THE LATE BARON ROTHSCHILD.

Westport Times, Volume III, Issue 468, 20 February 1869, Page 3

THE LATE BARON ROTHSCHILD.

On the 15th November took place the demise of Baron James Rothschild, the king of bankers and the banker of kings, as he was generally called. He was born at Frankfort-on-the, Maine in the same year as Rossini (1792), and was the fifth and last surviving son of Meyer Anseln Rothschild, the founder of that firm which has become the prime financial power, of Europe. All the world knows how in 1815, M. Rothschild, who was not yet a baron, happening to be at Brussels at the time of the battle of Waterloo, dared to cross the Channel, despite a violent storm, in a fisher's smack, in order to speculate on the London Change on the great defeat before the news came to the public knowledge, which was one of the sources of his immense fortune. Another episode, not so well known as the preceding one, in which he displayed still greater energy, was related to me by a person well qualified to the truth of the story. .Five years after Waterloo he fell from his horse, and his life was in danger. Dupuytren hastened to his bedside, and performed a most frightful operation, after which he said he thought he could answer for the life of his patient; adding, however, that any violent emotion would kill him outright. Just then & letter was brought to Dupuytren, who opened it, and could not suppress an exclamation of alarm. "Whatis the matter?" inquired M. de Rothschild, in a faint voice. " What is the matter?" repeated the surgeon, forgetting his own recommendation, " why, the Duke de Berri has just been murdered at the Opera;" and so saying, he hastened away. Dupuytren had not yet reached the bottom of the stairs, when the patient, with a face as pale as death, and his head wrapped up in blood-stained bandages, gets up on the bed and rings with all his might the bell-rope hanging by his side. Family, servants, everybody hurry in. "Make haste and send me my head clerk. Send messengers everywhere! The Duke de Berri has been murdered! Sell out! sell out!', and exhausted by this supreme exertion, he fell back on his pillow. The fortune left by M. de Rothschild amounts, itjissaid, to above £25,000,000 A far larger sum had been mentioned at first, but cooler calculations have reduced the figure. So it has been

with many actions and witty sayings ascribed to him, and which have either been greatly exaggerated or merely invented. Of these anecdotes the name is Legion. The following, however, is authentic. One day a gentleman entered his office. The baron, who was writing, said, without rasing his eyes, and with the G-erman accent he never got rid of, " Take a chair, sir." The gentleman, unaccustomed to this free and easy way, said, " I beg youpardon, sir, I am Count—." " Well, then, take two chairs," replied the baron, without ceasing to write.

To judge from the local paper, servant girls in Ararat would appear to be at a premium just at the present time. One young lady who applied for a situation in answer to an advertisement, after the question of wages had been disposed of, wished to stipulate that she should be allowed one evening each week to attend a prayer meeting, every Sunday evening to go to church, one day a week to visit her father and mother, and be allowed to receive her friends in the kitchen whenever she felt disposed. The lady's services were declined. If our readers do not think that it requires nerve to edit a newspaper let them read this, the experience of' one of them fellers' in the western parts of America, as told by himself:—One evening—it was moonlight, in the summer time—we sat alone on the porch by the cottage door, holding that little white hand in a gentle pressure. One arm had stolen round her waist, and a silent song of joy, ' like the music of night,' was on our soul. Our lips met with a sweet delicious kiss, and, bending softly to her ear, we whispered a tale of passionate devotion—we proposed. In a moment she tore her hand from ours, and with a look of ineffable scorn said, 1 What! marry an editor ? Tou get out!' We slid.