CHAPTER XXXIX.

TRAVERS.

THE UNIQUE CHARACTER OF TRAVERS—HIS VERSATILE ATTAINMENTS—ALTHOUGH OF A

GENIAL AND HUMOROUS DISPOSITION, HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN A BEAR—HOW HE

WAS THE MEANS OF PRESERVING THE COMMERCIAL SUPREMACY OF NEW YORK—HE

SQUASHES THE ENGLISH BRAVADO, AND SAVES THE ORATORICAL HONOR OF OUR

COUNTRY—HAS THE OYSTER BRAINS?—IT MUST HAVE BRAINS. FOR IT KNOWS

ENOUGH TO SH-SH-SHUT UP—THE DOG AND THE RAT—I D-D-DON’T WANT TO BUY

THE D-D-DOG; I WILL BUY THE R-R-RAT—TRAVERS ON THE ROYAL STAND AT

THE DERBY—HOW HE WAS EUCHRED BY THE POOL-SELLER—MY PROXY IN A SPEECH

AT THE UNION CLUB.—IF YOU ARE A S-S-SELF-MADE MAN, WH-WH-Y THE

D-DEVIL DIDN’T YOU PUT MORE H-HAIR ON THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD? OTHER

WITTICISMS, &C.

Wm. R. Travers is one of the most notable men of Wall Street in our

time.

His success in speculation has usually been on the bear side, which is

rather singular, as he is a man of such a genial disposition, with a

kind nature, an inexhaustible supply of sparkling wit, and always

brimful of humor.

He is also fond of athletic sports of every description, and, in fact,

is a kind of universal genius, so various and versatile are his

attainments. Owing to his immense variety of qualities, tastes and

pursuits, he has one of the most remarkable records in Wall Street; and

the most singular thing about him, probably, is, that while having all

the attributes usually inherent in a bull, he has always been a bear in

his transactions.

This genial, benevolent and high spirited man has never been known to

believe that there was any value in any property.

If he ever by chance happened to make any money on the bull side of the

market, it must have made him feel very uncomfortable—in fact,

conscientiously miserable—as he could not realize that by any

possibility it belonged to him.

It is due to Mr. Travers, however, that New York has been so highly

classified in the catalogue of cities, in fact, as occupying the highest

position in public estimation, and that it has attained full credit for

being the largest in wealth and population of any city in the Union.

This fact, now generally admitted, seemed to have been suspended in

doubt until Mr. Travers came from Baltimore to reside in our midst.

It will be remembered by many Wall Street men that prior to the advent

of Mr. Travers the rivalry among several of the seaboard cities on the

Atlantic coast was very keen. Boston, Philadelphia and Baltimore were

each in turn disposed to claim pre-eminence. Thanks to this Wall Street

magnate, the matter is now no longer in dispute. It was finally decided

in this way:

One day after Mr. Travers became one of ourselves, an old friend from

Baltimore met him in Wall Street. As it had been a long time since they

saw each other, they had a considerable number of topics to talk over.

They had been familiar friends in the Monumental City, and were not

therefore restrained by the usual social formalities.

“I notice, Travers,” said the Baltimorean, “that you stutter a great

deal more than when you were in Baltimore.”

“W-h-y, y-e-s,” replied Mr. Travers, darting a look of surprise at his

friend; “of course I do. This is a d-d-damned sight b-b-bigger city.”

That settled it. Since this famous interview, and this scientific

explanation given by Mr. Travers to his old friend, no skeptic has had

sufficient temerity to entertain any doubt regarding the financial and

commercial supremacy of New York; its leading position as the great

emporium of the Continent has never since been questioned; and there are

few cities outside of Ohio that can claim such power in politics.

It is due to Mr. Travers, also, that this country still retains the palm

for oratory and volubility in speech, and has successfully resisted the

intrusive and pretentious claims of Great Britain in regard to that

great and somewhat limited accomplishment.

The destiny of this nation in that respect hung in the balance at one

time.

A sort of go-as-you-please oratorical contest was being arranged to

decide the question of championship between Great Britain and ourselves,

and a vaunting and loquacious Britisher had appeared in our midst to

dispute the claim of the national cup in oratory as Rowell had done for

the belt in pedestrianism.

