In the Loudon Bankruptcy Court, at times, melancholy revelations are made—revelations which, indeed, do “point a moral,” though they can hardly be said “to adorn a tale.” Too generally the manifestations are the same—the hastening to be rich, which to so many has been a snare—the vulgar attempt to keep up appearances and impose on the world—the recklessness and want of honour and principle which prevail where we should least have expected it, in the middle classes, who, as the heart and core of the nation, at times are apt to be too indiscriminately eulogised. Last week an illustration of what we mean occurred. It came out in evidence that a bankrupt had goods from a London wholesale house, not for his legitimate trade, but merely that, by their sale at less than cost price, funds might be provided for the passing exigencies of the hour. These goods were not unpacked, but at once sent up to a London auctioneer and sold. Nor, it seems, was this an isolated case—the custom is a common one; it is but what takes place every day. Again, a tradesman is in difficulties—he goes to his principal creditor, who says, “Well you must not stop yet—you must try and reduce my debt first,”—goods are ordered from Manchester or Birmingham—and, perhaps without being unpacked, taken to the warehouse of the London creditor—the tradesman then applies to the Bankruptcy Court, and, as his books are well kept, a _sine qua non_ with the Commissioners—and, as the principal creditor makes things as smooth as possible, the man gets a first-class certificate and begins again. Bill discounters tell you of the number of forged bills which pass through their hands, and which are sure to be taken up when due. Even the oldest and proudest firms are not free from shame. My readers need not that I remind them of the conduct of Gurney, Overend, & Co. with reference to the forged spelter warrants. A city lawyer, a man of considerable practice and experience, once assured me he did not believe there was such a thing as commercial morality—but we must hope that he had seen so much of the dark side, as to forget that there was a bright side at all, but that the true feeling in the city is not of the highest character is evident if we recall the sympathy displayed toward the directors of the Royal British Bank—and again exhibited in the case of Strachan and Sir John Dean Paul, or remember the ridiculous manifestations of the gentlemen of the Stock Exchange and Mincing Lane, of which Tom Sayers was the embarrassed subject. How wide-spread was the delirium of the railway mania—what rascalities have been laid bare by the bursting of some of our insurance and other companies. Take that list just published by Mr. Spachman, Jun., of the losses sustained by public companies through the inadequate system of the audit of accounts. The list is short, but not sweet.