prominent New York merchant, Wilson G. Hunt, met with a reverse of fortune, in consequence of which he settled with his creditors for fifty cents on a dollar. Subsequently he was very prosperous, made money rapidly, and paid every one of his creditors in full, including interest. The creditors, desirous of expressing their appreciation of such an unusual act, presented him with an elegant silver tea-service, bearing the following inscription: "Presented to Wilson G. Hunt, by John Haggerty, William Ardee, and Joseph Corlies, in behalf of themselves and his other creditors; who, in the year 1832 (satisfied that the insolvency was occasioned by misfortunes in trade), accepted a compromise of their claims, and gave him a complete release from all legal liability, as a testimonial of their high respect for his just sense of the moral obligation of contracts, as evinced by the payment, in the year 1839, of the balance of their respective claims, principal and interest; an act reflecting honour upon himself as a merchant, and proving him one of the noblest of the Creator's works,—— AN HONEST MAN." One clause of this inscription is the conscience-clause, which we insist pertains to the smallest as well as the largest transactions, namely, "the MORAL obligation of contracts." It is the one point of transcendent importance upon which the young man should concentrate his thoughts. It should be written over the door of his shop and warehouse, and inscribed upon his manufactures and the broad acres of his farm, OBLIGATION OF CONTRACTS." Instal Conscience over the domain of human conduct, and even secular life is invested with moral grandeur! 66 THE MORAL One thought more. Young men will meet with enemies enough without making Conscience their worst foe. The son of Dr. Rush killed a man in a duel—a method of settling difficulties that was considered honourable in his day. The memory of the act tormented him thereafter like the presence of an avenger. By day and by night his fallen victim haunted his soul as a spectre. At home, conscience allowed him no peace; abroad, its retribution was overwhelming. Finally, it drove him to despair, interrupting his business, unfitting him even for social intercourse, and then made him a raving maniac. The last few years of his wretched life were spent in the lunatic asylum of Philadelphia, one of the most pitiable objects ever treated in the institution. Hour after hour the conscience-smitten man would stand in his apartment immovable as a pillar, with no sign of intelligence or recollection, save now and then he would seem to be moved by desperate thoughts, and shout at the top of his voice, "Fire! He's dead! he's dead!" Not widely separated, in point of time, from the foregoing, is another example equally startling. A distinguished public man at Washington accepted a challenge to a duel, and he was killed by his challenger. Several years afterwards, a literary gentleman met the challenger in Charleston, S. C., the latter inviting him to lodge in the same room with him. The invitation was declined at first, but was accepted on being told by the man of the crime he had committed, and that his alarm of conscience was such that he dreaded to be alone. Subsequently the lodger thus described the duellist on that night: "After long tossing upon his unquiet pillow and repeated half-stifled groans that revealed the inward pangs, the murderer sank into slumber, and, as he rolled from side to side, the name of his victim was often uttered, with broken words that discovered the keen remorse that preyed like fire upon his conscience. Suddenly he would start up in his bed with the terrible impression that the avenger of blood was pursuing him, or hide himself in the covering as if he would escape the burning eye of an angry God that gleamed in the darkness over him. For him there was no rest. And it was not the restlessness of disease, the raving of a disordered intellect, nor the anguish of a maniac struggling in chains. It was a man of intelligence, education, health, and affluence, given up to himself,—not delivered over to the avenger of blood to be tormented before his time, but left to the power of his own conscience, suffering only what every one may suffer who is abandoned of God." Fearful retribution! 66 'Art thou come hither to torment me before the time? “No ear can hear, no tongue can tell, The power of conscience is not limited to duelling and murder. Its avenging justice may be meted to the smallest transgressor. Against the minor wrongdoings of business its accusing voice may be heard above the din of traffic or the sound of hammer. The young trader or artisan may sell his Master any day for less than Judas sold Him. * Byron. M XV. HONESTY. IRABEAU once said, "If there were no honesty, it would be invented as a means of getting wealth." Some professed Christians attach less importance to this virtue than the professed infidel did. It is quite evident that the latter believed it to be the chief agent to be employed in the accumulation of wealth, which is contrary to the current opinion in some respectable quarters. It is not unusual for men who have an honourable standing in business circles to maintain that a fortune cannot be acquired by strict honesty. For this reason, we devote a chapter to its consideration, although honesty is implied by the claim set up for Conscience. The world stands in direct need of this solid and useful virtue, as the numerous cheats, adulterations, counterfeits, deceptions, peculations, and swindlings bear painful witness. A genuine reformation that should square all transactions with the rule of strict integrity would essentially change the world in which we live. If all the weights, measures, labels, invoices, boxes, bales, barrels, and other articles belonging to the mercantile world, connected with which dishonesty has been practised, were suddenly sent flying through the air, the sun would be darkened, and the conscience-smitten, at least, would expect the moon to turn to blood. If all of them were miraculously Р endowed with voice, and they should unite in a cry of agony, society would be struck with terror by the stunning and horrible peal. Everything is counterfeited, from silver coin to character. There is false food, false apparel, false medicine, false honour, false friendship, false patriotism, false ethics, false religion, and false everything. And yet we fully believe in the integrity and noble purpose of the great leaders of thought, business, and culture. There is more honesty in the world at large than ever. The methods of doing business have been, and are still, improving. A prominent and honoured merchant of New York city says: "My forty years' experience of mercantile life satisfies me that we have improved vastly in the morals of trade. The eleveno'clock and four-o'clock drams were regularly handed around, and merchants, customers, and clerks drank together forty years ago. Salesmen were allowed to play cards in the store and fill up the idle hours with gaming. Customers were taken out and treated, and clerks fond of fast life conducted customers through gambling hells, and introduced them into dens of infamy. He was regarded a poor salesman who could not palm off on this liberality a heavy bill of goods. Many men, who plumed themselves on the title of merchant-princes when I was a young man, kept a ginmill, a corner grocery, peddled milk, or run a sailor's boarding-house. The sons of the magnates of that faroff period are hewers of wood and drawers of water to modern millionaires." We do not impeach the general integrity of business-men, who exert more or less control over the marts of trade, while we expose and deplore the existence of dishonest practices, which |