This English bravado had letters of introduction from Lord Randolph

Churchill, Sir Charles Dilke, Lord Salisbury, Mr. Gladstone, and other

British declaimers to Mr. Travers and other American gentlemen. It was

in the yachting season, and the voluble champion was invited to

accompany a party, of which Mr. Travers was the leading spirit, down the

bay in Mr. Travers’ yacht. The orator had talked everybody within

earshot of his voice almost deaf. When the party arrived at the dinner

table it was hoped that he would cease for a short time; but when every

other topic seemed exhausted, as well as the patience of his listeners,

he started off with renewed fluency on the subject of oysters, which

constituted the dish then at table.

“It is now a debatable point among scientists,” he began, “as to whether

or not the oyster has brains.” Travers, who up to this time had endured

the infliction of his loquacious guest, with the calmness of Job, said,

“I think the oyster must have b-b-brains because it knows enough when to

sh-sh-shut up.”

By this satiric stroke the English orator was dumbfounded and almost

paralyzed; his fluent tongue ceased to wag with its usual volubility,

and when requested to name his time for the international contest, he

begged to be excused until cured of his cold. He took the next steamer

for Liverpool, and has not been heard of since. Mr. Travers’ incisive

remark about the mental attributes of the oyster thoroughly squashed

him, and saved the oratorical honor of our country.

Mr. Travers started in life in the grocery business in Baltimore, but

disaster overtaking him there, he came to New York, and soon thereafter

formed a co-partnership with Leonard W. Jerome, the firm being Travers &

Jerome. Mr. Travers met with fair prosperity from the start, and soon

accumulated wealth. The worst set-back probably that he ever received

during his residence in this city was on one occasion on his way home

after the business day was over. Being attracted by the display in the

window of a bird fancier and dog dealer, from curiosity he was tempted

to enter the place. One of the conspicuous objects that met his eye was

a very large sized parrot. Mr. Travers inquired of the proprietor of the

establishment who was in attendance “i-i-if th-th-th-that p-p-parrot

c-c-could t-t-talk?”

Its owner quickly replied, “If it couldn’t talk better than you, I’d cut

its damned head off.”

Mr. Travers for a long time afterwards made up his mind some time or

other to get even with this dealer in animals and birds, and succeeded

most effectually. His coachman made a complaint to him that the stable

was overrun with rats. Mr. Travers said, “Well, you m-m-must hunt for a

r-r-rat dog.” The coachman made it known that Mr. Travers wanted a dog,

and all those engaged dealing in dogs overran Mr. Travers’ house as

ferociously as the rats had overrun the stable, to get him to buy a dog.

Among the rest who responded was this identical man who kept the store

where the parrot was. Mr. Travers recognized him at once, and told him,

“I-i-if he w-w-would b-b-b-be d-d-down at the s-s-stable in the

m-morning with t-th-the d-d-dog, he would g-g-give him a tr-tr-trial,

and if he p-pr-proved to b-b-be a g-g-good r-rat c-c-catcher, would

b-b-buy him.”

Mr. Travers sent for his coachman and told him to catch three or four

rats and put them in the bin, and he would be down in the morning to try

the dog. So, good and early next morning Mr. Travers was on hand at the

stable, and also the dog man and his terrier. Three rats having already

been put into the bin, Mr. Travers ordered the dog put inside, as the

man said he was ready for the fray, and the rats were so ferocious, and

showed such determined fight, that they kept the dog at bay, and he took

to the corner of the bin for protection. By and by the owner pushed him

right on the rats, and after a pretty fierce tussle he did secure one of

them and shook him until dead. This success encouraged a tussle with

another, which, after a long fight, shared the same fate. The third rat,

however, was determined to resist the dog, and did so nobly and

fiercely, making a prolonged fight, which resulted in a draw, and it was

hard to tell which was the worst hurt, the dog or the rat.

The owner of the dog then turned to Mr. Travers and said: “Now you see

what a fine dog that is, won’t you buy him?” Mr. Travers replied: “I

d-d-don’t w-w-want t-t-to b-b-buy the d-d-dog, b-b-but I’ll b-b-b-buy

the r-rat.”

Mr. Travers, when he first saw the owner of this dog, remembered him in

connection with the parrot. Since the rat fight, however, this same man

has never ceased to remember Mr. Travers, so that honors remain easy

between them. Mr. Travers has never been known to be at a loss for wit

to meet an emergency, and it is recognized that it flows as freely from

his lips and in as perfectly natural a way, as ordinary conversation

does from most people.

Early in the Spring of last year, on the advice of his physician, Mr.

