Year: 1878

"Though I speak with tongues
Of men and of angels, and have not
charity, then am I become as the
sounding brass, OF as tinkling
cymbal."


At one o'clock on the tenth day
of April, 1875, an old man lay
struggling with the angel of death
in the most costly marble palace in
New York. The wealth of the
world lay scattered about, gathered
from every nation on the face of the
earth. Precious fabrics from In
dian and Persian looms hung
around the couch of the dying man,
bought with the unceasing toll Of
countless lives in those far-of lands
where blood and brain are but
minor factors iii the terrible prob
lem of life. No child was there to
soothe his dying moments, nor
scarcely a grie7ing friend. One old
woman, who for years had been
denied his sympathy, silently watch
ed the struggle which in few mo.
ments would leave her the richest
widow in the world. The struggle
was protracted one; but death,
which comes sooner or later to US
all, had stricken down this helpless,
aged sufferer, and the owner Of
uncounted millions, as the clock
struck one, lay lump of lifeless
clay. Some who were near him
when be was dying, heard him ex.
claim, "Too late! too late! toe
late!" What did he mean by ''too
late?" This mans life was sue,
cess. He had accumulated be,
tween fifty and a hundred millions
of dollars. The poles we're almost
reached and the equator had been
spanned by him in his lustful pur'
suit for gold. The world was bis
market, and men and women in all
climes were his slaves, and paid
him constant tribute. And yet, in
the history Of modern life, there is
no such instance of utter and gl
gantic failure-no parallel Of such
moral and mental bankruptcy to be
found in the history Of men.


He piled up gold mountain high
He erected mighty buildings, anu
filed them with the riches Of every
land. Thousands upon thousands
toiled for him from the rising o5
the sun to the going down Of the
same. And yet, dying, he left nc
memory behind him by which men
should cali him blessed. When the
life current grew weaker, and hope
yielded to despair, and the Ger
tainty of approaching death was
pressing upon him, he conceived
the idea of erecting memorial
which should pass his name with
benson to posterity, when his golc
had turned to dross and his body
had crumbled into dust.


On the corner of Thirty second
street, just where the tunnel of the
Fourth avenue road burrows under
the stately mansions Of Murray
Hill, there arose palace Of iron
massive and strong, known as tht
Home for Friendless Girls. For
time there was wonderous activity
and people looked on with painfu
anxiety, waiting fer it's completion
Then everything stopped. Fo1
years, all was silent. Dust accum
ulated in the magnificent halls ant
corridors, and the bat and ow
found quarters in the splendid
rooms that might have been tn
abode Of prices. The great mil
lionaire was too busy gathering IL
his wonderous accumulations, (
pause for the past;me of charity
And so he went on, till strickel
down on that April day; and the'
it was too late. He died withou
accomplishing one thing which
should link his name with the bless
ing of charity.


Too late to complete his iii
work himself, he chose an almone
for his bounty who should carry OF
that work to completion which h
had left unfinished, and who woul(
vet redeem the life that he ha(
made a wreck. His friend, tn
Hon. Henry Hilton, was selected
and to him, although already


wealthy man, he presented th