one gets at Monte Carlo or Aix. A whirling of wheels, a clinking of coin, seems to be going on inside the gentleman's brain, a ceaseless raking in and paying out of gold, that causes you to glance instinctively for the croupier's rake. In the game the magnate is playing, as in the more open one on the tapis vert, no matter what colors come up, the "bank" is sure to be richer at the end of the sitting.

Last year, during the spring season at Salso Maggiore, a Yankee plutocrat arrived, seeking from those waters some alleviation from the cruel pains that tortured his overworked system. Rest and peace, however, were not for him; he was much too rich. The second day of his stay news came of an impending panic, and poor crippled Croesus scurried off to London in a night train, bewailing the hard luck that for three successive years had prevented him taking his much-needed "cure."

To be forced, in stifling June weather, to quit mountain air and to sit in stuffy confab with other perspiring magnates would seem to most people a high price to pay even for success. To be too rich to take ordinary care of one's aching bones is a doubtful return for forty years of labor. A friend who at that time expostulated with the sick banker, and begged him to rest and consider his failing health, was surprised to find he took a high moral stand in the matter. He spoke of “a captain abandoning a ship," of duty to one's country and offspring, and used other eloquent phrases with apparent sincerity. For this is one of the amusing symptoms of the millionaire malady. Men who have sacrificed youth and health, scrimped their families, and injured their digestions in the acquirement of a "pile," often think they are public benefactors, and that humanity in general owes them a debt of gratitude for being so rich. In consequence they resent as a cruel injustice the fatigue, chagrin, and newspaper notoriety that money invariably brings in its trail. It would be about as consistent for a little boy who had gorged himself on purloined apples to feel injured when an avenging stomach-ache followed gluttony.

Robert Louis Stevenson once said that Atlas seemed to him simply a gentleman with a protracted nightmare. Many men in these days are troubled in the same way,

being convinced that the universe rests on their shoulders-a terrible illusion, were it not that a sense of importance and prestige compensates the dreamers (as it doubtless did Atlas) for their pains.

Now, it is quite possible that a dash of sour grapes is influencing my point of view. Nous autres impecunious idlers are, after all, but poor judges of what may please the very rich. Let us be generous, therefore, with what does not belong to us, and pardon the millionaires their little vanities, especially as the country at large is often the better for their labors. It is not their work I am inclined to find fault with, but the spirit which makes too many of our financiers delve eagerly and long for the superfluous; for they get nothing out of life, and set a deplorable example to their fellowmortals.

A recent article in the " North American Review," treating of America's commercial supremacy, throws an amusing side-light on this problem, and gives a quite new reason why rich Americans continue to labor on after wealth has been achieved: On the Continent and in England," says Mr. Van Cortlandt, "social and political life offer so many alluring possibilities to the successful business man that he is tempted to retire early from the fray, leave the toiling to his younger partners, and devote his declining years to an elegant leisure."

Now, the result of such culpable selfindulgence, the author points out, is fatal to the business interests of a community, as it withdraws men from trade just at the moment when their experience and matured powers make them capable of the best work.

America fortunately is spared this danger. No sirens wave their white arms, over here, to lure middle-aged financiers away from their desks. In consequence the Yankee trader remains in harness a score of years longer than his English or German confrère, to the greater glory of the Golden Calf, which grateful animal rewards their devotion with all the good gifts in his power.

When one comes to think of it, perhaps the gentlemen who refuse to leave their offices are right, for this chaotic land of ours offers but meager opportunities for the disbursement of large fortunes. Conditions unavoidable in a growing coun

try (but none the less disagreeable for all that) render both urban and suburban life unsatisfactory to the very wealthy. Our cities were not planned nor are they maintained with an eye to beauty or enjoyment, and country existence is only a shade less trying to a retired millionaire.

A guest at the recent coronation in England told his friends that the sight which impressed him as the most absurd in all that day of superannuated mummery was when, after the service, the peers, with their bulky mantles grasped in both hands and coronets askew, were seen running about the streets near the Abbey looking for their carriages.

Court trains and mantles, under the most favorable circumstances, are but unwieldy additions to the toilet, tripping up their owners, and rendering the simplest movements difficult. Hardly one person in a generation is able to master the difficulty and move gracefully with all those yards of superfluous fur and velvet trailing at the heels.

It is much the same thing with great fortunes only very clever people are able to rise above the disadvantages of wealth or make a dignified use of millions. In the majority of cases the money gets twisted around its owner's feet, and interferes with the freedom of his movements.

