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