Baron Grant.

THE PJJINCE OF ENGLISH SPECULA-

TORS

In these days of wild speculation and bold financial operations, it often hap pens in this country that somo man without capital or friends, will rise by his own exertions to the top of the finan cial ladder. Such instances are rarer in the older countries of Europe, but the career of the man whose name heads this article offers an example of so sudden a rise from poverty to vast Wealth, that it may be read with pleasure even by those accustomed to the vicissitudes of Califor nia life. His name was Albert Gott heimer, and by extraction he is a German Jew, though he was brought up and edu cated in England. His features do not bear the stamp of his race in any marked degree, for he is one of those fair-haired Jews who deceive all but close and exper ianced observers. He iS! employed when young as a clerk by Axi\, now rfir An drew Lusk the late Lord Mayor of London, and left that employment to set up for himself as a Custom-house agent. In this branch of business he prospered so badly that his daily dinner depended upon the few shillings he could pick up from mak ing clearances. Wot liking this precar ious existence, ho darted as a discount agent, but here, again, fortune proved un favourable. So with two or three others, whose business was in the same condition as his own, he formed the Mercantile Discount Company. This soon came to grief, and the name of Albert Grottheimcr was in bad odor in the financial world.

CHANGE OF NAME,

In 13G3 and ISGI speculation in England was at its highest. The Limited Liability Act had started innumerable companies, •which of course paid good dividends at the start. About this time two companies were floated with the same names on the direction, and the managing director of each company was Albert Grant. Many of the directors were men of respectability, but soineiothers might be classed under the title 'adventurers.' And nobody knew who Albert Grant was. But investors in those days were not particular, and the tockofbeth companies were soon taken up. They were called the Credit Foncier of England and the Credit Mobilier of England, and at the end of six months de lighted their share-holders by paying dividends at the rate of eighty-four and ninety six per cent per annum respectively, At the same time the companies were amalgamated, and the capital doubled in amount. The new company occupied one of the finest buildings in Cornhill, under the shadow of the Exchange. The chief business was to introduce enterprises for the public to invest its money in. They were immensely successful, and made enormous commissions. Mr. Grant was elected member of Parliament for Kidderminster in the Conservative in terest, and was presented at Court. He went over to Paris, and for two days in succession the press telegrams announced that the Emperor had granted private interviews to Albert Grant. Several com panies were started about this time in the London markets to supply French cities with water and gas. all under tho auspices of the Credit Foncier and Mobilier, and of course the fact of these interviews was used to puff them. These undertakings were perfectly legitimate in their objects, and might have been successful it they had not been so overloaded with capital nocf ssary to pay Mr. Grant and his con freres tLoir commissions.

A CHECK

In 1807 the great financial crash came. Companies were falling on every side, but the Credit Fonder and Mobilicr still held on, though it could pay no interest on. its capital. Mr, Grant then retired from the managership, but stiil remained in the Board of Directors. The shareholders soon tired of receiving no dividends, and appointed a committee to examine into the accounts For this reason their late man a::er thought it prudent to live abroad in obscurity for some time until a compromise was effected, and he could return once more safely to London. Nothing was )io>ird of him for some time, and he was almost forgotten by financial men whose thoughts are so much occupied by present event? that they cannot, think of tuo past. Speculation hud been dull for some years, but with returning prosperity people wcro again looking for profitable ways of invest ing money, and companies were soon formed to gratify their wishes. One of the first and THBIMOST SUCCESSFUL Of these' was started, to supply some South America city with water or jras. Its success was wonderful; the shares were applied for several times over, and every body was asking who had worked it so well on the market. It did not leak out for , some time, but whispers were thrown out that 'that devil, Grant,' had promoted it, and was at his old tricks again. Shortly after, a large building in Lombard street was occupied, solely by a new banking firm under the title of Grant Bros. & Co. The Baron had sent for his brother, who was a clerk in Manchester, made him change his name, as he himself had done, and started the new firm. Here we will explain how b.e got the title of Baron. One of his pet companies had been the City of Milan Im provements Company. While under his control this company built, at anenrmous expence, v gallery called the Victor Eman uel Gallery. It was opened with great pomp by the King in person, and Albert Grant, who was present, was created a Baron of the Kingdom of Italy. The

cnmpany has never paid its shareholders a cent, and never will; but Mr. Grant has has become Baron Grant. PROSPERITY.

