Pioche daily record. [volume] (Pioche, Nev.) 1872-1876, 1876-05-24


In the New York Herald of the 14th
we And piteous account Of a poor little
child turned out Of her wretched home
by drunken parents. A lady who was
passing moved b the woeful plight Of
the defenseless child. took her home,
fed and clothed her. Dazed. astonished
and bswildered, the little one stared at
her benefaciress and tremblingly asked
Dear Ms'am. are you Gods wife?"
There was, as the Herald says, volume
in that inquiry. Such an incident as
this shows the vast, the incalculable, the
inexpressible amount of good that might
be done by the possessors of great, of
even moderate wealth that is left undone.
Look at Astor and Stewart dead and
Vanderbilt dying. What factor for
good or evil is that wealth which they
have spent their lives in sordidly heap
ing together. Two are dead. From
those scores Of millions which for the
petty terms Of their puny eIistences
they SO jealousy guarded, what benefit
are they now deriving9 Not a silver Of
that gorgeous mass Of uncountabls riches
could they carry away with them. They
had. with poignant pangs sharper
than the arrows OF death to leave 1t be-
hind them. There II is for other hands
TO handle aud other Wills to dispose of.
while they, who with such painful toll
and penurious parsimony, collected
those enormous masses Of wealth, have
no more benefit from it's disposition,
than the wretched beg8ars whose APP
peals they SO long and so steadily disre-
garded. Yet what possibilities were
there in that huge wealth. There lay
the happiness Of tens Of thousands.
Millions Of smiles arising from happy
hearts lay CONCEALED in the yellow heaps.
All that they needed. was the magic
wave Of the enchanters wand and from
that vast treasure would have spring
into life, myriads OF sprites bringing
happiness and blessing TO the poor.
health to the sick and consolation to the
afflicted. Then indeed would have
arisen a joyous enquiry from thousands
Of grateful hearts. Are you Gods vice
gerents bringing peace on earth and
good will unto all men? But no. Dull,
lifeless. inert. lay the life giving treasure
Add. add. add. Pile, pile. pile. Wiring.
wiring. wiring the last piece. the utter
most coin. Bring them in. Heap them
up. mass upon mass, pile upon pilo.
Look at them. Gloat over them and
die. That is what the money
kings do. That. after the man
ner Of their kind did Astor and Stewart,
and so will Vanderbilt. Never once in
their lives did or will any one recognize
aught in them but the sordid alloy o.
base humanity. No one ever inquired
il they were the Almoners Of Providence
The binding tears Of grateful joy fol
benefits received never TRANSPORTED them
in the eyes Of wondering beneficiaries.
At their funerals, their ccffins, filled with
disgusting decaying corruption, were
piled high with flowers, sweet but evan.
ascent. soon to give place to the moi
some odors Of the grave. Alb! il they
had used their wealth to dry the tears
OF suffering humanity. II they had done
that, round those biers and those graves
would have thronged countless process
sion Of light. OF life, OF bright and glori-
GUS beings. Among them, crowned with
diadems glowing with gorgeous jewels,
thousand times more glorious than the
dross of their worldly wealth, upheld by
tender hands the millionaires would have
passed to give an enviable account of the
talents with which they were entrusted
But they chose the other part. to keep
their gold, and that ia oil the good il did
them. Where they sowed others will
reap. The golden harvest is great but
not grain can their dead hands clutch