JACOB OMNIUM, M. P.

THE MERCHANT PRINCE.

MANY years ago, on leaving college, I took chambers in the Temple, where I was supposed by my father, who held a civil appointment in Ceylon, to be studying the law. Having no connexions in town, or, indeed, any friends, save those whom I had made at Oxford, I fell into the society of some idle, dissipated, pleasant fellows, in circumstances similar to my own.

We did not live extravagantly, for we had not the means of doing so, but during the summer we spent most of our leisure in an eight-oar on the river, and during the winter we amused ourselves less innocently by frequenting the theatres and gambling-houses of the metropolis. I need scarcely add that we read but little.

Soon after I came to town I was introduced by one of my friends or rather accomplices to a low hell in Bury-street, St. James's. It was conducted by two brothers named Hill. The game played was roulette, and the stakes ranged from a shilling to a pound.

Its frequenters were a shabby-looking set of elderly nondescripts, who all appeared to entertain a very favourable opinion of the proprietors of the establishment, and the two hell-keepers on their part being well aware that in due time the chances of the game in their favour would inevitably transfer all the money on the table into their pockets, were satisfied to await the regular course of events without attempting to accelerate it by any undue exercise of legerdemain, which might, if discovered, disgust their patrons. Honesty was their best policy.

I was very young then. I had little money to lose, and I do not now recollect whether the balance of my puny speculations at the "Tally-ho" was in my favour or otherwise. Luckily, I had little taste for play, and used to frequent the house chiefly for the sake of chatting with the elder Hill, who was a shrewd, entertaining fellow, and amused me by recounting the various ingenious rascalities with which a twenty years' sojourn amongst the Hells of London had amply stored his mind.

We became great friends. Hill, hearing that the famous Temple eight-oar, the Beauséant, in which I pulled stroke, went up the river almost every day, begged me to call on him at his villa at Parson's-green any Sunday I might happen to stop at Putney. I did so on the first opportunity, and he persuaded me to remain and dine with him and his daughter.

Zero Lodge was one of the first built of those little Gothic snuggeries with which the suburbs of London now abound. It stood in the centre of about four acres of ground, into which its projector had contrived to crowd a sort of parody on the luxurious accessories of a well-appointed country-seat. There was a fish-pond, a conservatory, a summer-house, a pheasantry, a dog-kennel, an excellent garden, a shrubbery, and Hill assured me that very good judges had admitted that he had, by judicious planting, imparted to an acre and a half of lawn quite a parkish character. His daughter, a grave, handsome woman of about thirty, presided over Aug.-VOL. LXXIV. NO. CCXCVI.

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his household, and the dinner did great credit to her management and taste. In the evening, when Miss Hill retired, her father and I drank a considerable quantity of excellent port wine :-so much indeed, that I regret I cannot now recollect as accurately I could wish, the conversation we had together. I will, however, endeavour to record it as nearly as I can, as a suitable preface to the sketch I am about to write.

Hill assured me that neither his daughter nor any of his Parson's-green friends had the smallest suspicion of the nature of his employment in town. To them he was simply "a gent. in business in the city," they only knew that he kept a good house, paid his bills with exactitude, was hospitable to his friends, charitable to the poor, and went to church regularly.

As he became excited by his subject and the second bottle, he attempted to convince me that his avocation was one on which the world looks with undue severity. He admitted the evil tendencies of it, but contended that it was no worse than that of the more opulent moneymongers who on the east side of Temple-bar avail themselves of the vices, weaknesses, and necessities of their fellow-men to extort exorbitant profits and usurious interest; and that it was very possible that in the eye of Heaven he might stand no lower than many of the merchant princes of England, who from their gilded palaces in the West-end think themselves entitled to look down with scorn and loathing on the low hell-keeper, and like the Pharisee of old to "thank their God that they are not as that man is."

I had a very bad headach the day after I dined at Zero Lodge. I was angry with Hill for having made me tipsy, yet on thinking over his sophistical vein of reasoning, I could not but admit that it was very probable that a good many of our merchant princes who have their dingy counting-houses in the city, and their town houses in the far west, and their country seats all over England, and who hitch themselves on to the aristocracy by marrying their sons to Irish peers' daughters, and their daughters to stale lords about town, might, if truth were known, turn out to have realised their noble fortunes in a manner not much more creditable than that pursued by my friend Hill, although the world, that cringing cur, is too happy to bow down before them in their high places, whilst it snarls and snaps at men like poor Hill, and bites them whenever it can do so with impunity.

