value. He was never known to wear a great-coat; he was always happy to receive an invitation from his tenantry in Kent and Berks to visit them, which he occasionally did, often remaining a month at a time, as he was thus enabled to add to his . His appearance and manners led people to imagine that he was in the lowest state of poverty. Just before the introduction of the railway system of travelling, he had been on a visit to some of his estates, and was returning to London, when the coach stopped at Farningham. With the exception of our , the passengers all entered the inn. Missing their companion, and his decayed appearance, they conceived he was in circumstances, and, accordingly, a sum was for the purchase of a glass of brandy and water for the benefit of the poor gentleman, which he thankfully accepted. Many instances of a similar character may be related.
Alderman Harmer was the son of a Spitalfields , and was left to work his way as an orphan at the age of ten. Alderman Wire was the son of a at Colchester. Alderman Kelly, who died in his 80th year, was the architect of his own fortune. He was originally an assistant in the employ of Mr. John Cooke, of Paternoster Row. The business chiefly consisted in publishing works in numbers, which were sold up and down the country by means of book-hawkers. Mr. Kelly succeeded to this business, and so won fame and fortune. In 1836 he was Lord Mayor of London. Thomas Cubitt, the well-known builder, born near Norwich in 1788, at an early period in life was thrown upon his own resources, and soon learned to trust in them. At the death of his father, when he was in his nineteenth year, he was working as a journeyman carpenter. He shortly afterwards, with a view to improve his circumstances, took a voyage to India and back as captain’s joiner. On his return to London, then about 21 years of age, with the savings he had put by, he commenced a small business in London as carpenter. After about six years, appearances of success manifesting themselves, he took a piece of ground from Lord Calthorpe in the Gray’s Inn Road, upon which he large buildings and carried on a very large business, which business he handed over to his brother, Mr. Alderman Cubitt, while he built what is known as Belgravia, and, when he died, had accumulated property to the amount of a million . He was a man of most estimable qualities, clear-headed, energetic, of unswerving integrity, kind to his family, generous and considerate to his workpeople and dependents.
But there are money-making men who are better than money-grubs. Mr. Gompertz, born in London in 1799, the son of a Dutch diamond merchant, was a self-taught of very high , who had distinguished himself early in life by the publication of new logarithms. At the age of thirty, having married Miss Abigail Montefiore, sister of Sir Moses Montefiore, Mr. Gompertz entered his name as a member of the Stock Exchange, doing a large amount of business, but without his mathematical pursuits, which gradually turned to tables connected with life insurance. After working out a new series of tables of mortality, the subject took such a hold of his mind that he to quit the Stock Exchange and to devote himself to actuarial science. Appointed actuary of the Alliance Company under its deed of settlement, he became, both in of his position and through his high connections, its chief manager, doing his work to the satisfaction of the directors. Mr. Benjamin Gompertz, however, aimed to be nothing more than a man of science; his ambition being to make the best actuarial , and not to do the largest amount of business. Another illustration we have of this higher life is afforded in the case of Mr. Grote. Mr. Samuel Rogers may also be quoted as another illustration. It is well to feel that, after all, there is something better than money-making—that man does not live by bread alone.
The great lesson of London life is, that perseverance, industry, and integrity will win the day. In the City, daily, we see the poorest rise to the possession of great wealth and honour. Poor lads have come to town friendless and moneyless; have been sober, and steady, and true to themselves. They have been firm in their to London and ; have improved the abilities God has given them, and the opportunities placed within their reach, and become, in their way, men of note and mark. Many a Lord Mayor has been an office-lad in the firm of which he grew to be the head. Mr. Herbert Ingram, the founder of the London News—the tale is an old one, but none the less true—blackened the shoes of some of the men he afterwards represented in parliament. Mr. Anderson, of the Oriental Steam Navigation Company, and M.P. for the Orkneys, rose in a similar manner. Mr. Dillon, of the great house of Dillon, Morrison, & Co., also rose in a similar p. 15way. Lord Campbell, when employment was scarce, and money ditto, held a post as reporter and critic on the Morning Chronicle. Mr. Chaplin, who at one time represented Salisbury in parliament was an extraordinary instance of a man rising from the humblest rank. Before railways were in operation he had succeeded in making himself one of the largest coach in the kingdom. His establishment, from small beginnings, grew till just before the opening of the London and North-western line. He was of sixty-four stage-coaches, worked by 1,500 horses, and giving yearly returns of more than half a million sterling. Sir William Cubitt, when a lad, worked at his father’s flour-mills. Michael Faraday was the son of a poor blacksmith; and J. W. Turner, of a hairdresser in Lane. Mr. W. Johnson Fox, at one time M.P. for Oldham—the great of the Anti-Corn-Law League, and the “Publicola” of the Weekly Dispatch, when that paper could afford ten guineas a-week for a good article—was a Norwich factory lad.
I knew a lad, born in the village in which I was born, in the humblest rank of life. I found him one day one of the churchwardens of a city parish, and a man of substance. I expressed my surprise, as even he could not read. “Ah, sir,” was his reply, “I came to London to be a man or a mouse; and here I am.” It is so all over London. The great in Cheapside and Street, and Victoria Street and elsewhere, are mostly owned by men who began life without a rap. Go to the “beautiful” around London, and ask who live there, and you will find that they are inhabited by men whose wealth is enormous; whose fathers were beggars; and whose career has been a marvellous success.
