The Whirlpool of Commerce.

REV. GEORGE R. HEWITT, B.D.

OMMERCE is a wide word. In its broadest acceptation it includes every kind of trade or business, from that of the

importer of silks and laces to that of the tin-peddler. Wherever there is an exchange of one commodity for another, or for money, there is commerce.

The origin of commerce is not far to seek. It was born of men's necessities. One man had that which another wanted, and for which he had something to give in exchange. From this want on one side and the spirit of accommodation or of acquisitiveness on the other sprang trade or commerce.

To-day trading has become the great business of the world. Man is a trading animal. He takes to trading like a duck to water. If he has no other commodity to dispose of, he will trade jack-knives with his next neighbor.

The object of all trade to-day, of course, is gain. No man would embark in any business enterprise without the hope of reaping some profit from it. And when a man is once fairly engaged in business it is astonishing how seductive it becomes. The appetite for trading grows by what it feeds on. From small beginnings a man is tempted to branch out indefinitely until he soon comes to have more on his hands than he can comfortably handle; and at last his whole life and thought have to be surrendered to commercial transactions and the making of money. Hence we see the fitness of the title of this chapter. Commerce is like a whirlpool. The danger that besets a man is that he will be drawn deeper and deeper into the whirling vortex of trade, until his business, which should be a means to an end, becomes an end in itself.

Said a young business man to the writer not a great while ago: "I almost envy you your opportunities for study and thought upon high themes. I dislike to be obliged to think incessantly about money-getting. But once in you can't get out."

A man begins by making a little. It seems very easy. Straightway his ambition enlarges. The thought presently floats into his mind, "Why am not I one of those born to be millionaires?" At first a few thousands would have satisfied him, now nothing less than hundreds of thousands will do.

If a man is doing a business of $50,000 per annum at five per cent. he thinks he might increase it to $100,000, and so double his profits. Or if he is doing a $100,000 business he aspires to do a $200,000 business, or if a $200,000 business nothing short of $500,000 will satisfy him. Accordingly he borrows capital, enlarges his plant, employs extra help, puts additional drummers on the road, and by every means endeavors to double his sales. But he soon finds that to keep his enlarged plant running he must offer his goods, or bid for contracts, at a lower figure than formerly. This, coupled with the additional cost of maintaining the larger plant, cuts into his profits; and so it comes to pass that many men find after doubling their sales they have only increased their cares, but have not materially increased their profits. Inordinate ambition to do a big business and get rich quickly wrecks a great many men both physically and financially. Better a small, oldfashioned business with some leisure, contentment, and peace of mind, than a big business with anxiety, excitement, wakeful nights, and nervous collapse.

Not content with a rapid extension of their own business, men, in their eagerness to make money, are too easily seduced into side ventures. They are induced to put a little money into this enterprise and a little into that. Notwithstanding that for every one that grows rich by mere speculation a hundred are made poorer, yet men will invest hopefully in the most doubtful ventures.

One thing a young man should do early in his business career is to resolve to steer clear of a life of speculation. It brings demoralization and ruin to thousands. Moreover,

if he is wise he will think twice before investing the profits of his own business in outside enterprises of which he has no personal knowledge. The Honorable William Whiting, one of the most successful business men in Western Massachusetts, a man of wide experience and observation, in a recent article on "Business Failures" has these words: "The man does best in the long run who sticks to his own business, is chary of outside responsibilities and schemes, and invests his surplus that must go outside safely at six per cent."

In conclusion: A man had far better make less money than become so involved in business that he can think of nothing else, and at last break down of nervous worry. Beware of the tyranny of trade. Beware of its tightening hold upon your spirit. Trade so as to become more of a man thereby, and not less. The commercial world is a splendid arena for the development of manhood. Men make trade, but trade also makes men. But alas! for one that is made by it five allow themselves to be unmade or marred by it. See to it that commerce does not cramp your soul, nor crush out the nobler sentiments. See that it leaves no disfiguring marks upon you after you have done with it forever. Give manhood the supremacy. Keep business subordinate. Remember the Frenchman's epitaph: "He was born a man, and died a grocer."

Gamblers and Gambling.

REV. H. O. BREEDEN, LL.D., Editor Christian Worker, Des Moines, Iowa.

HE spirit of gambling, like the terrible breath of a noisome

THE

pestilence, pervades society. It is the blighting curse of modern American life even as it was the bane of English society in its halcyon days. Charles James Fox, and even Wilberforce, did not escape it. From the palatial mansion of the wealthy gambler in the chamber of commerce, to the thoughtless if not unprincipled young man that throws dice at the cigar counter; from the "bookmaker" at the fashionable club race track, to the ragged, smutty urchin who flips coppers in a back alley, the gambling spirit is the same, and the gamblers are identical, save in raiment and acumen, unless, indeed, we attribute to the first mentioned, a much larger degree of moral turpitude.

The genus gambler is a hydra-headed monster. In his vulgar trappings, he is the common "three card monte man" who traps the unwary at county fairs, or on railway trains; or the roulette and faro manipulator in gilded dens whom everybody looks upon as a dangerous foe to society, and a dethroner of morality. He appears to be what he is, and is what he appears to be. The professional gambler is under the ban of society. He receives no sympathy from the community. His gambling is not respectable; it is outlawed. His work has its penalty.

But the gambler presents another head. He is not now the ignoble, "outlawed professional," but the "speculator in commerce." He is clothed in "purple and fine linen." The ordinary gambler, who advertises his profession, is put off the

"smoker," while the gambler in stocks and grain rides on a pass in a Pullman palace car. Justice is blindfold when the "monte man" is before her. His offense is indictable; but when the board of trade "angel" appears, she lifts the blind, sees who it is, and lets him pass.

The common gambler observes a strict code of honor that spurns the use of "loaded dice," but the commercial gambler congratulates himself on shrewdness in receiving "points" that enable him to "corner" the market on breadstuffs.

But the monster exhibits another head, and now he is a "pool gambler." He is an accessory of the race course and the baseball diamond, since these offer an arena for his cupidity and love of excitement. Last year he paid one hundred and seventyfive thousand dollars for the "exclusive" bookmaking privilege at the Washington Park races in Chicago. The race track and its adjunct, the city pool room, is probably the second most formidable and dangerous institution in America to-day. Its legitimate offsprings are deceit, concealment, forgery, embezzlement, and theft. Young men steal their employers' money to bet on the races; young girls sell their virtue for money to wager and for "tips." Married women leave their families and rob their husbands at the bidding of the "pool." It is a veritable "Pandora's box, from which issue all moral evils and social disasters, only hope is not in the box."

Still another form of the gambler appears, this time in the drawing room, arrayed in richest gowns, cut décolleté and bedecked with jewels or clad in evening "full dress." He is now the society gambler. Cards, notwithstanding their bad history and evil associations, are his instruments. Progressive euchre and sometimes poker are his games. It is not money he seeks now, but excitement and the indulgence of a passion. The prizes are offered only to add spice to the diversion, just as opium in the cigarette, or the salacious and libidinous in the modern theatrical performance," the spice of hell." Sometimes he tries to hoodwink the uninitiated into believing that playing for "prizes" is not gambling. But the strongest moral