My father, having heard from some of his correspondents that I had not, during my sojourn in the Temple, adopted that line of life which was most likely to lead me to eminence in my profession, wisely thought that the best thing he could do for me would be to remove me from my present associates and the scene of my follies. He therefore managed to procure me a diplomatic appointment in South America, where for several years I resided as unpaid attaché to Her Britannic Majesty's legation at Bogotà.

I was suddenly summoned home to meet my father, whose health had compelled him to leave Ceylon. We did not, however, see one another. He died at the Cape, and the vessel in which I had expected him to

arrive brought me news of his death, and of the fact that I had inherited a fortune of 80,000l., the fruits of his laborious and well spent life.

Although I had never seen my father since I was a child, I was deeply moved at his loss. His letters to me had been rather those of a kind and considerate friend than of a parent justly irritated and disappointed at his son's misconduct. I had no other relatives alive, and whilst every body was congratulating me on my newly acquired wealth, I could not help feeling bitterly that, although as well off as most people for pleasant acquaintances, I stood nearly alone in the world, without a single being who really cared for me.

I had acquired sufficient experience during my residence in South America, to make me disinclined to renew the sort of life I had formerly led in London, besides, the crew of the Beauséant was scattered over the face of the globe, and, I am happy to say, have nearly all turned out much more creditably than might reasonably have been prognosticated when I broke off my connexion with them and sailed for Bogotà. Little Bob Vane, who pulled bow to my stroke, has just got a regiment for his conspicuous gallantry in Scinde, having exchanged his wig for a light dragoon schako soon after I entered upon my diplomatic career; and mad Willy Coote, who steered us the year we licked the Leander so infernally, and who took orders the week after our match, is at the present moment one of the youngest bishops ever raised to the episcopal bench.

I mention these two circumstances that my readers may not entertain too vile an opinion of me, and refuse to read a tale written by the avowed associate of a hell-keeper. Of course I see but little now of the Bishop of Romford, but I am proud to say that both he and Colonel Vane retain for me the same esteem which I implanted in their bosoms the day my winning stroke brought the old Beauséant, amidst the shouts of assembled thousands, through the centre arch of Putney-bridge twenty boats' lengths a-head of the far-famed Leander.

My deliberations as to my future moves in the game of life were cut short by a very common-place event. I fell in love. In due course of time I married a girl nearly as friendless as myself, and having no particular local ties, we chanced to settle down in the pleasant county of Herts.

Here we lived for several years in that passive state of enjoyment which I believe to be the great desideratum in this vale of sorrows.

My wife, who was when I married her a gay, thoughtless girl, became, after presenting me with sundry little Evelyns, a comely, staid, anxious matron, and I liked her all the better for the change. Our children, sturdy boys and pretty girls, grew up around us healthy and well disposed. Our income was adequate to our wants and wishes, and whilst I planted, preserved, shot, and enacted magistrate, Mrs. Evelyn gardened, attended to the wants of the poor, and prided herself on her village school. We fancied we did a great deal of good, and I verily believe we did some good. The poor as well as the rich spoke well of us, we basked in the sunshine of life, and little expected the squall which was about to dismast us, and that too from the brightest quarter of our social horizon.

We lived in a beautiful cottage near Welwyn, which had belonged to the Cowper family, who have large possessions in that part of Hertfordshire.

Our neighbours were partly the old established proprietors of the soil, and partly new comers connected with London, who availed themselves of the vicinity of our shire to town in order to run down to their country houses and ruralise whenever the cares of state or business would permit.

Hatfield, Gorhambury, the Hoo, and Pansanger, gave us balls during the winter, and were ever ready to promote our gaieties, without overwhelming us with condescension or grandeur, and the wealthy Londoners who occasionally took up their abode amongst us, constantly brought down with them some agreeable society which infused new life and information into our circles.

I believe I may assert, without vanity, that my wife and I were popular people in the county. We liked almost every body, and almost every body liked us.

But there was one family in our immediate neighbourhood to whom we were more especially bound by the ties of love, esteem, and admira

tion.