Travers took his maiden trip to Europe, and would not have gone but for

the urgency of the case, always regarding that this country was big

enough for him without leaving its shores. When he reached England,

however, he found, when his arrival was announced through the medium of

the papers, that he was as well known amongst the nobility, sporting

world and other distinguished people there as he was in his own country,

owing to his connection with the turf and athletic sports, together with

his widely published witticisms which had preceded him. He consequently

was overpowered by attention and hospitality, and participated to as

full an extent as his health would permit. He attended the Derby, and

took an interest in a pool which resulted in his favor. As soon as he

ascertained his good fortune, he went to bag his money, but found that

the pool man had decamped with the funds. This was a sad disappointment.

He could scarcely believe his eyes or the various statements which went

to corroborate this man’s disappearance, but it was evident that he was

_non est_, as he was nowhere to be found about the stand or on the

field. Travers made complaint to a policeman, who appeared perfectly

indifferent to the charge. Mr. Travers said: “W-w-we d-don’t d-d-do

th-th-that way in m-my c-c-c-country. I b-b-belong to America.” The

policeman turned impertinently and said: “You had better go back to your

own country, if that’s the case.” This was an indignity to which Mr.

Travers did not feel inclined to submit, and he at once exhibited his

badge, which admitted him to the royal stand. The policeman recognized

it with affright, and almost fell on his knees in making profuse

apologies and offers of service, showing the cringing spirit which

prevails in England to royalty and nobility, by the people who occupy

the position as servants to these high-born personages. Mr. Travers

overlooked this official rudeness, and submitted to his loss as

cheerfully as possible under the circumstances.

I met Mr. Travers on board the Newport boat immediately on his return,

and he told me this story. I replied, “that I was surprised that a man

of that character should have acted so villainously, as I had always

supposed that such men were influenced by the recognized principle the

world over, of honor among thieves.” Mr. Travers instantly replied: “No

one could have t-t-told him that I was a th-th-thief.”

I remember another instance, which was during the war period. I had

written a series of letters on national financial matters, which were

then before the country for discussion, and they were published in the

New York _Times_. Mr. Travers was met on his way down town by a Wall

Street friend on the morning that one of these letters appeared in the

paper, who asked Mr. Travers if he had seen Mr. Clews’ last letter. Mr.

Travers said, “I h-h-hope so.”

Shortly after this I was a guest at a dinner party at the Union Club,

and was late in presenting myself. When I reached the entertainment

(which was a sort of mutual admiration gathering), the speeches had

commenced, and I no sooner had taken my seat than Mr. Lawrence Jerome

proposed my health. While it was being drank, Mr. Travers, who sat

immediately opposite, came over and whispered in my ear, “Clews, you

d-d-don’t w-want t-to speak so soon after c-c-oming in here, d-d-do

you?” “No, I do not,” I replied. “I’ll t-t-tell th-th-them so, will I?”

“Yes, I wish you would,” I said. He went back to his place and said,

“Gentlemen, I have talked with Mr. Clews, and he d-d-desires me t-to ask

you t-to excuse him f-from making a speech on th-th-this occasion and

i-if you w-will d-d-do so, he w-will w-write you a l-letter.”

To show the rapid fluctuations that take place in Wall Street, and how

even the best judges of the market are often mistaken in their

prognostications, I will note an instance in connection with Mr.

Travers. On his return from Europe, which was early in July, 1885, when

the market on this side was weak, cables prior to his departure

evidently indicated to him that much lower figures were in order. Just

prior to the arrival of the steamer, in conversing with an associate

member of the Exchange, he said, “B-b-barnes, I’ll make a l-l-little

b-b-bet with you; I’ll b-b-bet you L-l-lackawanna will b-b-be under

six-ty when we r-reach New Y-York.” Barnes was not willing to make the

bet, however, but on their arrival, which was two days after, nothing

surprised Mr. Travers so much as to find Lackawanna 110 instead of the

figure 60 or less which he had predicted, especially as its advance did

not cease thereafter until it sold at 130.

It has been justly said, that if a man will wear a good looking hat, and

good, well polished boots, the head and feet being the parts which first

catch the eye of an observer, it matters very little what kind of

material the coat, vest and trousers may be made of, if they are whole

and kept clean. Though they may be threadbare the man will appear to be

fairly dressed, and will look much younger than if he were careless

regarding the covering of his extremities. If the latter are fairly

adorned he can pass muster.

