worldly ways and byways- 第17部分

in　a　train　to　some　suburban　club；　and　appearing　a　half…hour　later　

on　the　polo　field。　　Next　to　wealth；　sport　has　become　the　ambition　

of　the　wealthy　classes；　and　has　grown　so　into　our　college　life　that　

the　number　of　students　in　the　freshman　class　of　our　great　

universities　is　seriously　influenced　by　that　institution's　losses　

or　gains　at　football。



What　is　the　result　of　all　this？　　A　young　man　starts　in　life　with　

the　firm　intention　of　making　a　great　deal　of　money。　　If　he　has　any　

time　left　from　that　occupation　he　will　devote　it　to　sport。　　Later　

in　life；　when　he　has　leisure　and　travels；　or　is　otherwise　thrown　

with　cultivated　strangers；　he　must　naturally　be　at　a　disadvantage。　　

〃Shop；〃　he　cannot　talk；　he　knows　that　is　vulgar。　　Music；　art；　the　

drama；　and　literature　are　closed　books　to　him；　in　spite　of　the　fact　

that　he　may　have　a　box　on　the　grand　tier　at　the　opera　and　a　couple　

of　dozen　high…priced　〃masterpieces〃　hanging　around　his　drawing…

rooms。　　If　he　is　of　a　finer　clay　than　the　general　run　of　his　class；　

he　will　realize　dimly　that　somehow　the　goal　has　been　missed　in　his　

life　race。　　His　chase　after　the　material　has　left　him　so　little　

time　to　cultivate　the　ideal；　that　he　has　prepared　himself　a　sad　and　

aimless　old　age；　unless　he　can　find　pleasure　in　doing　as　did　a　man　

I　have　been　told　about；　who；　receiving　half　a　dozen　millions　from　

his　father's　estate；　conceived　the　noble　idea　of　increasing　them　so　

that　he　might　leave　to　each　of　his　four　children　as　much　as　he　had　

himself　received。　　With　the　strictest　economy；　and　by　suppressing　

out　of　his　life　and　that　of　his　children　all　amusements　and　

superfluous　outlay；　he　has　succeeded　now　for　many　years　in　living　

on　the　income　of　his　income。　　Time　will　never　hang　heavy　on　this　

Harpagon's　hands。　　He　is　a　perfectly　happy　individual；　but　his　

conversation　is　hardly　of　a　kind　to　attract；　and　it　may　be　doubted　

if　the　rest　of　the　family　are　as　much　to　be　envied。



An　artist　who　had　lived　many　years　of　his　life　in　Paris　and　London　

was　speaking　the　other　day　of　a　curious　phase　he　had　remarked　in　

our　American　life。　　He　had　been　accustomed　over　there　to　have　his　

studio　the　meeting…place　of　friends；　who　would　drop　in　to　smoke　and　

lounge　away　an　hour；　chatting　as　he　worked。　　To　his　astonishment；　

he　tells　me　that　since　he　has　been　in　New　York　not　one　of　the　many　

men　he　knows　has　ever　passed　an　hour　in　his　rooms。　　Is　not　that　a　

significant　fact？　　Another　remark　which　points　its　own　moral　was　

repeated　to　me　recently。　　A　foreigner　visiting　here；　to　whom　

American　friends　were　showing　the　sights　of　our　city；　exclaimed　at　

last：　〃You　have　not　pointed　out　to　me　any　celebrities　except　

millionaires。　　'Do　you　see　that　man？　he　is　worth　ten　millions。　　

Look　at　that　house！　it　cost　one　million　dollars；　and　there　are　

pictures　in　it　worth　over　three　million　dollars。　　That　trotter　cost　

one　hundred　thousand　dollars；'　etc。〃　　Was　he　not　right？　　And　does　

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　no