Tho prosperity of the new firm was very great. Nothing could succeed that was introduced without their their auspice 3, and. nothing could fail, however bad, if the Baron had the engineering o f it. Railway and other companies which wanted money for legitimate works issued tho most; allur ing prospectuses, but the public would not subscribe, and they were compelled to go to the Baron, who would rewrite and re issue their prospectuses —then the public would rush with eagerness and put in money. A large firm was inviting sub scriptions to a loan for a foreign state, and applied for assistance and advice to Baron Grant, who wrote the prospectus, and sketched a plan of operations. The undertaking was successful, and the firm sent the Baron a check for ten thousand pounds, which ho returned with the re mark, that if his services were not worth more than that, they were worth nothing. Such,was the firms dread of his enmity, that they sent him another check for twenty thousand pounds ; this time the Baro^^wWejided to keep th" money. ■rmmfUKfU. mining swindle. OflPßirse when the -Emma mine was introduced in London, the promoters had to go to Mr. Grant to help thorn. It has been proved that ho received two hundred thousand pounds out of the spoils but he protests that he always thought the mine was a prying investment, and his indignation at 'those American speculators' is most amusing. 'He was never so cruelly deceived in his life. 1 A few words as to the Baron's social position. He received an invitation to one of the Prince of Wales' garden parties at Chiswick, but lie made a great mistake in wearing a foreign decoration, and having himself announced as .Baron Grant. He has never been asked since, but perhaps his reputation lias as much to do with this as the above incident. He was again el ected member for Kidderminster, but was unseated on account of

BRIBERY AND CORRUPTION,

For a time he affected not to like the title of Baron, and said to a gentleman who so addressed him, ' We have dropped the title at present'—a pause —' until we get a better one.' This was about the time that ho purchased the waste ground in Leicester square, and adorned it with flowers, fountains and statues for the benefit of the public. It was to have been opened by tho Prince of Wales, and Mr. Grant expected a Baronetcy, but the Prince declined at the last moment to attend, so Mr. Grant spent his money for nothing. Of cousse, ho can always flind a few poor people of title and position to associate with him for the benefit they can rcceivo. These, and some artists of whose works he is a liberal purchaser, make up his society. He is a pleasant man to talk with, being well informed and speaking several modern languages. His domestic churcter i;is excellent, as he is a good husband to his wife, and a kind father to his ten children.

HOW HE LIVES.

He lives now in two adjoining houscsin Queen's Gate Terrace, while his new man sion is being built just opposite the Ken sington Gardens, Ho his purchased there twelve acres of ground, and is erect ing a house which makes Kensington Palace look small and mean. It was rumored at one time that he found the cost greater than he expected, and that the Emperor of Itussia was to purchase it for £750,000 as a present for the Duchess of Edinburgh. But it still belongs to Baron Grant and is nearly completed. Of course there are innumerable lawsuits against him, and there are plenty of people who prophesy his speedy ruin, but it yet re mains to be seen whether his victims can make him disgorge his ill-gotten wealth. He has inducei the British people to invest between forty and fifty millions sterling, and they have got in exchange securities which may be worth to-day in the market about £5,000,000.

"The Fellows" Love Story.

' No, I don't care so much for staying in Germany now,' said my friend Lyndsay Koundell to me the other day, as v,*e set after dinner, we two alone, in the window of a little hotel overlooking the Thames. We had not met for some time, and having ns>w chanced to meet in London, ho, on returning from the Italian port, where he had been British Consul, and I having just come back from the United States, we celebrated our n union by a quiet dinner together. When we used to meet more often and were a little younger, we were both passionate lovers of german literature, philosophy, scenery and wines. Naturally, therefore, we had been talking of Germany.

' No,' he repeated, ' I don't care much about saying in Germany any more. I always hurry through. I know all about United Germany, and its greatness, and its victories, and that sort of thing, and it's splendid, of coarse. lam glad of it, you know ; but it's a little like a fellow who is glad that some girl ho loved when he was a boy has grown a grand lady and married an earl. Delighted, of course, and all that; but she isn't our Lisette any more. I spent a night or two in Berlin lately, and went to an evening party —had to. It was given by a friend, a modest professor. I tell you there was as much show and sham, as much jewelry and rustling silks, and bare shoulders and footmen, and airs and tomfoolery, as if it was in. Paris under the empire,'

' I fear—l fear that years are telling on you, Roundell. You" are becoming an old fogy.' • I suppose so- But these people used to be so simple, sweet and homely when I used to visit Berlin first. Tell you what, I used to like the little courts of the tiny princes. It's a shame, I suppose, but I used to like them. Say what you will, these little courts bad a flavor of antique chivalry and old romance about them' ' Had they ? I confess I never could see if-. I thought them ridiculous little humbugs '

' Well, and you are right enough, from the point of view taken by the journalist and the practical politician. But why don't you lake a look at them from the rornancist's stand-point ?'

