“It was rather hard to get an advantage of my father, but I thought now I had him.  On reaching the city, I sought him out, and told the story with all its circumstances.

“’Now, Sir, in presence of the example of this old German,—­sold in New York for his passage, faithfully fulfilling the years of his servitude, working his way to a small competency by savings and industry,—­will you dare to let the world hear of you, a rich man, making a profit on wine?’

“The old man’s eye dropped an instant, then he said,—­

“’My son, Heaven knows I do not wish to make money out of wine.  I have given much time and much money for the last fifty years to make this doubtful experiment successful.  I have paid high prices for wine, and used all other means in my power to make it remunerative,—­to induce others to plant vineyards.  If I should now take your suggestion and bring wine down to a low price, I should ruin the enterprise.  But let the extended cultivation of the grape be once firmly established, and then competition will bring it low enough.’

“‘Well,’ said I, ’that may be good worldly wisdom; but I like the spirit of the old Dutchman better, after all.’

“‘There I agree with you; for once, you are right.’”

A most careful accountant has shown that his contributions to grape-culture amounted to one-fourth of his whole fortune:  a clear loss to him, but not to the public.

Though the lips of Christendom repeat, Sunday after Sunday, the warning that the left hand should not know what the right hand doeth, yet it is very apt to judge of a man’s liberality by the paragraphs concerning him in the newspapers.  The old gentleman once gave his city several acres of land for an observatory which was to be erected; and there is no doubt that he had reason to conclude, as have others, that it was the worst, as it was the most public, charity of his life.  That his private charities were numerous and without self-crediting, the present writer happens to know.  Once, after going through the great wine-cellar where millions were coined, I went through the barracks in the upper portion of the same building, where a wretched tenantry of the Devil’s poor lived in squalor.  Each of these families was required to pay room-rent to the millionnaire.  As I passed along, I found one man and woman in wrathful distress.  They must pay their rent, or be turned out of their rooms.  The rent was two or three dollars.  I said,—­

“The old gentleman will not turn you out.”

“You do not know him; he will be sure to, if we do not pay him every cent.”