In one of his songs, Barry Cornwall tells us, that when he was a little boy, he was told that the streets of London were paved with gold; and it must be admitted that, to the youthful mind in general, the metropolis is a sort of Tom Tiddler’s ground, where gold and silver are to be picked up in handfuls any day. There is a good deal, it is hardly necessary to say, of exaggeration in this. To many, London is dark and as one of its fogs, and cold and as one of its own streets. It is difficult to estimate the number of persons, in the lowest stage of , who rise every morning p. 16not knowing where to earn their daily broad. Wonderful are the shifts and of this unfortunate class. One summer day a lady friend of the writer was driving in one of the pleasant green lanes of Hornsey, when she saw a poor woman the leaves of a horse-chestnut. She asked her why she did so. The reply was, that she got a living by selling them to the fruiterers in Covent Garden, who lined their baskets of fruit with them. One day it came out in evidence at a police-court, that a mother and her children earned a subsistence by rising early in the morning, or rather late at night, and selling, as waste paper, the broad sheets and placards with which the waste walls of the metropolis were . It seems to me, one of the worst sights of the of London, is that of women, all black and grimy, the and rubbish collected by the wandering dustmen. Perhaps that is as dirty a way for a woman to make money as possible; and yet it seemed to me that their hands were clean, compared with those of certain stock and money-brokers, and promoters of public companies, to whom it is needless more particularly to .
Fortunes in London are made by trifles. I knew a man who kept a knacker’s yard, who lived out of town in a of beauty, and who drove horses which a prince or an American millionaire would have envied. Out of the profits of his vegetable pills, Morrison bought himself a nice estate. Mrs. Holloway used to be seen riding in one of the handsomest carriages to be met with in the , and the princely liberality of Mr. Holloway astonished all England a little while since; and as to the keepers of dining-rooms and City , how well they live, and in what good style, most of us know well. Before railways had become developed, in the City was to be seen more than one proprietor of a dining-room, who drove daily a handsome mail phaeton and pair to town in the morning to do his business, and back at night. Thackeray had a tale, if not founded on fact, at any rate not improbable, of a gentleman who married a young lady, drove a swell cab, and lived altogether in great style. The gentleman was dumb as to his daily occupation. He would not impart even the secret to his wife. Even the mother-in-law was unable to solve the mystery. All that she knew p. 17was, what everyone else knew, that her son-in-law went out in his cab, with his tiger mounted behind, in the morning, and returned home in the same style at night. At length, one day, the wife, going with her dear mamma into the City shopping, recognised her lord and master in the person of a street-sweeper, clothed in rags, and covered with dirt. The discovery was too much for him. He was never heard of more.
In one of his pleasant letters, Mortimer Collins wrote—“The modern millionaire’s beneficence is ostentatious. A thousand pounds to a charity is as good a way of saying, ‘See, I am rich,’ as the same sum spent on a horse or a picture.” The same idea has occurred to the writer of a modern play. The hero calls for his secretary, and asks him to bring him the book which contains a list of his donations. “Ah,” he says, after looking at it, “double my to all the charities that advertise, and put it down to our account.” It is to be feared a good deal of that charity, which covers a multitude of sins in the City, is due to a similar desire for . A good deal of ostentatious is simply put down under the head of advertising expenditure, and very often it is the only way by means of which a rich tradesman or ambitious merchant can draw attention to himself and his proceedings. This is a little annoying occasionally. For instance, it was particularly unpleasant to Sara Coleridge, the gifted daughter of a gifted sire. At Broadstairs she in a house where there were some children belonging to a London shopkeeper and his wife. “These children,” the lady writes, “live on the stairs, or in the kitchen, and never take a book or a needle in their hands, and yet their parents are overburdening Mrs. Smith with attendance, well, and living for many weeks by the sea in . The extravagance and recklessness that go on in the families of tradesmen in London, is beyond what the rank above them ever dream of.” Sara Coleridge, as the wife of a clergyman, and daughter of the great philosopher, I dare say found it hard to make both ends meet, and perhaps was needlessly severe on the London tradesmen, and the way in which they spend their money. Such sharp as she penned was natural under the circumstances. Refined, genteel people, of limited means, are sadly at the abundance of the prosperous and p. 18well-to-do. As to ostentation, Morrison, the pill man beat every one when he gave a grand banquet to all that was fashionable in society at Paris, and to each parting guest presented his card, with an advertisement of his far-famed pills.