' Because I can't imagine any romance clinging around such formal, dry and dusty old pedantries. Did you ever hear of the romance of a Master of the Ceremonies ? Can you imagine Grold Stick in Waiting the hero of a thrilling love story ?' Eoundell only sent a column of smoke up over his head into the blue ether, and was silent. After a silence of a moment or two he said, 'Did you see in tho papers tho death of the Grand Duchess of Liebesheim ?'

1 No, I didn't observe. The old Grand Duchess P'

' Oh no, the young one —the wife of the Grand Duke—l mean the fellow who was Grand Duke until Bismarck sponged him off the slute.' .' I didn't seo. Where did she die ?' 'In Florence. She was very young to die.' ' Young to die -yes. But she was not exactly a chicken, you know. Let me see, When was it we saw her in Liebesheim at hor marriage festivals ? In '52, wasn't it? Well, you see, twenty years—' 1 Yes, yes, of course; but I always think of "her as young. How beautiful she looked then !'

' She did; she seemed a charming women. I only saw her twice —the day when her husband brought her out into the balcony to bow to the crowd, and once at tne court ball, for which some good natured functionary—l forget who it was —kindly got me a ticket.' ' She is dead—so soon,' my friend re peated, thoughtfully. I did not qnito understand his emotion. I was sorry the Grand Duchess should be dead, if she particularly wished to live ! but one must be a great devotee of royalty to feel profound grief at the death of a princess whom he saw twice, in a crowd and at a distance, twenty years ago. It surprised mo too to find my friend so deeply concerned for the extinction of any royalty, seeing that he used to be rather of the stern republican school. To be sure, since he and I were in Germany together he had received a consulship from the government of her Majesty Qurcon Victoria. • They said her husband was a worth less scamp,' said I, for want of anything clstf or bolter to say.

'They did; I believe it was only too true.' replied Koundell, rather gloomily. ' She didn't care about him, I suppose ?' I asked.

1 No. How could she ? Ho was a brute, and the marriage was a mere political arrangement.'

' I suppose these royal or semi-royal marriages always are.' He didn't answer directly. But he sent up another pillar of smoke, and mur mured, 'Dead !—so young and so beauti ful !'

1 You grow quit*l sentimental about the Grand Duchess. Did you know her?'

' I never saw her, as you have said, for twenty years.' ' Th'on why arc you so greatly concern ed about her death ?'

1 Well, you see, her memory belongs to the old time, when wo wore young ; and I can see her face now before mo, sad and beautiful. I know she was very unhappy. I remember hearing a story—l don't, know whether it's worth telling, though.'

'By all means. Go ahead. I shall be delighted to heap i«;.'

I said this because lloundell spoke in that half-eager and half apologetic tone which shows that .v man wants to tell you something, but is afraid you will not care to listen to it.

'It isn't much. There wns a fellow I knew at the time wo were in Liebeaheim— English fellow. I don't think you knew him. Ho was studying something or other there, and Iw liked to road in the mornings. He usod to get up with the lark aud stroll out into the park. You remember the park—pretty, wasn't it? And he foundSSout a quiet place where hardly any people ever went, even in the day, and ho used to read there. I remem ber the spot, every stone and leaf of it he showed it to me—and I used to lounge there sometimes after he had gone. It was a little bit of a clearing in rather a thick part of the wood, and there was a little stream there. I used to spout G-oethe's poem to the Bachlein there.1

'You used to spout, or the fellow you are telling me of ?'

1 Oh, I used to—when he had gone, you know. Perhaps he used to spout it too ; it doeson't matter. There were a couple of statues there, a nymph and faun —that sort of thing—all grown over with moss. Well, sir, one lovely summormorn ing, when this fellow was reading there, declaiming out loud—he hai a great fash ion of doing that —'

' So had you, I remember.' ' Had I really ? Oh no, I think not

anyhow, he had. Well, he was declaim ing something from Schiller, when sudden ly he heard an unmistakable laugh—a very pleasant, musical laugh —and looking up he saw —'

' A girl, of course.' ' Wrong, for once. He saw two girls,' ' All the same. I knew we should get to some girl or girls before long.' ' Nice' girls, too, and very beautiful ; quietly dressed ; citizens' daughters—that sort of thing. Got into talk with this fellow. Were as friendly and sweet and modest as dear little German girls only can be, or used to be in those days. The fellow talked a good deal, too. They were interested in England and his studies, and so on. One of them had lovely eyes. Went away, of course. Fellow went there next morning.'