Knowing this fact, I had always been in the habit of posing before the

public as a youth. In this I was materially assisted by having no hair

on the top of my head, in the place where other people’s hair usually

grows. I had been this way for twenty years, just presenting about the

same appearance as when I was born, and it has always been a matter of

remark how youthful I looked.

I have often been asked what I did to keep myself looking so young. My

truthful answer always has been that, “Virtue is its own reward.” This

theory invariably passed as sound in my case until it was knocked into a

cocked hat by Travers. One unlucky day he removed the mask, and changed

the current of public opinion against me on the much cherished subject

of my perpetual bloom of youth.

It occurred in this way. Frank Leslie’s _Illustrated Weekly_ had

published a number of pictures of the active business men of New York,

who were known in the community as self-made men, and mine was among

them.

A few days after the appearance of my picture in this paper, I happened,

one afternoon, on my way uptown, to drop into the Union Club, and as

usual, went into the main room. It was full of members, largely composed

of a scattering of Wall Street bankers and brokers.

Travers was present, and when he is on hand on such occasions, it always

means laughter for the multitude at some one’s expense. In this instance

it happened to be at mine.

As I entered the room, Travers said, in an audible voice: “Hallo, boys!

here comes Clews, the self-made man.” Then, addressing himself to me, he

said: “I s-s-say, Cl-Cl-Clews, as you are a s-s-self-made man, wh-wh-why

the d-d-devil didn’t you p-put more h-h-hair on the top of your head?”

This story having gone the rounds, as it soon did, drew attention to my

summer-appareled head, which before that time had enabled me to pass

myself off as a youngster just striking out at the commencement of life.

That stroke of Travers’ wit, however, has been the cause of consigning

me ever since to the ranks of the old “fogies.” Now, everybody is

convinced that my hair, now _non est_, had already come and gone, and

that my head represents the work of ages.

This is another vivid instance illustrating the saying that “many a

truth is spoken in jest.”

When Travers thus removed my mask of adolescence, it made me feel

unhappy for some time, as it really transformed my entire identity, and

deprived me of that luxury so dear to all the fair sex, and to many of

my own, of sailing under false colors in reference to my age.

Still, as Travers is such a righteous, good fellow, I have had to

forgive him, notwithstanding the gravity of the offense in having hurt

the most tender part of my sensitive nature. So we can make up and

become friends again, as I value the renewal of his friendship even at

the cost of such a great personal sacrifice as the deprivation of my

supposed youthfulness.

On the principle that misery loves company, and as Mr. Travers had

brought misery to my lot by drawing public attention to my bare head, I

found consolation, shortly afterwards, in a huge joke that the same

facetious individual perpetrated upon another member of the Club, who

happened to be one of New York’s most celebrated lawyers. This

gentleman, it is well known, has been connected with some of the largest

and most remunerative railroad cases in our courts for many years, and

being considered a great authority in that branch of legal lore, he was

accustomed to exact his own terms from his wealthy clients, which meant,

in most instances, a very fat fee. This gentleman was standing on the

side of the street opposite the Club one afternoon, while Travers was

surrounded by a cluster of club men on the other side. “Look across the

way, boys,” observed Travers, “th-th-there’s B-B-Barlow with his hands

in his own p-p-pockets at last.”

On another occasion, when Travers, who resides at Newport in the summer,

and is the possessor of a small-sized yacht there, which he obtained

some years ago in lieu of a debt, was taking a refreshing sail on his

yacht in the bay one morning, it happened that a squadron of yachts

appeared in his vicinity, and there was going to be a race. Travers

having been made acquainted with the fact, invited a party of friends to

go to see the race. As soon as it became known to the yachtsmen that the

renowned Travers had appeared on the deck of his yacht, a committee was

assigned to convey to him the respects of the members of the squadron.

When they came alongside his craft he invited them on board, and saw at

a glance that they nearly all happened to be bankers and brokers.

Casting his eyes across the glittering water, he beheld a number of

beautiful white-winged yachts in the distance, and finding, by inquiry,

that they all belonged to Wall Street well known brokers, he appeared

thereby to be thrown momentarily into a deep reverie, and, without

turning his gaze from the handsome squadron, finally asked his

distinguished visitors, “wh-wh-where are the cu-cu-customers’ yachts?”

Comment would be entirely superfluous.

