The Committee of the Stock Exchange have always done everything in their power to insure the strict fulfilment of all bargains entered into by the members; and if any investor feels aggrieved or thinks he has been unfairly dealt with, a letter addressed to the Committee will at once bring the culprit to book. Accounts are settled fortnightly, about the middle and end of each month; and every member of the House prepares, or ought to prepare, a balance-sheet, showing exactly how he stands on these occasions. If a member finds that he is unable to meet his engagements, he should at once notify the fact to the Committee, when he will instantly be declared a defaulter. This disagreeable duty is performed by an official of the Stock Exchange, who, after three knocks with a hammer, which resound through the House, intimates that ‘Mr —— begs to inform the House that he is unable to comply with his bargains.’ If, as frequently happens, the defaulter has issued cheques on the account-day which have been returned by his banker, the formula is: ‘Mr —— has not complied with his bargains.’ After such declaration, the defaulting member is precluded from any further dealings with his fellow-members, and his affairs are placed in the hands of the official assignee, who proceeds to wind up the estate and distribute whatever dividend it will realise. The sound of the dreaded ‘hammer’ produces universal stillness and apprehension, and where a few seconds before was heard the hum of many voices and the sound of hurrying feet, now every ear is on the alert to hear the name of the proscribed member. As soon as the name is announced, it is posted up in a conspicuous part of the House, exposed to the gaze and subject to the derogatory remarks of the members for the rest of the day. As may well be imagined, the fact of having been ‘hammered,’ whatever a man’s future life may be, casts a dark shadow which cannot be got rid of; and investors may be quite certain that the members of the Stock Exchange will strain every nerve to avoid the disgrace. The rules of the House are, however, inexorable, and the fatal hammer must sound if engagements are not strictly and promptly met. In no trade, business, or profession does the punishment follow so quickly upon the offence, and it would be well if all commercial and financial default were as promptly declared to the world.
As will be seen from what we have said, the rights and duties of investors and members are clearly defined, and both parties have a right to expect them to be carried out with punctuality. Promptitude is praiseworthy under all circumstances, but on the Stock Exchange it is essential for the sake both of members and investors. No slovenliness or easy slipshod habits of doing business should be permitted on either side; and investors, while insisting on their rights, should bear in mind that their contracts with their brokers ought to be carried out with exactitude on their part, to enable the latter to fulfil their duties towards their fellow-members.
One other point we would urge investors to bear in mind, and that is, that stockbrokers are not prophets. Many investors, especially ladies, think the reverse. We have frequently heard very hard words indeed used towards brokers who have been unfortunate enough to advise a purchase which has turned out badly; but a moment’s thought must demonstrate the folly of such expressions of feeling. If a broker knows positively what course the market is to take in any particular stock, he has only to buy or sell it to the amount required for producing the profit he desires. Many investors, however, when smarting under losses, are apt to rush to conclusions which reflection proves to be utterly unjust. It is true that stockbrokers ought to be better acquainted with stocks and everything pertaining thereto than the large majority of investors; but it is absurd to suppose that their views should never be wrong. Let investors be satisfied with a reasonable rate of interest, never buy stock without the advice of a stockbroker, never buy what they cannot pay for, or sell what they are not prepared to deliver, and we are certain there would be fewer sleepless pillows and more money in the coffers.
Speculation, we fear, is inherent in the human constitution, and all that we can say on the subject is not likely to put a stop to it. It is natural to the human animal to desire to make money without working for it, and no doubt such a state of affairs will exist to the end. But experience teaches. We once heard an old man, who had been a large speculator in his early days, say that if he had put his money into consols when he first began to save, and continued doing so, instead of running after high rates of interest, he would have been a very much richer man in his old age. In the furious race for riches, we feel certain that the steady investor has the best of it; and the man who is not even able to do more than make both ends meet is infinitely happier than he who spends restless days and sleepless nights in the pursuit of that sudden wealth, which he, in all probability, goes down to his grave without acquiring.
THE ‘LADY GODIVA.’
AN AUSTRALIAN STORY.
It happened that one summer, a few years ago, I found myself travelling up the Barwon River, just where it commences to form the boundary between Queensland and New South Wales. The weather was terribly hot, and feed for horses scarce, so that I was only too glad to accept the invitation of a hospitable settler, an old acquaintance in digging days gone by, to stay and ‘spell’ for a week or two, whilst my horses put on a little condition in his well-grassed paddocks. The country round about at that time, even on the river frontages, was very sparsely settled, and comparatively young people could remember when the blacks were ‘bad.’ Dingoes, kangaroos, wild-cattle, and ‘brombees’ or wild-horses, roamed the great scrubs in thousands; and with respect to broken-in and branded individuals of the two latter species, the laws of meum and tuum seemed to be very lightly regarded amongst the pioneers of the border; and for a settler to put in an appearance at his neighbour’s killing-yard whilst the operation of converting bullock into beef was going on, was deemed the very height of bad manners, inexcusable, indeed, unless perhaps in the newest of new-chums, at least till the hide was off and the brand cut out.
My friend had only recently taken up ground on the river; but his next and nearest neighbour, old Tom Dwyer, who resided about five-and-twenty miles away, was a settler of many years’ standing; and it was from him that, towards the end of my stay with the Brays, came an invitation to the wedding festivities of his only daughter, who was to be married to a young cousin, also a Dwyer, who followed the occupation of a drover.
As Bray and myself rode along in the cool of the early morning—the womenkind and children having set out by moonlight the night before in a spring-cart—he gave me a slight sketch of the people whose hearty invitation we were accepting.
‘A rum lot,’ said my old friend—a fine specimen of the bushman-digger type of Australian-born colonist, hardy, brave, and intelligent, who had, after many years of a roving, eventful life, at last settled down to make himself a home in the wilderness—‘a rum lot, these Dwyers. Not bad neighbours by no means, at least not to me. I speak as I find; but people do say that they come it rather too strong sometimes with the squatters’ stock, and that young Jim—him as is goin’ to get switched—and old Tom his uncle do work the oracle atween ’em. I mind, not so long ago, young Jim he starts up north somewhere with about a score head o’ milkers and their calves; and when he comes back again in about six months, he fetched along with him over three hundred head o’ cattle! “Increase,” he called ’em—ha, ha! A very smart lad is Jim Dwyer; but the squatters are getting carefuller now; and I’m afraid, if he don’t mind, that he’ll find himself in the logs some o’ these fine days. He’s got a nice bit o’ a place over the river, on the New South Wales side, has Jim, just in front o’ Fort Dwyer, as they call the old man’s camp. You could a’most chuck a stone from one house to the other.’