|I LEARN with much sadness that Mr. William H. Vanderbilt's once
princely fortune has shrivelled down to $150,000,000. This piece of
information comes to me like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky. Once
petted, fondled and caressed, William H. Vanderbilt shorn of his wealth,
and resting upon no foundation but his sterling integrity, must struggle
along with the rest of us.
It would be but truth to say that Mr. Vanderbilt will receive very
little sympathy from the world now in the days of his adversity and
penury when the wolf is at his door. There are many of his former
friends who will say that William could economize and struggle along on
$150,000,000, but let them try it once and see how they would like it
themselves; $150,000,000, with no salary outside of that amount, will
not last forever.
A poor man might pinch along in such a case if he could get something
to do, but we must remember that Mr. Vanderbilt has always lived in
comparatively comfortable circumstances. His hands, therefore, are
tender and his stomach juts out into the autumn air. He will, therefore,
find it hard at first to husk corn and dig potatoes. When he stoops over
a sawbuck around New York this winter his stomach will be in the way
and his vest will no doubt split open on the back. All these things
will annoy the spoiled child of luxury, and his broad features will be
covered with sadness. They will, at least, if there is sadness enough in
the country to do it.
The fall of William 'H. Vanderbilt and his headlong plunge from the
proud eminence to which his means had elevated him downward to the
cringing poverty of $150,000,000 should be a sad warning to us all.
This fate may fall to any of us. Oh, let us be prepared when the summons
comes. For one I believe I am ready. Should the dread news come to me
to-morrow that such a fate had befallen me, I would nerve myself up to
it and meet it like a man. With the ruin of my former fortune I would
buy me a crust of bread and some pie, and then I would take the
balance and go over into Canada and there I would establish a home for
friendless bank cashiers who are now there, several hundred of them, all
alone and with no one to love them.
All kinds of charitable institutions, costing many thousands of dollars,
are built in America from year to year for the comfort of homeless and
friendless women and children, but man is left out in the cold. Why is
this thus. Lots of people in Canada, of course, are doing their best to
make it cheerful and sunny for our lovely cashiers there, but still it
is not home. As a gentleman once said in my hearing, "There is no place
like home." And he was right.
In conclusion, I do not know what to say, unless it be to appeal to the
newspaper men of the country in Mr. Vanderbilt's behalf. While he was
wealthy he was proud and arrogant. He said, "Let the newspapers be
blankety blanked to blank," or words to that effect, but we do not care
for that. Let us forget all that and remember that his sad fate may some
day be our own. In our affluence let us not lose sight of the fact that
Van is suffering. Let us procure a place for him on some good paper.
His grammar and spelling are a little bit rickety but he could begin as
janitor and gradually work his way up. Parties having clothing or funds
which they feel like giving may forward the same to me at Hudson, Wis.,
postpaid, and if the clothes do not fit Van they may possibly fit me.
New York, Oct. 7,1883.
Bill Nye.
P.S,--Oct. 30.--Since issuing the above I have received several
consignments of clothes for the suffering, also one sack of corn-meal
and a ham. Let the good work go on, for it is far more blessed to give
than to receive, I am told; and as Jay Gould said when, as a boy, he
gave the wormy half of an apple to his dear teacher, "Half is better
than the hole."