where the price of paper and money
rates regaled his ears. He was a good judge of paper, and needed no one
to advise him. He touched nothing but what in commercial parlance is
termed 'gilt-edged,' and of this he purchased almost daily for thirty
years. These notes being made payable to the order of the drawers,
needed no other indorsement, and hence might pass through an hundred
hands without this fact becoming known. Mr. Whitney's bills receivable
falling due in Wall street must have been at the rate of thirty thousand
dollars per day, and his purchases of paper, of course, were at about
the same rate. Much of this paper brought rates but little better than
interest, but on others from one to two per cent per month was obtained.
The secrets of this trade are deep and little understood, and few even
of the best dealers knew that when their notes had been given for
invoices of merchandise, they passed almost directly into the hands of a
few bill-buyers, and that perhaps in Stephen Whitney's portfolio might
be found almost the whole amount of good paper made in Front or South
streets. Mr. Kimball's recent work, _Undercurrents_, throws much light
on this traffic, and exhibits the result of deep study of our mercantile
system.[4] Mr. Whitney's management of his estate soon brought him up to
an estimate of ten millions. I used not only to meet him daily at the
mart, but also attended the same church, (Dr. Alexander's.) He was a
regular attendant, and a close listener, and I used to marvel how he
could bear the plain truths that fell upon my ears. Here in the pulpit,
at least, was one who was no money-worshiper. How well we remember the
exclamation from that earnest preacher: 'Wealth! in comparison with this
thing, (religion,) let it not be mentioned!' Whitney was a great admirer
of plain preaching, though, we believe, he never got into the communion
of the Church. Both the preacher and his millionaire listener are now
dead, and the church has been pulled down, and the site is now covered
by a block of splendid stores. Mr. Whitney's charities were on a very
limited scale. When the congregation above referred to were building a
mission-house, he was applied to, to head the subscription, which he
did with a trifling sum. The gift was refused, and a larger one was
demanded, as in better keeping with his position. 'Sir,' was his reply,
'if you go on this way, there will not be a rich man left in the city of
New-York.' It is also sa