1 They came again.' 'Wrong, sir. They didn't. He was sorry. But they came the morning after.' 'Oh, confound it! that all comes to the same thing. They came, anyhow.' 1 They did. Acquaintance grew and grew. They would sit on the grass and talk for an hour afc a time—they three.' 'Always three?' « Always —at first.' • Thought so.'

• Like a good fellow, let me get on in my ovra way. Or you tell me the story, if you know all about it.' ' Well, I almost think I could. The regular sort of thing, I suppose—the fellow you know fell in love with the girl who had the eyes, and for some reason or other, she couldn't marry him, and they were miserable, or she did marry him, and they were happy. Can't be anything else. Did marry or didn't marry, there's the only difference.'

Koundell laughed rather a gloomy sort of a laugh. ' In this case it was didn't marry,' he said ; ' but we may as well go regularly through with the story, as we Lave begun it. It's not quite so common place as you suppose. Well, these girls came very regularly in the mornings, and sometimes they even arranged to meet the fellow of evenings—on rare occasions, though. Once there was a sort of saturnalian masquerade in the open air in the gardens of the old Schloss, and the girls gave the fellow a hint that they were to be there, and how they were to be dressed, and he found them out. She was dressed like a Swiss peasant girl bodice and sleeves, short skirts, you know.'

' Yes —silver spoon in the hair, liberal display of ankles. Go on.'

My friend looked grim at my levity, and I felt bound to excuse myself by saying that as I didn't personally know the fellow who was the hero of. this ro mance, I might be forgiven if I spoke too harshly of his idol's ankles.

Round ell went on : *It was the queer est sort of thing, the meetings of these three —the throe always, until just the end. There really wasn't any love-making in particular, although the fellow grew at last to be madly in love with the girl with the eyes. She called herself Dorothea; the other was Meta. They were cousins, they said, daughters of worthy trades people who supplied things to the Schloss. They used to talk about books. The girls were particularly interested in English novels, and poetry and art, and I don't know what all. The poor fellow was confoundedly happy. And, do you know, I think studious and poetic young fellows of that age are wonderfully pure. This fellow wasn'b any better than any of the rest of us, but, by Jove ! his love for her was as pure as the love of a woman.'

' Did she fall in love with him ?'

' Well, it came out in this sort of way. He was rather a good-looking young fellow then, though perhaps you wouldn't think so now—fellovrs change so —and he was full of poetry and passion, and that sort of stuff, just at the age when a man would be delighted to give his life for a woman. Well, sir, one morning she had a little flower in her hand ; and as they were parting she held it in an uncertain sort of way, as if she were going to offer it to him. He extended his hand ; the flower dropped : he reached down for it ; she reached down for it; their hands just touched one moment, one single little moment —by Jove ! as short as this puff of smoke; and when she looked up her face was all crimson ; and then she turned away ; and she knew as well as Heaven does that the fellow was in love with her, and he knew that she loved him.'

Eoundell paused ia his story. The evening was deepening down, the skies were purpling, and the Thames was as suming a sad and melancholy hue. The faint ripple of the water was heard more and more clearly. My friend looked out of the window, and seemed to enjoy the quiet beauty of the scene

' Well, but the rest of the story, Eoun dell.' I said.

'The rest of the story ? I don't know that it isn't all over.'

'Oh, come now, there must be a little more.'

' Yes, a little ; but I think it would have been better, somehow, if it had ended there.'

'Anyhow, it didn't, so go on.'

'Well, the fellow didn't see either of the girls the next day, or the next. But the third day they came; and Dorothea ■waa very sweet and melancholy, aud the other one, Meta, was rather distant in manners the fellow thought, and seemed frightened somehow. They didn't stay long; Meta seemed wild to eet away; but when they were going, Dorothea gave

her hand to —to the fellow, you knot put into it a little scrap of paper' IJI 'Ahi' ' Yes, a tiny scrap of paper. Ijtjj few words written on it. Of comTj didn't read it until he was safe outof A range of everybody's eyes. Then ta j| it. It only asked him to meet herald dusk, in the old place, that eveain e ' course he went. He waited aWiA wondering, and in agony lest som 9 ? founded stroller should cotae that *' Tho place was as free and open to an who pleased as that bank of the Ti, * there, but it was just out of the I^l track of promenaders and loungers thanks to the routine tendencies M human mind, not a creature ever did there but the poor fellow and these So he waited for an hour, and at iJ"^ came. She was almost out of hL and frightened; said she had greaS culty in getting away, but that 8 L resolved, come what world, to seel' 11 alone —for the last time.' *"'■■ • For the last time ?'