“Two causes led,” writes Mr. Page, “to the accumulation of the wealth which Mr. Brassey realised. One was the small extent of his personal expenses. He hated all show, luxury, and ostentation. He kept but a moderate establishment, which the increase of his means never induced him to extend. He was to say—‘It requires a special education to be idle, or to employ the twenty-four hours in a rational way, without any particular calling or occupation. To live the life of a gentleman one must have been brought up to it. It is impossible for a man who has been engaged in business pursuits the greater part of his life to retire; if he does so, he soon discovers that he has made a mistake. I shall not retire; but if for some good reason I should be obliged to do so, it would be to a farm. There I should bring up stock, which I should cause to be weighed every day, at the same time their daily cost, as against the increasing weight. I should then know when to sell, and start again with a fresh lot.’” The second and far more important cause which led to Mr. Brassey’s wealth, was the extent of his business. “He knew the value of money as well as any one,” wrote a friend, “and how far a pound would go; but he had no greediness to acquire wealth, and he was always willing to give away a portion of his profits to any one who was instrumental in making them, and that to a extent. At no time did he realise more than three per cent. on the money turned over by him. He laid out seventy-eight millions of other people’s money on works, every one of which was of public utility; and upon that he retained two millions and a-half. Mr. Brassey’s financial management was very simple; on each contract the agent was responsible for the money he received; he relied upon the cashier to keep the accounts.”
The money-making men have, some of them, done good service in their day and generation. To the latter class emphatically belongs George Grote, the historian, whose grandfather came over to this country from Bremen, and established the banking-house of Grote, Prescott, and Co., on the p. 191st of January, 1766. At the early age of sixteen he was placed in the banking-house in Threadneedle Street, and commenced a business career, which he carried on thirty two years; when, having enough to live on, he , to devote himself more particularly to historical studies. And to his house in Threadneedle Street came the Mills (father and son), Mr. David Ricardo, Mr. John Smith, M.P., Dr. Black, of the Morning Chronicle, and Mr. Charles Austin, whom Mrs. Grote describes as the most brilliant conversationalist of his time.
Some of our greatest lawyers became moneyed men by habits of extreme economy in their young days. Lord Kenyon commenced his London career by in Bell Yard, Carey Street, and paying for the accommodation six shillings a-week. His friends at this time were Dunning and Horne Tooke. They used generally to dine, in vacation time, at a small eating-house near Chancery Lane, where their meal was supplied to them at the charge of 7½d. a-head. Tooke, in giving an account of these repasts many years after, used to say, “Dunning and myself were generous, for we gave the girl who waited upon us a penny a-piece; but Kenyon, who knew the value of money, rewarded her with a halfpenny, and sometimes a promise.”
In Addison’s club, as described in the Spectator, the City merchant who has made his fortune figures in a very light. “His notions of trade are,” we are told, “noble and generous; and as every rich man usually has some sly way of jesting, which would make no great figure were he not a rich man, he calls the sea the British common. He is acquainted with commerce in all its parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid and barbarous way to extend by arms, for that power is to be got by arts and industry. He will often argue, that if this part of our trade was well cultivated, we should gain from one nation; and if another, from another. I have heard him prove that diligence makes more acquisitions than valour, and that has ruined more nations than the sword. He in several , among which the greatest favourite is, ‘A penny saved is a penny gained.’” Londoners must ever feel grateful to Addison for his of Sir Andrew Freeport.
Money-making men, even in their charities, have an eye to the main chance. In the “Greville Memoirs,” we read that p. 20Southey told an anecdote of Sir Massey Lopes, which is a good story of a miser. A man came to him and told him he was in great , and that £200 would save him. He gave him a draft for the money. “Now,” said he, “what will you do with this?” “Go to the bankers and get it cashed.” “Stop,” said he, “I will cash it.” So he gave him the money, but first calculated and the discount—thus at once exercising his and his .
Money-making has its disadvantages. There was a Lord Compton, who ran away with a rich citizen’s daughter—I refer to Sir John Spencer, to whom there is such a fine monument in St. Helen’s, Bishopsgate. When the nobleman became, by the death of Sir John, possessor of his fortune, it is reported that for the time his lordship became staring mad, and had to be confined. And this reminds me, that City men, who are considered “warm” in a worldly point of view, are apt to make great mistakes as to getting their daughters married. It is not unfrequently that they allow cash considerations too much to interpose, and thus many an advantageous marriage is . It is not what a man has, but what a man is, that is the true test of character; and a citizen who has well feathered his nest, and who thinks of the store laid up in his barn, and of his cattle, and sheep, and other substance, is too apt to overlook the fact, that a clever man, even if he be poor, may become rich and great. In the life of the Claytons we have a case in point relating to the late Lord Truro. “When a young man, and beginning his career, he formed a strong to an and elegant lady, the daughter of a merchant in the City, and a member of Mr. Clayton’s church. His offer, as a suitor, would have been responded to by the lady, but met with a stern and opposition from her father, on the ground of the inequality that there appeared between them; and thus the City merchant lost a lord for a son-in-law.” One money-making City man is to be remembered as a warning to rich capitalists as to how they make their wills. I refer to Mr. Peter Thellusson, the banker. At the age of threescore-and-ten, Mr. Thellusson found that he was the owner of £6,000,000 in hard cash, besides an annual rent-roll of £9,500. This was not enough for the ambitious Peter; and hence that wonderful will, which was such a fortune to the lawyers. He left about p. 21£100,000 to his wife and his three sons and daughter; and the rest of his fortune, amounting to more than £6,000,000, was conveyed to trustees, who were to let it accumulate till after the deaths, not only of his children, but of all the male issue of his sons and grandsons. After that event, the vast property, with its accumulations at compound interest, was to be given to the nearest male descendant who should bear the family name of Thellusson, and then the great mountain of accumulated wealth was to be divided into three portions. It was a fine will for the lawyers. In two years after Peter Thellusson was gathered to his fathers; two bills had been filed in Chancery the will—the one by his wife and children, the other by his trustees; and the litigation lasted for sixty years. The wife of the millionaire died, it is said, of a broken heart; and the Court of Chancery so clipped and pollarded Peter Thellusson’s oak, that when they had done with it, it was not much larger than when he left it. Nor was this all. Parliament took the matter up; and though they would not set aside the will, they that the power of devising property for the purpose of accumulation should be restricted to twenty-one years after the death of the testator.
