The other shore!Oh thou dim Land! Hid by faint mists from the spent swimmer's eyes, Until upon the sloping bank he stand, Mute in the light of Eden-mysteries; Thou golden Ophir of Youth's spirit-dream, Shall I then reach thee through this turbid stream? Friend!

One cannot, I think, say more on this Occasion, than to repeat, That the Merit of the Merchant is above that of all other Subjects; for while he is untouched in his Credit, his Hand-writing is a more portable Coin for the Service of his Fellow-Citizens, and his Word the Gold of Ophir to the Country wherein he resides.