ready to engage in any thing for gain, and never permitted pride to interfere with profit. In 1782, he took, on a lease of ten years, with a privilege of removal, a range of stores, and the rents so rose, that he considered this as the commencement of his fortune. In 1790, Mary Girard, his wife, was admitted as an insane patient into the Pennsylvania Hospital, where she died, in 1815. Her husband attended the funeral; on which occasion, when leaving the grave, he said, “it is very well." For her, perhaps, it was very well; that lacerated heart had found its long-desired and late repose. Better had it been for her to have been the wife of a poor and kind laborer, than the envied consort of the Great Banker. Having dissolved a partnership, in which he was engaged with his brother, Stephen Girard's prosperity advanced rapidly. At the insurrection of the blacks in St. Domingo, he had two vessels at Cape François. Numbers of the rich deposited their movable wealth on board, and returned on shore only to be massacred. The heirs, also, were cut off, and no claimants appeared for about fifty thousand dollars, which, therefore, became vested in Girard. After this, John Girard died, leaving Stephen his executor; and it was long afterwards, on the marriage of one of his nieces, that the secret came out that the deceased was rich. The benevolent Stephen preferred to hold over his brother's children the belief of dependence, that they might the more implicitly bend to his hard authority; for no one supposes that he was ever otherwise than just in intention, in all his pecuniary dealings. Mr. Simpson, who writes like a cashier, and who compares his subject with Cato, Cæsar, and Napoleon, supposes, that, at this time, it was a leading motive with Girard, so to live, that he might "die rich for the sake of immortality." Mr. Simpson falls into many inconsistencies, by making one gratuitous and most unfounded supposition; that Girard had in his heart, that hard receptacle of granite, any prompting of benevolence, or longing after immortality. Morose, he admits him to be; friends and relations might die; misery, in her most humble and suffering shape might plead at his feet, and be spurned without a pittance; yet, the biographer believes, and requires his readers to believe, that the unmoved and immovable Girard, was pursuing plans of future benevolence, by which his fame might be carried to distant ages, and from which he was not to be a moment diverted, by any present existing suffering that he might have relieved by the smallest gift. Some anomalies exist, however, in all characters; and Girard would sometimes relieve suffering when he could do it without expense, and in a manner truly glorious, did the whole course of his life allow us to believe that he was actuated by feeling. We refer to his acts in the yellow fever. His avarice is called by his biographer "not so much a love of money as a desire to control its destination." But there are nice shades of character, that no one but Bulwer, who makes a sage or hero of any thing, could reconcile. He had always a strange propensity for quacking the sick, as much as Czar Peter had for pulling teeth, and was ever ready to prescribe confidently in any case. In the pestilence which swept off thousands in Philadelphia, no man was more active and adventurous in affording personal relief than Girard. He went through the duties of a director and a nurse at the hospital, and the yellow cheek of the infected has been laid upon his, when he removed them from their dwellings. The biographer relates of Girard, that up to 1824 he fed well," and hazards an opinion that "perhaps no man enjoyed life more than Stephen Girard; and he truly did enjoy it in the best sense, for he ate what pleased his palate, and drank what he was most fond of, good claret." This is the most concise definition, that ever philosopher made of the enjoyment of life. It is known that Girard had, for some time, £200,000 in the hands of the Barings, which he could by no means get when he called for it. It was paid, however, at last, in various ways, partly in shares of the United States Bank. When a renewal of the charter was refused, Girard determined, therefore, to have a bank of his own. He accordingly bought the banking house at $120,000, and commenced banking with a capital of $12,000,000, while the immense deposites of the National Bank in his vaults increased his resources. Girard was known to the public chiefly as a banker; for this is the most general reputation in a country, where, according to the Quarterly Review, no two people meet and talk for a moment without using the word dollar. Perhaps no man was better known to the Philadelphians, his future heirs, than the great banker; and it was as common for them, in his life, to describe him as harsh, vulgar, and sordid, to a great degree, as it is now general to represent him as a philanthropist, fit to stand by Howard. There can be no doubt, that if he could have carried away his wealth, he would not have left it behind. That he made in many respects a good disposition of it, will be readily admitted; but how far this plan was conceived, till after a violent shock of his system, and how far he was led into it by his legal or other advisers, does not appear. It is probable, however, that it was his own plan: there are characteristic marks upon it. He had no relatives whom he loved; he loved no one, and none loved him in return. No length or fidelity of service, excited in him a feeling of friendship or gratitude. He had nephews and nieces; among these, some must have been found, if not all, that, had his heart been made of penetrable stuff, would have softened it into the feeling that generally springs up between a patron and his dependents, or a childless man and his brother's children. It is true that he did not omit these relatives in his will, but he had no place for them in his affections. He had no affection; he followed one ruling passion of avarice, and though he sometimes gave in charity, it was capriciously and rare. Mr. Simpson admits that he had at all times a perfect horror of parting with property, without an equivalent. He was a just man, but it was not after the manner of Aristides: he paid his dues and performed his contracts, for these were parts of his profession or pursuit. But no man was ever more rigid in exacting the provisions of a contract, and when he had, on his part, complied with the requisitions of one, he would do no more. He has been known, once at least, to plead the Statute of Limitations, to avoid a small claim, that seemed