At the head of the money-making men, I suppose, are to be placed “Plum Turner” and “Vulture Hopkins.” The former, who was a Turkey merchant, died in 1793. When possessed of £300,000 he laid down his carriage because interest was reduced from five to four per cent. Vulture Hopkins, as Pope, in his , calls him, I fancy has been abused much more than he deserved. He was a wealthy merchant; the architect of his own fortune; and resided in Broad Street. That he was a very economical man there can be no doubt. We are told he paid an evening visit to Guy, the founder of the hospital in Southwark, and the story is too characteristic to be omitted. Guy lighted a farthing candle for the reception of his guest, who explained that he had come to learn from him the art of frugality. “And is that all you come about?” replied Guy. “Why, then, we can talk the matter over in the dark.” Another man of money was Sir John Cutler, a member of the Grocers’ Company, to whom the physicians had erected a statue in Warwick Lane, but from which they the which adorned it when the executors claimed the cash which they considered p. 22given. Some of these men had funerals. That of Sir John Cutler cost no less than £7,000. Cooke, the great sugar-baker, who died in 1811 at Pentonville, had a grand funeral; but the mob the procession with cabbage-stalks. He, however, in some degree for his avarice by leaving £10,000 to four charitable institutions. There is little virtue in being liberal with one’s money when one has no further need of it; but society gains, and such men as Guy, in spite of all their meanness, are public . At any rate, the study of the lives of these men is interesting. It is no great art, that of money-making; but it is natural that a City man should try to make money, and that he should be interested in the lives of those who have succeeded by their industry, or their luck, or their talent, in this respect. I find that in this, as in other matters, a man may be too clever by half, and that, as a rule, honesty is the best policy. “I have tried them both,” said the Yorkshireman to his sons on his death-bed. And the of the Old Bailey is equally . Among the Jews, success in business was believed to be a ; but in our more critical age we can see that, to gain wealth, much of the charm of life has to be sacrificed, and that gold may be bought too dear. It is the opinion of most people that it is easier to make a fortune than to keep it.
Entered in “Memoirs” and “Diaries,” it is really wonderful what a volume of recollections and statements there are relating to City ways and City life. Every one, of course, comes to London, and is more or less connected with that great hive of industry and enterprise known as “the City.” One of the latest is the following, relating to the origin of a great City house, to which in these we have before adverted:—“On the 1st of January, 1818,” writes Mr. Macaulay, “a new tragedy was produced at Covent Garden. The author, John Dillon, a very young man, was the librarian of Dr. Simmons, of Paddington, famous for a very splendid collection of valuable books. With great promise of dramatic power, as evinced in this his first essay, he wisely left the poet’s idle trade for the more lucrative pursuits of commerce, and became partner in the well-known firm of Morrison, Dillon, and Co. This play was called Retribution, and the chief weight of which—in a very powerful character, Varanes—was on the shoulders of O’Neill. p. 23Charles Kemble and Terry were his supporters—the of the story being well represented.” In the person of Mr. Frank Dillon the taste of the father has proved itself to be .
Another money-making man was the founder of the Baring family. The origin of them in England is to be traced to Johan Baring, son of a Lutheran in Bremen. Johan, when still a lad of sixteen or seventeen, came to England, engaged for a few years in clerkly duties, studied hard, a little money, and finally settled down as a cloth merchant and manufacturer, in a little village near Exeter. He had four sons; and the third of them, Francis, born 1740, came to London, where, after finishing his education at Mr. Fuller’s academy in Lothbury, he set up in business as an importer of wool and dye-stuffs, also as agent for the original family cloth factory. “Starting,” writes Mr. Frederick Martin, “with a determination to become rich, and having a fair amount of money to begin with, he was uniformly successful in all his designs. Nothing failed that he undertook, and whatever he touched became gold. Having amassed a fortune by dealing in cloth, wool, and dye-stuffs, he resolved to quintuple the fortune by dealing in money itself—that is, to be a banker.” As was natural, the successful man became also the honoured man—a leading director of the East India Company, and the friend and of the , Lord Shelburne, who invariably followed his counsels in matters of finance. After obtaining a seat in parliament for Exeter, the son of Johan Baring was made a baronet, under patent of May 29th, 1793, by William Pitt, Shelburne’s successor in the government, after the short interregnum of the Duke of Portland. Valuing the friendship of the shrewd man of finance, William Pitt, as much as the Earl of Shelburne, listened to the counsel of Sir Francis Baring, both statesmen delighting to style the reputed possessor of two millions, on all occasions, “the prince of merchants.”
There is another great house now flourishing in the City, of whose origin a still more extraordinary tale is told. One of the family is now a baronet and an M.P.; and yet the first of the line, he who laid the foundation of the fortune of his descendants, was a street boy.