Jacob Omnium was a leading partner in the great city house of Omnium, Dibs, and Rhino. He was understood to be immensely rich, a liberal, in parliament, well with the government, and in our eyes, which we flattered ourselves were pretty sharp ones, was possessed of every

virtue under the sun.

He was more than an opulent and successful man of business, he was a philanthropist in the most extended sense of the word. Distressed foreigners clung to him as their mainstay. He was a director, and an active director too, of every hospital, every asylum, every penetentiary that ever was heard of. At every public meeting for the amelioration of the animal, mineral, or vegetable world, his voice was sure to be heard, and Omnium spoke well. Not content with contributing to the advancement of every praiseworthy institution from his wealthy purse, he made a point of supporting it by the sacrifice of what to him was far more important, his time, and the weight of his name.

In the country he was indeed a valuable neighbour. His habits of business rendered him omnipotent at all county meetings; he prided himself on seeing through people in a moment, and on being as inexorable towards insincerity and imposture, as he was accessible and merciful to frankness and repentance.

I used to be a good deal at his house, which was constantly filled by his ministerial friends from town, who appeared to appreciate equally his shooting, his cellar, his cook, and his conversation. He brought thither also many distinguished foreigners, with whom my knowledge of modern languages made me a favourite. My wife, who sang well and readily, was much courted by Mrs. Omnium, a handsome, good-humoured, fashionable woman; and my boys, although a couple years younger than Lennox Omnium's boys, rode and played cricket just as well as the said Etonian anticlimax.

I had for some time been meditating on the best mode of education for my eldest son, John Evelyn.

Mary, who hda heard great things of Eton from the Omniums, was

very anxious I should send him thither, and I was greatly inclined to do so myself, but was deterred by the expense of the thing. Johnny was the first of a series of five, and my dear wife admitted with a blush that she saw no good reason why the series should not in due time be extended to ten.

We determined to consult Jacob Omnium. We knew that he was a good and wise man, well acquainted with our position, and we therefore agreed to abide by his advice.

A day or two afterwards I received the following note:

"DEAR EVELYN,

"Rufus Redtape is coming here to-morrow with Ckonfsky for a few days' shooting. I think you would like to meet one another, so pray ride over to breakfast and bring your gun. Mrs. Omnium wishes Mrs. Evelyn would come to dinner. Ckonfsky, who is a first-rate musician, is dying to hear her sing.

"Coombe Abbey, Monday."

"Yours very faithfully,

"JACOB OMNIUM."

Now the Hon. Rufus Redtape was under-secretary for foreign affairs, and known to be a rising man, so I was of course highly flattered at being selected by Omnium to meet him.

Ckonfsky, too, was a notoriety in his way. My wife wished above all things to see him, for she had read a pamphlet published by the illustrious Pole himself, and lent to her by Mrs. Omnium, in which he gave a harrowing account of the wrongs inflicted on him by the monster Nicholas, who had crowned a lengthened persecution by forcibly separating him from his lovely wife, and marrying her to an immense drummajor in the imperial guard, to whom his wretched Katinka had since borne seven children. She had never had any by the count, which made the injury still more biting.

As I wish my readers to have as good a chance as I can afford them of judging of the eminent virtues of Jacob Omnium, I will, at the risk of being tedious, be careful to recount every circumstance that occurred on the occasion of this visit of mine to Coombe Abbey.

It was a fine old place, which Omnium had purchased from a decayed Hertfordshire family, and had embellished at a great expense. The house had been restored in the Grecian style, and the park, which had been denuded of its old timber by the necessities of its former proprietors, was now covered by thriving young plantations, created by the taste of Loudon and the wealth of Omnium.

Every thing about Coombe looked as flourishing and prosperous as could be-too flourishing-too prosperous, if possible. It was obviously' the residence of a capitalist. Every lodge, farm building, and cottage, seemed as if it had not been erected more than a week. In every corner. were stuck freshly painted boards, warning trespassers to "beware"-the woods swarmed with game and gamekeepers in new shining black plush jackets; there were acres of glass in the gardens, and Grafton the gardener (quite a scientific man) invariably carried off the biggest gold medal at the Chiswick flower shows. Omnium's Scotch steward was fatting an ox