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it not give my reader a shudder to see in black and white the
phrases that are； nevertheless； so often on our lips？
This levelling of everything to its cash value is so ingrained in
us that we are unconscious of it； as we are of using slang or local
expressions until our attention is called to them。 I was present
once at a farce played in a London theatre； where the audience went
into roars of laughter every time the stage American said； 〃Why；
certainly。〃 I was indignant； and began explaining to my English
friend that we never used such an absurd phrase。 〃Are you sure？〃
he asked。 〃Why； certainly；〃 I said； and stopped； catching the
twinkle in his eye。
It is very much the same thing with money。 We do not notice how
often it slips into the conversation。 〃Out of the fullness of the
heart the mouth speaketh。〃 Talk to an American of a painter and
the charm of his work。 He will be sure to ask； 〃Do his pictures
sell well？〃 and will lose all interest if you say he can't sell
them at all。 As if that had anything to do with it！
Remembering the well…known anecdote of Schopenhauer and the gold
piece which he used to put beside his plate at the TABLE D'HOTE；
where he ate； surrounded by the young officers of the German army；
and which was to be given to the poor the first time he heard any
conversation that was not about promotion or women； I have been
tempted to try the experiment in our clubs； changing the subjects
to stocks and sport； and feel confident that my contributions to
charity would not ruin me。
All this has had the result of making our men dull companions；
after dinner； or at a country house； if the subject they love is
tabooed； they talk of nothing！ It is sad for a rich man （unless
his mind has remained entirely between the leaves of his ledger） to
realize that money really buys very little； and above a certain
amount can give no satisfaction in proportion to its bulk； beyond
that delight which comes from a sense of possession。 Croesus often
discovers as he grows old that he has neglected to provide himself
with the only thing that 〃is a joy for ever〃 … a cultivated
intellect … in order to amass a fortune that turns to ashes； when
he has time to ask of it any of the pleasures and resources he
fondly imagined it would afford him。 Like Talleyrand's young man
who would not learn whist； he finds that he has prepared for
himself a dreadful old age！
CHAPTER 16 … A Holy Land
NOT long ago an article came under my notice descriptive of the
neighborhood around Grant's tomb and the calm that midsummer brings
to that vicinity； laughingly referred to as the 〃Holy Land。〃
As careless fingers wandering over the strings of a violin may
unintentionally strike a chord； so the writer of those lines； all
unconsciously； with a jest； set vibrating a world of tender
memories and associations； for the region spoken of is truly a holy
land to me； the playground of my youth； and connected with the
sweetest ties that can bind one's thoughts to the past。
Ernest Renan in his SOUVENIRS D'ENFANCE； tells of a Brittany
legend； firmly believed in that wild land； of the vanished city of
〃Is；〃 which ages ago disappeared beneath the waves。 The peasants
still point out at a certain place on the coast the site of the
fabled city； and the fishermen tell how during great storms they
have caught glimpses of its belfries and ramparts far down between
the waves； and assert that on calm summer nights they can hear the
bells chiming up from those depths。 I also have a vanished 〃Is〃 in
my heart； and as I grow older； I love to listen to the murmurs that
float up from the past。 They seem to come from an infinite
distance； almost like echoes from another life。
At that enchanted time we lived during the summers in an old wooden
house my father had re…arranged into a fairly comfortable dwelling。
A tradition； which no one had ever taken the trouble to verify；
averred that Washington had once lived there； which made that hero
very real to us。 The picturesque old house stood high on a slope
where the land rises boldly； with an admirable view of distant
mountain； river and opposing Palisades。
The new Riverside drive （which； by the bye； should make us very
lenient toward the men who robbed our city a score of years ago；
for they left us that vast work in atonement）； has so changed the
neighborhood it is impossible now for pious feet to make a
pilgrimage to those childish shrines。 One house； however； still
stands as when it was our nearest neighbor。 It had sheltered
General Gage； land for many acres around had belonged to him。 He
was an enthusiastic gardener； and imported； among a hundred other
fruits and plants； the 〃Queen Claude〃 plum from France； which was
successfully acclimated on his farm。 In New York a plum of that
kind is still called a 〃green gage。〃 The house has changed hands
many times since we used to play around the Grecian pillars of its
portico。 A recent owner； dissatisfied doubtless with its classic
simplicity； has painted it a cheerful mustard color and crowned it
with a fine new MANSARD roof。 Thus disfigured； and shorn of its
surrounding trees； the poor old house stands blankly by the
roadside； reminding one of the Greek statue in Anstey's 〃Painted
Venus〃 after the London barber had decorated her to his taste。
When driving by there now； I close my eyes。
Another house； where we used to be taken to play； was that of
Audubon； in the park of that name。 Many a rainy afternoon I have
passed with his children choosing our favorite birds in the glass
cases that filled every nook and corner of the tumble…down old
place； or turning over the leaves of the enormous volumes he would
so graciously take down from their places for our amusement。 I
often wonder what has become of those vast IN…FOLIOS； and if any
one ever opens them now and admires as we did the glowing colored
plates in which the old ornithologist took such pride。 There is
something infinitely sad in the idea of a collection of books
slowly gathered together at the price of privations and sacrifices；
cherished； fondled； lovingly read； and then at the owner's death；
coldly sent away to stand for ever unopened on the shelves of some
public library。 It is like neglecting poor dumb children！
An event that made a profound impression on my childish imagination
occurred while my father； who was never tired of improving our
little domain； was cutting a pathway down the steep side of the
slope to the river。 A great slab； dislodged by a workman's pick；
fell disclosing the grave of an Indian chief。 In a low archway or
shallow cave sat the skeleton of the chieftain； his bows and arrows
arranged around him on the ground； mingled with fragments of an
elaborate costume； of which little remained but the bead…work。
That it was the