A curious anecdote relative to Nathan Rothschild and Mr. p. 24Gompertz, not many years ago, found its way into print. Nathan (so the story runs) was leaning one day, early in the spring of 1824, against his favourite pillar in the Royal Exchange—long known as “the Rothschild pillar”—his hands in his pockets, when his relative, Gompertz, ran up to him in a high state of excitement. “Vat ish de matter?” Rothschild. Thereupon the other recounted, in , how he had been applying for the vacant actuaryship of a large insurance company, and had been beaten in the competition. Though being admittedly the best candidate, on account of his religion, the directors declared they would have no Jew. Now Nathan, too, got excited. “Vat!” he cried, disengaging his hands from his pockets, and laying hold of his brother-in-law by the shoulders, “Not take you pecause of your religion! Mein Gott! I will make a bigger office for you than any of ’em.” And Nathan was as good as his word, founding not only a bigger company than any other, but appointing Mr. Gompertz actuary under the deed of settlement.
Let me remark here, by way of , that it is seldom, however, this kind of thing succeeds. A man who starts a business in a passion, merely to injure another, generally comes to grief. A remarkable illustration of this occurred, a few years since, in the case of the Illustrated News of the World. It was started by a gentleman who had long the Illustrated London News, and had agreed, on one occasion, to purchase that paper of its original proprietor, the late Mr. Herbert Ingram. had been carried on for that purpose, the price was named, and almost every detail was settled, when Mr. Ingram wrote to say that, on reconsidering the matter, he was determined not to part with the journal in question. The result was the establishment, in opposition, of the Illustrated News of the World, and the of the proprietor, who died hardly better off than a . If Nathan Rothschild’s new venture succeeded, it was, under the circumstances, an exception to the general rule.
Next to making a business for one’s-self, the best way of growing rich is to purchase the business of one who has done well for himself, but who leaves a few ears of corn for his successors to . When Mr. Barclay, who purchased the property of Mr. Thrale’s brewery, &c., asked p. 25Dr. Johnson, who was one of the executors, what it was that he was going to purchase—how many were the brewing-tubs, drays, horses, and so forth—the latter replied, “Sir, I cannot them; but it is of more consequence to you to know that you have the potentiality of growing rich beyond the dreams of avarice.” And, as it turned out, Johnson was correct in his .
The name of Gideon is now little heard; but at one time, most assuredly, he was one of our merchant princes. I refer to Simeon Gideon, who knew how to make himself the friend of Robert Walpole, who was tolerant enough to avail himself of the help of a Jew in those financial complications in which he was necessarily concerned. One of the principal sources of revenue for the State were , and it was thus Gideon made his money. But he made his masterstroke in 1745, when the great Jacobite insurrection threw the British world, and the mercantile public especially, into the wildest . The panic on ’Change was universal. The funds fell with incredible rapidity, and men wanted to sell at any price. Simeon Gideon was almost the only man who did not lose his head. Instead of selling, he spent every penny he had, or could borrow, in buying. This was in the month of November. During the following month, the public mind oscillated between hope and fear. At length, at the end of April, 1746, the news arrived of the battle of Culloden, of the complete defeat of the army, of the flight of the Pretender, and of the suppression of the rebellion by the Duke of Cumberland. It was then Simeon Gideon began to sell, and found himself in possession of something like a quarter of a million—a sum which, in the course of fourteen or fifteen years, quadrupled itself. Gideon’s ambition was to found an English house. He was too old, he said, to change his religion, but he had his children baptized; and through Walpole’s instrumentality, his son was made a baronet when in his eleventh year. It was hard work for Gideon père to make a of the lad. “Who made thee?” on one occasion he asked the boy. “God,” was the proper reply. “Who thee?” was the next question, to which the boy replied, “Jesus Christ.” Then came a third question, which the father had unfortunately forgotten. “Who—who,” he ; and then, nothing better occurring to p. 26him, he asked, “Who has given you this hat?” The young catechumen is reported to have confidently replied, “The Holy Ghost.” Gideon, senior, died in the faith of his fathers in 1762. He left behind him, as heirs of his immense fortune, a son and a daughter, and amounting to about 100,000 thalers, which were to be divided equally between Jewish and Christian societies and the poor. We read in a letter of a contemporary—“Gideon is dead, and his whole inheritance is worth more than the whole of Canaan.”
Another star which dawned in the commercial world about the same time, was Aaron Goldsmid. He came from Hamburg, and established himself in London, as a merchant, in the middle of the last century. The house arrived at its highest prosperity after his death, under his four sons. At the head of the business were then two brothers, Abraham and Benjamin, men of acknowledged integrity, and in friendship with Newland, the head cashier of the Bank of England. He was also a self-made man, who had risen from a baker’s shop to his enormously position. By means of Newland, the brothers Goldsmid were brought into connection with the government, which, since the year 1793, had been compelled to have recourse to continual loans, in consequence of the Continental war. But it was not only through this that they made their money. It was their cleverness and knowledge that saved them from losing money, when all over Europe great mercantile houses were breaking. One of the most notable characteristics of Benjamin was, we are told, his astonishing knowledge of firms, which was not confined merely to England, but embraced the whole money-market in or out of England. He valued, with a certainty bordering on the marvellous, every name on the back of a bill. In the panic year of 1790, the house only lost £50, when ruin swept away many of the chief firms of England and abroad. At the beginning of the present century, there was no house greater, or more universally ; and yet the end was in the extreme. One morning in April, 1808, Benjamin Goldsmid hung himself in his bed-room. In 1810, the elder brother, Abraham, in conjunction with the house of Baring, in a government loan of £14,000,000. The business failed; the house of Baring survived the crash; but Abraham Goldsmid shot p. 27himself when he found how true it was that riches take to themselves wings, and fly away.
