amassing large fortunes. profitable, methods of spending the time than collecting pieces of gold, nor can we believe that the ability necessary to piling up money is of the highest kind. Temperament, of course, counts for much. The hawk is proud of his beak, as the nightingale of his song. And it would be unreasonable to expect modesty in a millionaire, who believes, no doubt, that the stronger the claw the better the man. At any rate, this belief helps to explain the serious view which the rich man takes of himself and of his mission. For now and again he claims to have a mission, and it is then that he becomes a danger to the State.

There are other, and more

For the millionaire does not hesitate to benefit his fellow-men; and in his worst incarnation he thinks that he has a right to offer the people the last

The danger insult by way of gift. But philanthropy, of philan- when it is not supported by an unselfish inthropy. telligence, is an unmixed evil, which should be regarded with a scrupulous suspicion. The first duty of the community is to look every gift-horse in the mouth a millionaire may present a million which he will not miss in all levity of heart, and the harm may be done before the consequences are perceived. That a private citizen should have thought it possible even for a moment to free the education of a great country should awaken us to the perils of benevolence. Mr Carnegie is, we believe, a firm opponent of Socialism, yet the accident of wealth might have enabled him to achieve the worst results of a system which he despises. If it be wrong to accept aid from the Government, it is wrong also to accept that aid from a private philanthropist; indeed, we would always rather be beholden to the State than to the generosity of a wealthy citizen. But happily the mouth of Mr Carnegie's gift-horse has been thoroughly examined, and a vast sum of money may perhaps be

spent wisely upon Scottish education. Yet because the trustees in whom the money is vested are likely to administer it well, we need not forget Scotland's narrow escape from pauperisation. To grant a university education free to all comers was a scheme not only impracticable but perilous. Privileges that cost nothing are little worth, and Scotland is strong among the nations because she has won the advantages of education by strength of character and the sacrifice of self. However, it remains with the trustees to formulate a scheme, and the public right of criticising a gift is amply vindicated.

Pecunia olet.

We

But there is another reason why money should not be accepted without examination. As often as not it is not too honourably come by. Pecunia non olet, says the old proverb, and nothing could be falser. Money never loses its scent. should be very sorry if the rook were permitted first of all to pluck the pigeon and then to comfort his disfeathered frame with a pension. Nor are the new methods such as to inspire us with confidence. Once upon a time the marauder went upon the pad, and levied his tax upon the stage-coach. Now he goes into the city and sits upon the board of bogus companies. The greed of the pigeon, who, wishing to gain cent per cent without risk, deserves no pity, is well matched by the cunning of the rook; and the rook, when his competence is assured, seeks to buy respectability with a subscription. But the community should so jealously guard its independence as to reject this specious bargain. No nation needs the help of the bogus-company promoter, or of the monstrous speculator who, to corner corn, imposes a famine upon a harmless population, and who condemns his compatriots to thirst by sending up the price of ice. After all, the indiscriminate collection of sovereigns is not in itself a virtuous action, and while

the popular admiration of millionaires is merely an expression of vulgarity, the ready acceptance of their doles might prove a national disgrace. Not all who have may give, and the rare privilege of generosity, assumed in fear, should be exercised with all the carefulness of a humble spirit.

AUGUST.

THE mad race run across Europe in automobiles illustrates, with a naked candour, the new worship of speed. From Paris to Berlin panted a mob of mechanThe worship ical enthusiasts, who cared neither for human of speed. life nor human comfort so long as they cut a record on the highway. Here a child was killed, there an aged couple was disabled, and a sentimental press made light of these accidents because it believes that the salvation of man lies in haste. Seventy-five miles an hour on the open road! How glorious an achievement! Is not that country happy which can produce a citizen hardy enough to stand the dust and the racket of seventy-five miles in sixty minutes? Thus all the resources of modern science are recklessly devoted to the increase of pace. Oil, steam, electricity, all play their part in the hideous drama of scurry. Here is a road, says the amateur; let us cover as much of it as we can in the shortest possible time. We shall stifle

our fellow-creatures with smoke and smell, we shall deafen them with the clatter of wheels and the roar of machinery; but we shall shake off the offending miles, and in the process we shall satisfy the demands of morality, politics, and sport.

So the amateur starts out from London, which he has no desire to leave, and dines at York, which he has no reason to visit, that he may not fall below The passion the new standard. And the journals, which of racing. are only too sure an index of popular feeling, prophesy the downfall of England, because the French

packet went from Calais to Dover in one minute less time than our packet took to cross from Dover to Calais. And the world is racing, racing on all sides and in all vehicles. The express trains race to Scotland; the 'buses and trams race in the public street. That the mob may be hurled with a greater vehemence from one place to another, the ingenuity of America is permitted to riddle the subsoil of London with burrows called tubes, wherein adventurers run about like rabbits in a sandhill. Nor is speed of transit the only speed sanctified by popular enthusiasm. Whatever is made must be made against time, and if it would completely suit the prevailing taste it must wear out as quickly as it has been made. Not long since the reproach was thrown in the teeth of the English that they built their bridges for eternity. Did one ever hear so reckless a waste of time and trouble? Why, the American will build you a bridge in a week, warranted not to last, a bridge which will be comfortably worn out before a new trick of architecture sends it out of date. And if it does let down a train, that does not matter: it is all good for the trade of the hustler, and a hundred souls may perchance be sent the quicker to another world.

But though the passion of speed appear dominating and universal, it has no touch with reason or intelligence. That pace is more precious than elegance, for instance, is a mere axiom; and it would be just as sensible to argue that a laggard life is the best life of all. Of course the economist will tell you that time is money. And maybe time is money in the kingdom of economy; but happily there is a realm not yet befogged by the dull science, and it is precisely in this realm-of sport and art that the love of speed most fiercely intrudes itself. In the old days, when horses were not doped and cricketers worked for something else than averages, sport was the leisurely and gracious occupation of gentlemen. Those who engaged in horse-racing,