d never get on himself.

* * * * *

It will, of course, be said in reply that the world is full of
charitable institutions supported entirely by the prosperous and
successful. That is quite true; but it must be remembered that they are
small proof in themselves of the amount of real self-sacrifice and
genuine charity existing among us.

Philanthropy is largely the occupation of otherwise ineffective people,
or persons who have nothing else to do, or of retired capitalists who
like the notoriety and laudation they can get in no other way. But, even
with philanthropy to amuse him, an idle multi-millionaire in these
United States has a pretty hard time of it. He is generally too old to
enjoy society and is not qualified to make himself a particularly
agreeable companion, even if his manners would pass muster at Newport.
Politics is too strenuous. Desirable diplomatic posts are few and the
choicer ones still require some dignity or educational qualification in
the holders. There is almost nothing left but to haunt the picture
sales or buy a city block and order the construction of a French
chateau in the middle of it.

I know one of these men intimately; in fact I am his attorney and helped
him make a part of his money. At sixty-four he retired--that is, he
ceased endeavoring to increase his fortune by putting up the price of
foodstuffs and other commodities, or by driving competitors out of
business. Since then he has been utterly wretched. He would like to be
in society and dispense a lavish hospitality, but he cannot speak the
language of the drawing room. His opera box stands stark and empty. His
house, filled with priceless treasures fit for the Metropolitan Museum,
is closed nine months in the year.

His own wants are few. His wife is a plain woman, who used to do her own
cooking and, in her heart, would like to do it still. He knows nothing
of the esthetic side of life and is too old to learn. Once a month, in
the season, we dine at his house, with a mixed company, in a desert of
dining room at a vast table loaded with masses of gold plate. The
peaches are from South Africa; the strawberries from the Riviera. His
chef ransacks the markets for pheasants, snipe, woodcock, Egyptian quail
and canvasbacks. And at enormous distances from each other--so that the
table may be decently full--sit, with their wives, his family doctor,
his clergyman, his broker, his secretary, his lawyer, and