equitable and just. It was not "in the bond." "When he lost a lawsuit," says Mr. Simpson, "wo to his household." He poured out a torrent of invective on all around him that were in any way his dependents. His obstinacy was sometimes stronger even than his avarice. When he could not get mowers at his own price, he has suffered his grass to stand and go to waste, or converted it into pasture; for, says his biographer, "when he had once taken his stand he never yielded." No more impression could be made upon his understanding than upon his feelings. In person, he was as little attractive as in temper. His deportment was rough and vulgar. He had the sight of but one eye, and his regards were generally stern and thoughtful, rather seeking the ground than meeting an opposing look. His religious opinions were those of an enlightened Pagan. In his will, he directs that the scholars in the college shall be "instructed in the purest principles of morality, so that they may have a love of truth, sobriety, and industry, and adopt such religious tenets as their matured reason may enable them to prefer." Happily, it seems to be the general principle in Christian communities, that the wheat should be sowed before the tares spring up. A further provision in the government of the college is, that no ecclesiastic whatever, on any occasion, shall ever be admitted within the precincts of the institution. The picture given by Mr. Simpson of Girard, though apparently fair, is an unfavorable one, while his biographer ranks him among the great of the earth; and it is but a natural consequence that his two hundred thousand legatees should regard him as one of the good. Nothing disposes the mind more to overlook the faults of the departed, than to be remembered in the will. To him that receives, at least, all faults should be covered with the mantle of charity. Shakspeare shows the great revulsion of feeling in the Roman populace, caused by reading Cæsar's will. 4 Cit. 'T were best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 1 Cit. This Cæsar was a tyrant. 3 Cit. Nay, that 's certain : We are blessed that Rome is rid of him. Ant. But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar. I found it in his closet, 't is his will. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachms. 2 Cit. Most noble Cæsar, we 'll revenge his death. 3 Cit. O royal Cæsar. Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, Here was a Cæsar: When comes such another? L. R A VISION. WHEN I was a wanderer, I was once in Surat, where I made the acquaintance of a Brahmin, so liberal, that he had much converse with me, though, according to his creed, I was of an impure caste, and it was in Brahminical strictness, a pollution for him to permit me to approach within ninety-six feet. He was a director in the Banyan hospital, where sick and wounded animals are attended to with as much kindness as is sometimes thrown away in more enlightened countries, upon ungrateful men. Young man," said the Hindoo philosopher, for such he was, "what motive has led you, at these years, so far from your home, and what compensation do you expect for such a sacrifice of the affections ?" "I have but one motive," said I, " that is, curiosity; which, if strictly analyzed, may be found composed of a desire to escape from scenes where I had ceased to be happy, and to find, in distant lands, a substitute for happiness, in change of scene and emotions of novelty." "It is a vain pursuit," said the Brahmin, "and," continued he, "I have been better instructed in a vision. I saw," said he, "in a dream, an ancient and sage-like man; his brow was not smooth, neither was his eye at rest. It seemed that he was familiar to me, though I could not remember where I had seen him before. He looked intently upon me, and said, 'Mortal, I am as thy shadow. I have been near thee from thy birth, I shall be nearer through life, and I shall not quit thee till death. Death only can divide us; but thou wilt endeavor to fly from me, and wilt sometimes think, that thou hast escaped. Yet I am not thy enemy, though I have little that thou wilt love. Thou art bound to a country where I cannot go; but thou wilt be better received there, for what thou wilt learn of me in the journey. If, for a season, thou avoid me, thou wilt find nothing, that will not so remind thee of me, that thou wilt, though disappointed, again return to me, as thy companion through life.' "I was soon attracted to a being of a far more enticing aspect. He was flushed with youth and crowned with a chaplet of flowers. 'Follow me,' said he, radiant with smiles. I am Pleasure, and I know him from whom thou wouldest escape. He is Care, but he cannot breathe where every odor is a perfume, and every sound is music.' For a while I followed Pleasure; but the society soon became so tasteless, that I felt that I could prefer even that of Care. "Disappointed and sorrowful, yet with a mind attuned to the softest emotions, I approached a damsel who was sitting by a fountain, pleased with the reflection of her own beauty, even while her tears were falling into the stream. 'Maiden,' said I, with our oriental abruptness, Why dost thou weep, and what is thy name?' 'I weep,' replied she, in a voice broken and murmuring like that of the fountain, because I am the most happy while I weep; and my name is Love.' I will follow thee,' said I, through every path; and should the thorns lacerate my feet, I will not leave thee, with whom it is better to weep than to smile with Pleasure; and in following thee I may the farther remove from Care.' Alas!' said Love, 'thou little knowest. Listen! for though I am not wise, I am at least sincere. I have learned from my uncles, Wisdom and Experience, that neither Love nor Pleasure, can escape the pursuit of Care. I can only promise, that in my society you will the less regard him.'" Here the Brahmin addressed me, saying, Stranger, return, therefore, to thy country, follow the footsteps of Love; for the affections confer more happiness than the intellect. Happiness is not the offspring of Knowledge; but to be good is to be happy." W. THE NIGHT SEASON. Juvat, O juvat ire per ignes Æthereos, lustrare alti vaga lumina cœli." YE glorious stars; ye brightly shining words, Fraught with the sorrow of earth's shrinking crowd, Send light and joy to the benighted mind. Men need no sage interpreters to tell The mystery of your sense; ye speak a tongue Yet written not in men's records of lore. The heavenly homes of souls unchained from earth?- Unmade with hands, eternal in the heavens ? It may be so. Ye only shine when man, *IAN. |