A. T. Stewart, the world renowned retail dry goods merchant, was

elected, on one occasion, to preside at a meeting of citizens during the

war period, Travers being amongst the number present. When Mr. Stewart

took his gold pencil case from his pocket and rapped with its head on

the table for the meeting to come to order, Travers called out, in an

audible tone, “C-cash!” which brought down the house, and no one laughed

more heartily than Mr. Stewart, although it was a severe thrust at

himself.

As it is sometimes said of a stranger who comes from a foreign country,

Travers came to New York well recommended, bringing letters of

introduction with him from the first families of Baltimore, and

credentials which at once established his status and reputation. So it

was not necessary for him to remain long on probation in New York.

Coming here was not a new birth to him, although, in some measure, he

may be said to have risen, Phœnix-like, from the ashes of his former

self, as business misfortunes had overtaken him in Baltimore.

Travers had not only to start in a new place and in a new business when

he came here, but he had to begin the ascent of his prosperous career at

the very bottom of the financial ladder. Owing to his incomparable

geniality he met with hosts of friends from the very start, and he

prospered from the word “go.”

Travers formed several partnerships at various times. After making

considerable money in the one above alluded to with Mr. Jerome, the

partnership was dissolved, and Travers then continued business alone as

a Wall Street operator, and as I have formerly stated, usually acted on

the bear side of the market, which was remarkable for a person of such a

buoyant and hopeful disposition.

In his business operations Mr. Travers has always shown great sagacity,

mingled with caution, and his prestige as a leader became so great that

he soon attracted a numerous following of operators, who, with their

eminent leader, formed a set widely known in speculative circles all

over this country as the “Twenty-third Street Party.” Of this party, Mr.

Addison Cammack, the celebrated bear, was a prominent member, and a

great admirer of Mr. Travers.

Mr. Travers was well-born and received a good education, with an

excellent training for a business career. He married a daughter of the

Hon. Reverdy Johnson, who was United States Minister to England during

the administration of Andrew Johnson, and who was one of the most

prominent members of the Bar.

Mr. Travers has always been famous for his attachment to out-door sports

and amusements, and on the principle that water finds its level, so did

Mr. Travers in the sporting world. He soon became President of the

Jerome Jockey Club, President of the Racquet Club, President of the

Athletic Club, and was thoroughly identified as a leader in the large

majority of manly and out-door sports, in which the youth of New York

city and its suburbs were interested.

It is due both to Mr. Travers and his quondam partner, the renowned

Leonard W. Jerome, to state that the efforts of these two men have been

chiefly instrumental in elevating the social and moral tone of the

race-course in this part of the country, and raising it to a standard of

respectability, to which before their reformatory efforts it was

partially a stranger. It was, in a great measure, through their

exertions that the race-track became a fashionable resort, in the North,

for ladies, as it had been in the South for many years, especially in

Kentucky. The ladies of the present day can now talk horse at Jerome

Park, Sheepshead Bay and Long Branch with a volubility that twenty years

ago would have shocked their mothers, and would still cause their

grandmothers to have epileptic fits. So the ladies of the present

generation are greatly indebted to these two gentlemen for having

removed the social stigma from the turf, in this section, thus enabling

the fair sex to enjoy, in common with the lords of creation, and without

compunction and loss of dignity, one of the greatest pleasures in the

whole range of out-door recreations.

The breed of horses has been improved to an extent that leaves the

famous Arabian steed of yore, that outstripped the flight of the

ostrich, far in the distance. This development in speed has been brought

to its highest pitch in Harry Bassett, and Wm. H. Vanderbilt’s fondly

cherished Maud S., now the property of Mr. Robert Bonner. For this

immense evolution in speed and staying powers the patrons of the turf

are largely indebted to Jerome and Travers.

One of Travers’ best _bon mots_ was inspired by the sight of the Siamese

Twins. After carefully examining the mysterious ligature that had bound

them together from birth, he looked up blankly at them and said,

“B-b-br-brothers, I presume.”

Among Travers’ contemporaries, Mr. Charles L. Frost was very well known

a few years ago. His specialty was purchasing the junior securities of

foreclosed railroads which were supposed to be wiped out, so far as any

visible element of value was concerned.

Then, at a time when it was quite inconvenient for the reorganized

companies, he would pounce down upon them with some sort of vexatious

litigation, and would often levy on the bank balances of these

corporations as a part of his proceedings and peculiar methods of

management. He was enabled to take such action as they were foreign

corporations. In this way he made it exceedingly difficult for these

corporations to defend the various suits in law engineered by him, and

rendered their existence exceedingly uncomfortable by placing their

money in a tight place and cutting off the interest.

