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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
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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！
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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
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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 tomb of a man great among his people
was evident from the care with which the grave had been prepared and
then hidden； proving how； hundreds of years before our civilization；
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another race had chosen this noble cliff and stately river landscape as the
fitting framework for a great warrior's tomb。
This discovery made no little stir in the scientific world of that day。
Hundreds came to see it； and as photography had not then come into the
world； many drawings were made and casts taken； and finally the whole
thing was removed to the rooms of the Historical Society。 From that day
the lonely little path held an awful charm for us。 Our childish readings of
Cooper had developed in us that love of the Indian and his wild life； so
characteristic of boyhood thirty years ago。 On still summer afternoons； the
place had a primeval calm that froze the young blood in our veins。
Although we prided ourselves on our quality as 〃braves；〃 and secretly
pined to be led on the war…path； we were shy of walking in that vicinity in
daylight； and no power on earth； not even the offer of the tomahawk or
snow…shoes for which our souls longed； would have taken us there at
night。
A place connected in my memory with a tragic association was acro