Here is a story of an alderman, extracted from Maloniana. When the late Mr. Pitt, or Alderman Beckford, made a strong attack on the late Sir William Baker, alderman of London, charging him with having made an immense sum by a fraudulent contract, he got up very quietly, and gained the House to his side by this short reply: “The honourable gentleman is a great orator, and has made a long and serious charge against me. I am no orator, and shall therefore only answer it in two words—Prove it.” Having thus spoken, he sat down; but there was something in his tone and manner that satisfied the House the charge was a .
In 1736, there was—as I dare say there is now—an old Mr. Collier in the City. He lived in Essex, and his daughter—as is generally the case with rich City men—soon got married. It was thus the . Dr. Taylor, of Isleworth, in 1788, described the wedding;—“Old Mr. Collier was a very vain man, who had made his fortune in the South Sea year: and having been originally a merchant, was fond, alter he had retired to live upon his fortune, of a great deal of display and parade. On his daughter’s wedding, therefore, he invited nearly fifty persons, and got two or three capital cooks from London to prepare a magnificent entertainment in honour of the day. When other ceremonies had concluded, the young couple were put to bed, and every one of the numerous assemblage came into the room to make these congratulations to the father and mother, who sat up in bed to receive them: ‘Madame, I wish you a very good-night. Sir, all happiness to you, and a very good-night,’ and so on through the whole party. My father, who hated all parade, but was forced to submit to the old gentleman’s humour, must have been in a fine ; and my mother, who was then but seventeen or eighteen, embarrassed.” It is as well rich citizens don’t indulge in such a display on the occasion of a marriage in the family in our time. I don’t fancy even a Lord Mayor, however fond of , would feel himself in attempting anything so ridiculous now. But then it was the fashion for a well-bred youth to address his father as “honoured sir,” and not as now, as “governor.”
Another money-making family was that of the Hopes, p. 28originally from Holland. “Mr. William Hope,” says old Captain Gronow, “inherited, on coming of age, £40,000 a-year. He exhibited, alternately, extreme recklessness in expenditure, and the stinginess of a miser. He would one day spend thousands of pounds on a ball or supper, and then keep his servants for days on cold meat and stale bread. His large fortune enabled him to give the most splendid entertainments to the beau monde of Paris. At his balls and parties all the notables of the day were to be seen, and no expense was spared to make them the most entertainments then given. It was his custom, when the invitations were issued, not to open any letters till the party was over, to save him the of refusing those who had not been invited.”
If we are to believe the great poet, who mostly spent his life in London, and whose name still graces a street very much reduced from what it was in his day, Mammon-worship must have a very bad moral effect, for Mammon was the least erected spirit that fell from heaven; and even there we are told—
“His looks and thoughts
Were always downward , admiring more
The riches of heaven’s pavement, trodden gold,
Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed
In vision beautiful.”
Nevertheless, some of Mammon’s worshippers have found time and money for better things, and have their wealth to noble ends. In Roman Catholic times this was to be expected. A princely , at the dictation of the priest, was a fitting atonement for ill-gotten wealth or an ill-spent life; but Protestantism has been equally conspicuous—and, it is to be believed, from better motives—for good works, and that charity which covereth a multitude of sins. In illustration of this, there is, perhaps, no brighter name than that of Joseph Hardcastle, of whom it is well known that, amid all his and extensive engagements, he maintained a character for spotless honour and unsullied integrity, which even calumny itself never ventured to . To him, from the very outset, belonged the reputation of the English merchant of the old school, and years served only to that weight of character which he bore on the Exchange, as well as in the and other societies. He was one of p. 29the of the Sierra Leone Company, along with Wilberforce and Thornton. Also he was of the Missionary Society. In 1799, the Religions Society was founded under his roof. And at his offices, Old Swan Stairs, the Bible Society was first launched into existence. The Hibernian Society and the Village Society were aided by his purse and presence. Of the latter society he was treasurer sixteen years. As he came of an old Nonconformist stock—one of his ancestors was an ejected clergyman—Mr. Hardcastle, who lived mainly at Hatcham, was buried in Bunhill Fields.