• Those were her words, and herd sad face showed that she meant it tf told him that she and her companion \r been doing a very foolish thbg.anjJI'-1 ning a terrible risk, and that they tr^S to his honor as an English gentlest help them out of the fix, by just be their secret and forgetting all about tl^ She was awfully in earnest; no affectag no coquetry ; brave and firm, butwitu' flash of a tear now and then inherit ful eyes. She told the fellow that? was tke cousin and companion of tr princess ; who was to marry the vO Grand Duke of Liebesheim.' §51

'MetaP' 'Meta, she told him, was thefcj Grand Duchess. She was Wf h ' Liebesheim to marry the Grand\s bhe was the daughter of a medky prince, and put under the care oiluW and formal old mother. Of courselV theatold the fellow that the princesSj not love her future husband. HowcmtP she? Every one knew that heW selfish young cub. Dorothea's eyesfiljji: with tears when she spoke of the miA fate of her friend. 'I may tell'ym'^V said to the fellow, 'that she lo'faij whom she will always remember acdean I never see again.' ,': 1

' But how about herself?'

'Yes, I am afraid that concernedtb fellow a good deal more than the tradles of the Grand Durthess that was.'tele, 'Dorothea,' said—said the fellow, m know, 'this mustn't affect us; mmik not part; nothing must seperatensjllmJ] you,' aud all that kind of thufefti would have talked at her like a maitaui and he caught her hand and kissed fyul)! begged of her to be his wife, although .) poor wretch—God helphim!—hadjTJiy small allowance to live on, and was goal: for nothing, so far as money-making,^, he was only two-and-twenty yean'JUji, but she stood there firm and patiento!'! suffering. Ah, by Jove! I know sUn\'(t it was in her eyes, for—for the fellow ti me so. She said: 'My friend, weir-' 6 not see each other any more—ever again, j We must part. You will not aakiv why; but we must part.' ThensßeioEl'i the fellow that the young princess and ■ herself had taken a freak of going out Ik; morning walks dressed like city girls, dl I that they, meant no harm; and that one | day they heard the fellow declaiming fan 1 Schiller, and they listened, and thenthej t| got into talk with him, and they ratk '| liked the fellow; and so on, you knor. | Now the princess's marriage wasappiodi' 1 ing, and there must be no more cakesiil ale! ' But you will not be sorry tolew' | said Dorothea, 'that your friendship ail I our pleasant talks sometimes gladdenedthe |. poor princess, and that she will remember 1 you always as a friend.' ' But what bad all this to do with'her .self?' I asked, a little impatiently. ' That was just what the fellow put tot her ; but she said that her fate was boand up with the princess, and she too hinted of some marriage engagement. Ohite^ talked, did the fellow, I can tell yon. His eloquence fairly astonished himself. But it was all to no purpose. She firmly eeclared that they must never meet any more. Then he began to accuse her of having played with his love; but she ( looked at him with such a grieved and imploring face that he soon dropped tbt game. He begged of her even to given© the comfort of telling him that she low him, that if things had been different,and all that. She only said: 'My friend.some day you and I will both be glad that I speak no foolish words now. _ Yon W look back on my memory with all the better feeling. 'It was growing late; to' woods were darkening—all this, though it seems long, didn't take a quarter or aj hour—she had to go away. She woulan even give him a lock of hair—no, byJoW' nor the flower in her bosom. ' Not noffi she said; ' we have both gone too* Adieu; I won't ask you to forget, me, »» she held out her hand. He caught ".aw kissed it. There was a ring upony finger, which came almost loose itt^» hand. He almost thought of puUing»JJ andikeeping it as a relic ; but he duttj He "pressed it on her slender little daw of a finger again, and in half a mofflf she was gone, and the fellow was alow • Poor fellow! What did he do? . • Do? He mooned about the wood w an hour or two with his hands in J pockets, thinking of nothing, in aroou dazed sort of way. At last he wentWj to his lodgings, and I think he WisN* that he were a woman for once,

'Why that?'

Evening @*t»r Aiagixst 26, 1876