WHY. 



F the making of books," said a sacred writer, 

 " there is no end." Possibly the desire to 

 make one myself arose from the fact that I 

 have taken so much mental recreation in 

 writing these sketches, thus renewing past enjoy- 

 ments, and indulging anticipations of their repetition 

 in the future. 



A part of the contents, through heavy bribes and 

 friendly editors, have found their way into the col- 

 umns of the press, though I have never learned that 

 the sale of the respective papers has thereby been 

 visibly increased. 



As this book has been written by one daily en- 

 gaged in the cares and perplexities of a mercantile 

 life, I hope that it may escape, if noticed at all, harsh 



i 