These peculiar methods of financiering identified Mr. Frost in a measure

with Wall Street men, as a character whom most of the bankers and

brokers who had any dealings with him have had good reason to remember

feelingly. Frost had bushy, white curly hair, a beardless, full face,

and a very red nose, which could only be acquired at considerable

expense or as the result of chronic dyspepsia. There is no evidence,

however, that he was a victim of this natural malady, so his

highly-colored proboscis must be accounted for in some other way.

Mr. Travers met this gentleman one morning by accident in a Fourth

Avenue railroad car going down town. Although formerly acquainted, they

had not met in years, and time, as indicated by his white locks, was

beginning to tell upon Mr. Frost.

This attracted the attention of Mr. Travers, who cordially shook hands

with the old gentleman, and after making a rapid survey of his person,

said, “Wh-why, Mr. Frost, wh-wh-what beautiful white hair you have; what

a su-su-superb blue n-n-necktie you wear; what a m-m-mag-magnificent red

nose you have got. If I had s-s-seen you as I do now in w-w-war times, I

should have taken you for a p-p-perfect p-p-patriot, red white and

blue.”

THE DEATH OF TRAVERS.

The foregoing reminiscences of Travers were written and stereotyped

while the great wit and financier was still alive. I have, therefore,

not deemed it necessary to recast the matter, but consider it sufficient

to add a few of the salient points in Mr. Travers’ character and career,

with more _bons mots_ which the death of this popular man brought out.

He died in Bermuda, March 19, 1887. He had gone there in the previous

November, where he had a residence of his own, in the hope that the

climate might restore him to health, but the malady, diabetes, had got

too far ahead, and, in spite of the best medical skill, carried him over

to the majority. His wit, like that of Tom Hood, did not forsake him

even in his last hours.

While on his death-bed at Bermuda a friend called to see him, and said,

“What a nice place Bermuda is for rest and change.” Travers replied:

“Y-y-yes, th-the waiters g-g-get th-th-the ch-change and th-the

h-h-hotel k-k-keepers th-the r-r-rest.”

Among Travers’ famous hits the following is one of the best: Jim Fisk’s

zenith of glory and grandeur was in the vicinity of its height when he

secured the control of the Boston & Providence line of steamboats. He

constituted himself Commodore, and was always on the deck as they

departed each day, dressed in a Commodore’s attire, and was evidently

very much elated in being supreme in command in connection with these

magnificent steamboats. Jay Gould was, financially, equally interested

with him in the venture, and Commodore Fisk, in his usual splurgy

manner, had a large likeness of both Gould and himself hung up at the

head of the stairs leading to the large saloon cabin on each of these

steamboats. Travers and others, who at that time were leading magnates

of the street, were invited to inspect one of these large boats that had

been newly fitted up, gilded, and put in magnificent shape, with a band

of music on board, etc. Fisk met Travers as he went on board, and

volunteered to escort him over the boat to show him its magnificence and

superb appointments. As they went up the stairs and came to the first

landing, he pointed out the likenesses of Fisk and Gould that were hung

there, and asked Travers if he didn’t think they were good. Travers

replied: “I th-think th-th-they are v-v-very good, b-b-b-but t-to m-make

th-th-them c-c-complete, th-there sh-sh-should b-b-be a p-p-picture of

our S-S-S-Saviour in th-th-the m-middle.”

The last time I saw Mr. Travers down town he called at my office. After

he ran his eye over the stock quotations, I said: “The market is pretty

stiff, Travers.” He said: “Y-yes, it is th-the st-st-stiffness of

d-d-death;” and, sure enough, in the course of two or three days

afterwards, a big smash took place.

Mr. Travers once said to a friend: “C-come and see me in S-September. If

y-you wish I will give you a p-point that will m-make m-money. He wished

to do the man a favor in return for a kindly office. Late in the month

mentioned the friend dropped into Travers’ office.

“C-come for that p-point?” asked Mr. Travers.

“Certainly,” replied the friend.

“Well, y-you are the luckiest d-dog I know. I p-played that p-point two

weeks ago myself and lost a pile of money. Y-you st-stick to m-me l-long

enough and c-close enough, and I’ll l-land y-you in the p-poorhouse,

sure.”

