The Millionaire When
Making His Will Very Generally Gives Back A Considerable Portion Of
The Wealth Which He Has Made To The City In Which He Made It.
The
rich citizen is always anxious that the poor citizen shall be
relieved.
It is a point of honor with him to raise the character
of his municipality, and to provide that the deaf and dumb, the
blind, the mad, the idiots, the old, and the incurable shall have
such alleviation in their misfortune as skill and kindness can
afford.
Nor is the New Yorker a hugger-mugger with his money. He does not
hide up his dollars in old stockings and keep rolls of gold in
hidden pots. He does not even invest it where it will not grow but
only produce small though sure fruit. He builds houses, he
speculates largely, he spreads himself in trade to the extent of
his wings - and not seldom somewhat farther. He scatters his wealth
broadcast over strange fields, trusting that it may grow with an
increase of a hundredfold, but bold to bear the loss should the
strange field prove itself barren. His regret at losing his money
is by no means commensurate with his desire to make it. In this
there is a living spirit which to me divests the dollar-worshiping
idolatry of something of its ugliness. The hand when closed on the
gold is instantly reopened. The idolator is anxious to get, but he
is anxious also to spend. He is energetic to the last, and has no
comfort with his stock unless it breeds with Transatlantic rapidity
of procreation.
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