In Plough Court, Lombard Street, there was a firm well-known and highly respected. It was a firm long remarkable for the extraordinary philanthropic activity of its practices, and for the of its chemicals. Mr. Allen, the senior partner, was a lecturer in chemistry at Guy’s Hospital, a Fellow of the Royal Society, a personal and intimate friend of the Duke of Kent, the Duke of Sussex, Lord Brougham, Sir Fowell Buxton, the Gurneys, Thomas Clarckson, and many other of the leading philanthropic and public characters of the past generation. He was also a minister among the Quakers, and a prime mover in founding a host of schools, , and benevolent institutions. Another partner in the firm was the late Luke Ronard, F.R.S., the meteorologist, who was also a preacher among the Quakers till the last portion of his life, when he joined the communion of the Plymouth Brethren, with whom also he was an active labourer in good efforts of various kinds. A third partner of the firm was the late Mr. John Thomas, who, after his very accurate and scientific researches had gained him a competency, retired from business, and the remainder of his life to an extraordinary series of efforts, in conjunction with Mr. William Ewart, M.P., Mr. Barret Lennard, M.P., Mr. John Sydney Taylor, the editor of the Morning , the Right Hon. Stephen Lushington, D.C.L., and the late Mr. Peter Bedford, of Croydon, for the removal of the punishment of death from the numerous offences, some of them very trivial, for which it was at one time . A writer in the Sunday at Home, in the year 1866, remarks, that it is no exaggeration to say, that the splendid triumphs of mercy, which have rendered the of King William IV. for ever illustrious in history, were, either directly or , p. 30largely owing to the , continuous, and truly wonderful labours of Mr. Barry and this small group of his philanthropic coadjutors. Such were the partners in the firm at Plough Court, a house frequented by all classes of men—by princes of the blood-royal, by peers and statesmen, by scientific discoverers and professors, by and preachers, by schoolmasters and authors, by reformed criminals and escaped slaves. It became a centre of conference and movement for much of the philanthropy during the of George IV. and William IV.
It is to the credit of the City that some of these money-making men have been amongst the most earnest supporters of every religious and philanthropic enterprise. Here we get a pleasant glimpse of one of them. Heard writes to Wilberforce, in 1790, of the death of John Thornton:—“He was allied to me by relationship and family connection. His character is so well known that it is scarcely necessary to attempt its . It may be useful, however, to state, that it was by living with great of intention and conduct in the practice of Christian life, more than of any superiority of understanding or of knowledge, that he rendered his name illustrious in the view of all the respectable part of his contemporaries. He had a counting-house in London, and a handsome villa at Clapham. He anticipated the and pursuits of the succeeding generation. He devoted large sums to charitable purposes, especially to the of the cause of religion, both in his own and other countries. He assisted many clergymen, enabling them to live in comfort, and to practise a useful hospitality. His personal habits were simple. His dinner-hour was two o’clock; he generally attended public worship at some church or Episcopalian several evenings in the week, and would often sit up to a late hour in his own study, at the top of the house, engaged in religious exercises. He died without a or a struggle, and in the full view of glory. Oh, may my end be like his!” He was the Sir James Stephen in the Edinburgh Review for 1844, “a merchant in his generation for a more than princely.” Mr. Thornton was an Episcopalian, and it was owing to him that the venerable John Newton became pastor of St. Mary Woolnoth. His benevolence was as unsectarian as his general habits; and he stood ready, said Mr. p. 31Cecil, to assist a beneficent design in any party, but would be the creature of none. It was thus he was mainly instrumental in founding, and supporting for a while, a academy at Newport-Pagnell, which was placed under the care of the Rev. Josiah Bull. Also he extended his and pecuniary assistance to the institution at Marlborough, under the direction of the Rev. Cornelius Winter, and was thus brought into connection with Mr. Jay, towards whose support he contributed while passing through his academic course. Mr. Thornton spent of pounds in the purchase of livings for evangelical preachers, in the erection and in enlargement of places of worship, both in the Church of England and among , in sending out Bibles and religions books by his ships to various parts of the world, and in numerous other ways. Nor was his beneficence exclusively confined to religious objects. Mr. Newton says—“Mr. Bull told my father, that while he (Mr. Newton) was at Olney, he had received from Mr. Thornton more than £2,000 for the poor of that place. He not only,” continued Mr. Bull, “gave largely, but he gave wisely. He kept a regular account—not for ostentation, or the gratification of vanity, but for method—of every pound he gave in a , which he once showed me. I was then a boy, and, I remarked, on every page was an appropriate text. With him giving was a matter of business.” Cowper, in an he wrote upon him, said truly—
“Thou hadst an interest in doing good,
Restless as his who and sweats for food.”
It is needless to add that he lived at Clapham, and had Wilberforce for a nephew. His son, Henry Thornton, M.P. for Southwark, followed in his father’s steps to a certain extent. One day, when he was at Bath, he desired Jay to bring with him Foster, the essayist, to dinner. The attempt was a failure. Jay writes—“Mortifyingly he (Foster) again showed his indisposition to talk; and our most excellent entertainer was not much favoured to make his company easy and free and communicative, for his manner was particularly cold, distant, and reserved. Foster said—yet I think very untruly—that he sat as if he had a bag of money under his arm; but at this time Mr. Foster had a silly kind of prejudice p. 32against persons of , however their wealth had been obtained.”