New York is perhaps the richest city in the world. It certainly is the ugliest, in spite of nature's loveliest gifts. Our city's wealth and prosperity to-day stands as the chief obstacle to any improvement from either an esthetic or a practical point of view. In Chicago and most of the Western cities the conditions are the same.

The gold of those men whose names have within the last decade become the synonym for billions (like the wealth of our cities), in almost every case, not only blots out all charm and grace from its victims' lives, but, like Sindbad's grotesque burden, keeps repose and peace of mind at bay.

That many of these combatants feel the absurdity of their position and would fain leave the arena is certain, but nothing is so difficult as to change one's habits after middle age. So most of these victims of their own successes continue to labor on, some from pure force of habit, others simply because they know in their hearts that they would be bored to death without the rou

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tine of the office to fill in the long days. As few bankers have taken the time to acquire any information not required by their business, this fear is perfectly well founded. But the largest class of all is composed of those "just about to retire' and enjoy their wealth. "It is not as easy as you seem to think," said an old friend to me not long ago. "I've worked like a slave these last fifteen years, but in a season or two I'll be free, and then I'm going to make up for lost time. I have looked forward to it all my life, and intend to make you show me all those delightful nooks and corners of the Old World you've talked so much about; we will get young again rambling about together in Italy and Greece." Poor chap! he was out of business before the year was done, free, but with a greater freedom than he had dreamed of; and as I stood beside his open grave my thoughts turned, in spite of me, to all the unavailing wealth he had so laboriously accumulated.

-a com

It is ambition, we are told, — mendable desire to be honored and envied, to make one's mark in the world and leave a. respected name as an inheritance to one's children,-that impels many of our men to years of needless toil.

If the people who place such a value on prestige and honor, and moil so furiously in the gold-mill to achieve this end, would only suspend their labors long enough to look about them, they would see another objection to the accumulation of wealth for wealth's sake that outbalances the minor reasons pointed out above as mind outweighs matter.

The really great rewards, the splendid and lasting prizes worthy to crown a life of effort and abnegation, have never yet been accorded in any land or by any race to mere wealth, not even here on this money-loving continent and in our material age.

With certain exceptions, it is the Motleys, the Choates, and the Andrew D. Whites who are selected to represent us at imperial courts and international congresses. It is the features of their Shermans and Lincolns that an admiring nation casts in everlasting bronze, not those of pool presidents or syndicate magnates, pile they never so high. When discouraged by the sordid bent of men's minds and the disproportionate place ac

T was Princess Pontioff's "at home." The princess was not in the drawing-room, but Miss Polton was there. She had been directed to preside over the tea-table until the princess felt disposed to appear. Miss Polton was the children's governess; she was elderly and English. The position of teacher to little Russian children with Tatar dispositions was not a sinecure, but at the present moment Miss Polton thought it preferable to facing single-handed Princess Pontioff's callers. There would be a great many; they would be of different nationalities, and would converse in different languages. Miss Polton knew only her own, and that often entirely deserted her when she felt frightened.

Tiny waves of nervousness danced up and down her spinal column in a shivering procession as she sat erect, starched, and self-conscious by the tea-table. The drawing-room of the Russian legation in Peking, in which she was awaiting the callers, was furnished with Eastern gorgeousness and stiff Western conventionalism, a combination frequently seen in the homes of foreigners in China, and always startling to one's sense of harmony. The long, lowbeamed ceiling was supported by pillars. Oriental rugs in rich, subdued colors covered the floor. On the walls hung silken stuffs of glaring blues and reds, all gold-embroidered in fantastic Chinese designs. In one corner of the room stood a white wooden screen of graceful filigree-work, forming a background for a large bronze vase, dragon-encircled; and, near by, a carved ebony cabinet showed through its glass doors an assortment of small, serenefaced Buddhas, their ancient appearance carefully hidden under a liberal coating of gilt. Miss Polton had spent an entire evening in this inartistic application. Scattered

over the room with neat precision were heavy upholstered chairs and lounges, their rigid awkwardness accentuated by the incongruity of their surroundings. The "head boy" was stepping noiselessly about the damask-covered tea-table, arranging cups and saucers of milky transparency about the steaming samovar. Without, the sun was shining through amber clouds of sand, wind-swept from the great plateau, and whirled in yellow splendor to burst upon the city.