When “Plunger” Walton was in the height of his prosperity on the turf he

met Travers at Saratoga.

“I have been anxious to see you for some time,” said Walton. “I think we

can do business together,” he added. “I’ve got good judgment on horses

and horse racing, and you have the same on stocks and stock speculation.

I’ve made $350,000 on horse races in the last two years. Now, you give

me points on stocks, and I’ll give you points on races. Is it a go?”

“Y-you’ve made three h-hundred and f-fifty th-thousand dollars on

h-horse racing?” Travers repeated.

“Yes.”

“And you want m-me to g-give you p-points on st-stocks?”

“In exchange for my points on horses. Yes.”

“Well, I’ll give you a f-first rate p-point. If you’ve made that much in

two y-years, st-stick to your b-b-business. It is a f-first-rate

p-point.”

One day, many years ago, Mr. Travers was standing on the curb of New

street, opposite the Exchange, buying some stock from a gentleman whose

aspect was unmistakably of the Hebrew stamp.

“Wh-wh-what is your name?” asked Travers.

“Jacobs,” responded the seller.

“B-b-but wh-what is your Christian name?” reiterated Travers.

The Hebrew was non-plussed, and the crowd was convulsed with laughter.

The first time Mr. Travers attempted to find Montague street, in

Brooklyn, he lost his way, although he was near the place. Meeting a man

he said:

“I desire to r-reach M-montague st-street. W-will you b-be kik-kind

enough to pup-point the way?”

“You-you are go-going the wrong w-way,” was the stammering answer. “That

is M-montague st-street there.”

“Are y-you mimick-mimicking me, making fun of me-me?” asked Mr. Travers

sharply.

“Nun-no, I assure you, sir,” the other replied. “I-I am ba-badly

af-flict-flicted with an imp-impediment in my speech.”

“Why do-don’t y-you g-get cured?” asked Travers, solemnly. “G-go to

Doctor —, and y-you’ll get c-cured. D-don’t y-you see how well I talk?

H-he cu-cured me.”

The fortune left by Mr. Travers has been estimated at $3,000,000. He

left three sons, William B. Travers, John Travers, and Reverdy Travers,

and five daughters, four of whom are married. His only sister is Mrs.

Prince, mother of the late John D. Prince, of Prince & Whitely.

Mr. Travers assisted a large number of young men to go into business,

and helped to give the start in life to several of the most successful

men in Wall Street.

He was charitable, and his secret beneficences are said to have been

numerous. He enjoyed the wealth he had made in a way that should make

the majority of millionaires blush with shame at their parsimony. He was

a _bon vivant_ of the first water. He maintained five domestic

establishments on a first-class and luxurious scale, not like a

Caligula, merely for his personal gratification or the pride of

ostentation, but rather for the development of those social traits of

character in which he had few equals, and no superior. The great social

pride of his life was to make his friends feel happy. He had one of the

best cellars in New York. His table at any of his residences was not

only bountiful, but exhibited a menu equal to that at Delmonico’s. His

favorite wine was Madeira, of which he was a perfect judge. He was very

moderate, however, both in eating and drink, but would have the best of

everything despite the cost.

He was a kind and indulgent father, but was pleased to see his boys

manifest ample pluck like himself. Apropos of this characteristic, one

of his boys came home one day with a big blackened eye.

“W-w-w-where d-d-did you g-g-g-get th-th-that?” inquired the father,

anxiously.

“In a f-f-fight, sir,” replied the son, who has a similar impediment in

his speech.

“D-d-d-did y-y-you w-w-w-whip the other f-f-fellow?”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“Q-q-q-quite r-r-right. H-h-h-here’s a d-d-dollar f-f-for y-you. Always

w-w-whip the other f-f-fellow.”

Travers himself was courageous, tall, and sinewy, and in his younger

days a great athlete. He was 68 years of age at the time of his death.

He was a member of twenty-seven clubs, social, political, and athletic.

He was a Democrat in politics. As to his religious belief, I expect if

he had been questioned on that he would have given the same answer as

another eminent man who cut a great figure in this country: “The world

is my country; to do good is my religion.” Travers might have added: “I

also wish to be the means of creating and diffusing the greatest amount

of social happiness and enjoyment of which humanity is capable.”

I may conclude by saying of Travers, as an eminent author observed of

his namesake the divine William, the Bard of Avon, “We ne’er shall see

his like again.”

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