Let us recall the memory of Mr. John Poynder. As an East Indian proprietor he much in favour of the of Sutteeism, and against the tax arising from the idolatrous worship of Juggernaut. His publications were numerous, and chiefly on religious subjects—the evangelisation of our East Indian , the paganism of popery, the sanctification of the Lord’s day. He was a staunch Tory and churchman; “but,” writes Jay, of Bath, “never was there a warmer advocate of evangelical truth and the of the Reformation; never was there a more determined enemy to popery and its half-sister, Puseyism; never did man more strive to serve his generation by the will of God.” A name that should be dear to Dissenters is that of Mr. William Coward, who was the friend of Doddridge, and who supplied the funds for his college for the training of Congregational ministers, first at Daventry, and afterwards at Wymondley, and now in Torrington Square, when the students were entered at University College. Coward College is now incorporated in the New College, St. John’s Wood. Mr. Coward was rather an eccentric in 1732, Dr. Jennings first intimated Mr. Coward’s idea to Doddridge, and recommended him not to comply with Mr. Coward’s idea to come and live at Walthamstow, where the latter lived; adding, “that the likeliest way to keep it in the old gentleman’s good graces, is perhaps, not to be quite so near him.” In a note, the editor of the Doddridge correspondence adds—“William Coward, Esq., was a Nonconformist, having accumulated a large fortune as a merchant. It may be said,” adds the editor, “that Mr. Coward still continues a generous to the cause of Nonconformity, as he left about £20,000, the interest of which is, in accordance with the provisions of his will, distributed in its service by four trustees, whose number must always be maintained, and who have hitherto conducted their important duties with so much that their conduct has not in any instance been questioned.” Mr. Coward seems to have defrayed the expenses of a volume of sermons published by Dr. Doddridge. Mr. Coward had a will of his own, and some of his regulations may seem to us not a little whimsical. One was to receive no guest at his after p. 33the hour of eight. The Rev. Hugh Farmer had a comical experience of this when, about that hour, he knocked for admission in vain. Mr. Farmer, after repeated raps at the floor, began to feel uncomfortable. While involved in this he was observed by a footman of Mr. Snell’s, who was passing near on his way home, and who reported to his master that a strange gentleman was trying to gain admittance at Mr. Coward’s beyond the hour. The Mr. Snell immediately sent to say that his door was open; and from that evening the celebrated Mr. Farmer—he was a favourite pupil of Dodderidge, and was thought in many respects to resemble him—became a permanent member of Mr. Snell’s family circle. Mr. Coward seems to have had a keen eye for orthodoxy, and complained of Dr. that he was a Baxterian. He is also reported as growing cold to Dr. Guyse and Dr. Jennings, and falling most in love with Dr. Taylor. Mr. Coward seems to have died in 1738. In 1818, there was a wealthy stock-broker—the late Mr. Thomas Thompson, of Pondsfort Park, who was deeply grieved with the destitute condition of the in the port of London. In the February of that year a meeting on the subject was held in the London , to form a provisional committee to purchase and prepare a ship. At a subsequent meeting, it was announced that the Speedy, an old sloop-of-war, had been purchased of the government, and fitted up at a cost of nearly £3,000, to seat 750 hearers. The opening services on board the floating chapel were held on May 4th, when three sermons were preached—that in the morning by the Rev. Rowland Hill. Mr. Thompson called on the reverend gentleman, stated the neglected condition of sailors, and the plans in contemplation, and begged him to consent to preach the opening sermon on board the floating chapel. Mr. Hill heard all, rang the bell in silence, and his old servant appeared. “John,” he said, “fetch my pocket-book.” Mrs. Hill, who had hitherto been a quiet listener, now interposed, asserting that his engagements were already too numerous, and that he would wear himself out. Stroking his chin and shaking his head, with his characteristic habit, he replied, “My dear, I must preach for poor .” Thus was the first floating chapel for sailors happily launched, and the Port of London Society for the Spiritual Benefit of Sailors brought into active operation. To the ship, and the general p. 34objects of the society, Mr. Smith contributed, from first to last, about £3,000. Another society, called into existence by Mr. Thompson’s activity and Christian and liberality, was the Home Missionary Society, which was inaugurated at the London Tavern on August 11th, 1819. At that time Mr. Thompson resided at Brixton Hill, and on week-day evenings held religious meetings amongst the neglected poor of that district and of Streatham. Gas-lights and police being then unknown, Mr. Thompson’s family were thankful when he came home from these charitable peregrinations safe and sound. It must be remarked here that Mr. Thompson was one of the founders, in 1827, of the Merchant Seamen’s Orphan . The first election was for five boys only, but it soon became a large and flourishing institution. Though a , the Pastoral Aid and Special Services Aid Societies owed him much. As his daughter truly writes of him—“Mr. Thompson was one of those who helped to mould the benevolent character of the age in which he lived.”
Another name, well known in religious circles, was that of the late Mr. Thomas Wilson, who was the first to begin chapel-building on a large scale in London. Even in our more ostentatious day, Mr. Wilson’s charities would be considered princely.
And here, for the present, we take leave of the Christian merchant princes of London—the righteous men who possibly may have preserved it from the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah.
In the great mediæval cities of the continent, it was the men who had made money by trade who were the first to spend it liberally for the promotion of art, and the benefit of charity and religion. It has been so in London. Our Norman , our men with pedigrees running up to the time of the , have done little for the welfare of the people, compared with the men of birth, who, as they have grown in wealth, have also grown in their estimate of its power to help those lower in the social scale than themselves.