As the governess watched the swaying of tall bamboos and the helpless flurry of young-leafed lilac-bushes just outside the windows, she let a timid hope nestle in her brain that this golden sand-storm would keep the princess's drawing-room empty of callers. But the hope, like a frightened bird, took flight at the sound of quickly treading footsteps on the stone walk of the compound. When the heavy portières were drawn aside, and Mr. Amati, the Japanese minister, stepped briskly into the room, Miss Polton gave a hysterical gasp, then, with the resignation that comes from desperation, composed herself to meet him. Mr. Amati spoke English fluently, rapidly, and unintelligibly. That his remarks seldom elicited appropriate replies did not in the least disconcert him, his confidence in his own linguistic powers being too deeply rooted to be disturbed by so slight a matter. His Japanese secretary, who dressed after the latest London fashion and spoke English perfectly, seldom accompanied the minister on his visits. It was suspected that Mr. Amati resented the young man's quiet persistence in acting as interpreter as obtrusive and altogether unnecessary, and therefore preferred making his calls unaccompanied, except by his own complacency.

Mr. Amati seated himself near the governess, and carefully laying his hat on the floor by his chair, rubbed his hands, drew

in his breath with a hissing suction, then proceeded to talk in a rapid series of gurgles. Miss Polton listened in dismay and bewilderment; she felt quite incompetent to divine intuitively the polite platitudes he was showering on her. When he paused, after a rising inflection in his voice, she was painfully aware that he had asked a question, but without in the least knowing what it was. In this trying situation she did what a more experienced woman of the world would have done-she offered Mr. Amati a cup of tea. As he sipped the fragrant beverage with noisy appreciation, the portières were again opened, and a young woman entered. The curves of her graceful figure were outlined against the silken curtains as she lingered a moment to cast an inquiring look about the room. A suspicious twinkle puckered the corner of her eyes on noting the scene by the tea-table. She understood at a glance Miss Polton's look of mingled anxiety and relief, and the expression of serene satisfaction shining from Mr. Amati's placid

countenance.

"Am I disturbing a confidential tête-àtête ?" she asked. "Do tell me what you were talking about. I am sure it was interesting. I am always interested in any thing Mr. Amati says; he stimulates one's imagination, and that is so refreshing."

Here the Princess Pontioff, for it was she, turned her large violet eyes on the minister from Japan, and smiled sweetly. Mr. Amati rubbed his hands and gurgled a pleased response. The governess looked uneasy.

"I enjoyed so much your lecture on the Yeddos the other night, Mr. Amati," she continued. "I never shall forget it-no one could who heard it. Thank you; yes, one lump, please." Poising her cup in one hand, while she daintily stirred its contents, the princess continued reflectively: "I never knew what strangely incomprehensible people the Yeddos were until you told us about them. We had stereoscopic pictures of them, too," she said, turning to the governess. "They belonged to that young globe-trotter who is here; he lent them to illustrate the lecture, and I remember he said afterward that they probably would never again serve so good a purpose."

"It appears," said the governess, a faint blush on her sallow cheek, as she gazed

out of the window-" it appears to be blowing harder."

The wind had, in truth, increased in violence; like a thickly spangled gauze veil the sand-spotted air was twirled and twisted in serpentine coils round the trees and shrubbery of the compound; every now and then clouds of sand were dashed against the window-panes, making a sharp, scratching sound.

The princess smiled. She was not sure which amused her more, Mr. Amati's innocent complacency or the distressed uneasiness of the governess. But the Japanese minister now began again a series of gurgles in which could be distinguished the words, "Chinese trouble soon." The princess knew that he was launched upon his favorite topic. Mr. Amati's "croakings,” as his warnings about probable Chinese uprisings were called, were regarded indulgently, but not too seriously, in the legations in Peking.

"Indeed?" murmured the fair Russian; then she complimented the minister on the excellence of his English.

A few minutes later, when he had bowed himself out of the room, his sedan-chair, carried by officially clad bearers, was seen passing the window, and the minister himself, smiling complacently, was just visible behind the curtains of his Oriental carriage.

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Conceit, my dear Miss Polton," remarked the princess, turning to the governess, "is a commodity every one should possess. No family should be without a large supply of it for general use; it costs. nothing, and is invaluable for protective purposes."

Having delivered herself of this opinion, she leaned back in the cushioned hollow of her chair with graceful indolence. Unlike most tall women, she understood the art of lounging gracefully. She had a theory that only small and medium-sized women could afford to maintain a perfectly erect position when seated.

"When one is as elongated as I am," she would say, "one should know how to fold up gracefully."

Princess Pontioff was the wife of the Russian minister. She was the cleverest woman in Peking and the most fascinating. The women feared her and the men adored her. Her husband did both.

"There are as many sides to my char